#not too different from the last version but i added eye colors fixed a few things and added a bg

[enavstars]

More Cyberpunk au details + details of the RGB desings + earlier concept drawing

(Before that please let me know if you want more info on the au because I have a couple drawings planned but with school and stuff I can't draw much and Idk if I can stay motivated that long. So my next posts could be mostly au lore with maybe some sketches, tell me if you'd like that)

In general terms, to give the Cyberpunk aesthetic to all of their designs I try to avoid symmetry by adding belts or patterns to break it. And for the colors, I focused on darker hues and neon tones. This way, the designs have a “punk”/dystopian-ish vibe while representing the high-tech elements of their society (which is like Cyberpunk in a nutshell).

As for the young versions of RGB, each one has their own color palette: Kai's is Red and orange with shades of black; Nya's is Blue, pinkish red and light shades of gray; and Lloyd's is light Green and also dark blueish green. Kai and Nya get a few details (shoes, arm or jacket) of each other’s main color as a wink ;).

Kai's outfit is meant for moving around comfortably both in the city and outside, Nya's is like a mechanic uniform for tinkering, and Lloyd's is for running as fast as possible; he also has a puffy sleeve similar to Kai's (le wink again). All three of them have a letter of RGB in some part of their outfit and share a tech pattern, each positioned differently (Kai in his inside shirt, Lloyd in his sweatshirt and Nya in her leggins)

As for Kai's eye:

One day, when they were exploring around the danger zone of the outskirts of the city, Kai accidentally activated a trap set by one of the last survivors of the Outside that unexpectedly still lived there (a paranoid rancid sociopath). The violent trap had become infested with Red plants with time and made Kai get in contact with it too: it instantly dug its roots deep within his right eye socket and Kai was unable to pull it off. Since it was such a sensitive spot where the plant was sucking all the nutrients out of him, he was so weak that Nya had to slowly and painstakingly carry him back through the ruined suburbs to get help inside the city walls. After getting around the border control with the plant still stuck to Kai’s eye, all thanks to Echo’s help (who also carried the kid the rest of the way), they got to the doctor’s. Luckily, he was able to cure Kai, but he was forced to remove the affected area, which were his eye and part of the skin of his face; however, if he had waited any longer the plant's roots would have reached his brain and killed him.

Nya then started looking for a biomechanic while Kai rested with little Lloyd, who’d followed his sister all throughout the loaded trip back but could do nothing but keep her company due to his size. However, when the girl finally found one who agreed to make the prosthetic eye for them, a fellow demon named Ronin, he set them the condition to seek out a strange artifact for him as payment, giving them a total of eight years to find it. With no money and no choice, they were forced to accept, but Nya managed to get a picture of the prosthetic’s plans; this ensured that she’d be able to fix it and not depend on the guy too much, but four years later they were found out and their deadline was cut down to only another year.

In the end, Ronin will be Ronin, and the mysterious artifact was in fact a collectionist piece of

Garbage.

Apart from that incident though, as kids they don’t really spend that much time in the city, and they generally only come there to visit their friends/acquaintances and sell stuff Nya finds. For example, they do both of those things in Ed and Edna’s junkyard, where Nya trades her scraps for their more useful scraps while visiting their friend Jay. She and her siblings (who always need to stick together inside the city walls just in case) like telling stories about their adventures in the Outside to the oblivious inhabitants, so obviously Jay is no exception. The girl is very energetic and much more of a little unhinged rascal in this au, so her stories are usually really exciting and filled with funny acting for the little boy. Additionally, as they are both mechanics in the making, whenever the siblings come around his parent’s workshop, Nya and him show each other their latest creations and sometimes they even discuss how they could improve on their work.

But the one who most often talks to people, especially strangers, is Kai. Because even though they are feared as demons, the boy is much more chill and charismatic than his siblings, and is usually in charge of being the friendlier face (although he does like staring at the people who get scared of his dragon ears a little too hard hehe). In fact, they use that awkward fear to their own advantage: due to Lloyd’s much more obvious demon features (his ears are even pointier than the other two’s and his eyes are straight up red), he is often the distraction whenever they need to steal food, either in times of need or if they just wanna cause trouble. People just cannot stop staring nervously at the little boy, who is great at drawing the wrong kind of attention, and when the act is up, he’s so fast following his siblings that no one can ever catch him.

Overall, they don’t really give a single damn about society and think too many of them are just as parasitic as the plants in the Outside, so they don’t often bother as kids to get into the city. That, paired with the fact that they are just three tiny outcasts who somehow miraculously keep coming back from the “deadly” Outside, means that people in the city just tolerate and more or less respect them (out of being kinda spooked by them), so they tend to get away with their shenanigans without much repercussion.

But in the future, they do change their habits a little bit.

When it comes to their designs, they do keep the same purpose but with variations in their shapes. Kai still uses casual comfortable wear but his color palette changes a bit, with a more pinkish Red with blue highlights instead of orange, but he does keep the shades of black. His outfit now consists of a thin bodysuit cut at the chest and hips to make sort of a hexagonal fishnet pattern, trousers and boots, along with a ton of new accessories (more slutty in general).

Nya keeps the mechanic vibe but with more of the gray and blue colors and barely any red. She has huge trousers with bigger pockets and her tools attached under her belt, a sports bra (for the ladies ;)) and mech gloves. She keeps her goggles, which are a different color now.

Lloyd has a sports outfit similar to the previous one in the shorts and leggings. He keeps the puffy sleeve on his left arm, although it is now a standalone piece, and has bigger trainers. His color palette is black and white with neon/bright greens. He lost his arm in an accident with plants too: the affected area was on his upper arm so they had to remove the entire thing, and Jay made his prosthesis.

They all have more small details of their other siblings’ colors (for example Lloyd has the pins on his casual vest); also, and instead of having their respective RGB letters on a random part of their outfits they are now matching at the back of the three jackets. Some other details on them are the fire symbol in blue on Kai's bomber jacket and on Nya's military jacket, the label on the chest that reads "samurai", complete with its X on the arm sleeve.

Their more mature personalities make them live around more in the city, although practically nobody knows their true names still, while also not leaving behind the Outside or Echo (in fact, their expeditions tend to be longer now that they have more experience and overall strength and abilities).

Nya (still just known as “Blue”) actually works in her own workshop now, selling her works on her own. However, her stubborn, energetic and blunt personality has now matured into pure badass and she’s constantly looking for a fight, but nobody can touch her or at least seriously hurt her because she’s insanely strong.

Also, even if they do manage to actually harm her she has her brother Kai (“Red”) looking out for her, who can basically destroy anyone’s private life if they mess with any of their siblings through blackmail :). In fact, he’s usually seen hanging around in the Red district (they even mistake him for a prostitute sometimes lmao), which is where most of the juicy information is flung around, so he has no trouble getting sensitive information about anyone and anything in the city. In addition, he’s developed a calm and charismatic personality that lures people into their manipulative tactics to take advantage of virtually anyone he wants, but his temper can be frail sometimes, especially when his siblings are hurt in any way. But, when it comes to them, even though he is more protective of them as the older brother and can explode if they are treated badly, he still fully trusts them and their abilities and they all rely on and fiercely fight for each other like a team whenever necessary.

In contrast to his siblings, though, Lloyd tends to avoid conflict as much as he can: despite looking like a human neon sign with his jacket on, he always manages to scurry out of sight whenever he’s in trouble as the speedy, witty little monke he is. And the reason he gets caught up in so much drama is because he is extremely curious and, as they aren’t kids anymore, people now care about the demon trio’s meddling in their business quite a bit more.

In conclusion, as they grow, Kai, Nya and Lloyd become more intelligent and fleshed out in their own ways, and even though they still have no respect for society as a whole, they do keep some friends close to them. They love each other and Echo as the unique family they are, and always make sure they have each other’s backs no matter the situation.

Here is Kai's early design + scar (TW: gore)

[simons-temple-of-eros]

stanford pines’ lap is free real estate (for me) <3

[bogleech]

Extremely long post about how you’re now allowed to erase your neopets faces (NEOPETS IS GOOD AGAIN: YOU CAN ERASE THEIR FACES.)

I have just learned that neopets recently added some wearable (neocash only though) items called the “be-gone cans” that let you hide different body parts, so there’s like eyes-be-gone and wings-be-gone.

There’s a lot of caveats (the mouth one for some reason is locked behind a gacha capsule, the “body” one only removes minor extra details from the torsos of a few species, they don’t all work on all pets and they don’t even work on the same exact parts of the same species in different colors because of how they were coded) but at minimum ALL pets can at least have the eyes and mouths removed and this alone improves countless, countless designs. For instance if you didn’t like some of the invertebrate variants stuck with the pet’s usual face, now you can fix it:

Same for the fruit and vegetable chias, they're SO good without faces, for reference here’s the mushroom chia with the horrible face all chias normally have:

Awful. Just ghastly.

Now you can correct him and make him good:

Look how fucking cute some of the other chias are this way:

This is a fucking game changer, I actually care about neopets for the first time in a decade because I can take their faces off. They were born for this. They were waiting almost 30 years to be freed from their disgusting foul orifices. “Help me, mother” they say, “I am cursed with a mouth and can therefore all too easily scream!” as their famous catchphrase always went I think. At last their salvation is here. I mean, look at this sad lenny:

We all know exactly why he’s canonically always so miserable! If there’s one thing he hates more than having legs to touch the earth’s filth and corruption it’s being able to see it.

Now he’s happy! He wants this!

And now he’s even happier i’ll bet!!!!!!!!!!

If you take the muzzle piece off the scorchio it even liberates their whole head from their neck as their god intended:

Legit though some pets actually make better serious designs besides the nudibranch one, like if you take the eyes off any of the (already badass) transparent pets you get their deep abyssal cave version:

Now look at some of the transparent pets with everything taken away that can be taken away:

The uni is finally almost unrecognizable as an equine, its life long dream

This isn’t like any of the dog designs in any of the silent hill games but it could exactly have been a dog design in a silent hill game, you know??

God bless whatever artist refused to give the insectoid Ruki a normal vertebrate skeleton so you can make this gelatinous flying space angel

But god bless whoever DID give the insectoid Buzz a vertebrate skeleton so you can make this HR Giger parasite embryo. Actually cannot pick between the two bug pets here as my new favorite neopets that are still technically available. THESE WINGS HAVE BEEN RETIRED SINCE 2012 OR I WOULD MAKE THIS PET:

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[hepalien]

Ao3 Tips and Tricks

So I thought I would make a post about some cool stuff you can do with Ao3 and userscripts, and some tips I’ve learned from setting them up for myself! I promise it's not hard, though this is a lot of info. I'm happy to help if I can.

What You’ll Need:

First, you will need the Tampermonkey extension for your browser (depending on what browser you use, Greasemonkey is the equivalent). On Android, you can even run Chrome extensions on mobile with Kiwi Browser! It is easiest to configure the scripts on your desktop and then sync to mobile with Tampermonkey’s cloud sync feature or by exporting the configured scripts and importing in your mobile browser (I will explain how to do this later in the post). If you use any of the tweaks I outline below, be sure to backup your scripts in case your settings are lost.

Once you have Tampermonkey installed, you can get scripts from GreasyFork. The inimitable @flamebyrd also has some great scripts and bookmarklets and has been incredibly helpful while I figured all this out.

Find a script that looks interesting, click on it, and then click “install this script.” Pretty straightforward. Once you have it installed, you can go to Tampermonkey to configure it (only necessary for some scripts) by clicking on the Tampermonkey extension icon in your browser (under the three dot menu in Kiwi) and clicking “dashboard”, then clicking the edit icon next to the script you want to configure. When you’re done, click File->Save.

Scripts and instructions under the cut

Some of my favorites:

Flamebyrd’s Incomplete Works script - fades out WIPs on works listings, and displays the work stats (wordcount, chapters, etc) in red on single works to make it more obvious that they’re WIPs as you’re browsing:

Flamebyrd’s Ao3 to Pinboard bookmarklet/script - if you click the bookmarklet while on a work’s page, it opens the Pinboard save screen and prefills the title, tags, description, word count, etc, and adds ?view_full_work=true&view_adult=true to the URL so Pinboard’s archiver will archive the complete work and not the adult content warning screen (note that Pinboard still cannot correctly archive works locked to Ao3 users, so you may want to download them as a backup. I’ve asked him about fixing that.), based on your selections when configuring the bookmarklet on the linked page. If you use the userscript, it adds a button to the works listings page so you don’t even have to open the work to save it:

I tweaked this script so that it only grabs the first pairing tag, since I don’t typically care about secondary pairings and they were clogging up my Pinboard tags. It’s a simple fix (though I know nothing about coding so I had to do some googling and inspect-sourcing; kinda proud of myself tbh):

Just change this part of the script

if ( options.relationship_include ) {

- $(".relationships a.tag", $work).each(function () {

To this

if ( options.relationship_include ) {

- $(".relationships a.tag:first", $work).each(function () {

I also found this cool mobile-optimized Pinboard bookmarklet called Pincushion and combined it with Flamebyrd’s script. Everything works except the auto-tagging, but I’ve reached out on GitHub to see if he can help (according to Flamebyrd, there’s no tag field ID attribute to map to). However, this bookmarklet has tagging autocomplete features that make it easy to tag manually. For example, if you type “steve 21st” it will suggest “steverogersvsthe21stcentury” rather than having to type out “steverogersvs…” in order for it to autocomplete like it does on the regular Pinboard bookmarklet. I actually have two buttons set up (which you can see in the next screenshot) - Flamebyrd's to quickly grab the tags and close without me having to do anything, and then the Pincushion one to quickly edit the tags. If anyone's interested, I can explain how to do that.

To combine Pincushion with Flamebyrd’s script (so it works from the Ao3 works listings page as mentioned above), simply change this part of Flamebyrd’s script:

t = t.split(" ").join( options.space_replacement );

var pb_url = "https://pinboard.in/add?url=" + encodeURIComponent(q) + "&description=" + encodeURIComponent(d) + "&title=" + encodeURIComponent(p) + "&tags=" + encodeURIComponent(t);

void(open(pb_url, "Pinboard", "toolbar=no,width=700,height=350"));

To this

t = t.split(" ").join( options.space_replacement );

var pb_url = "https://rossshannon.github.io/pincushion/?user=YOURUSERNAME&token=YOURAPITOKEN&url=" + encodeURIComponent(q) + "&description=" + encodeURIComponent(d) + "&title=" + encodeURIComponent(p) + "&tags=" + encodeURIComponent(t);

void(open(pb_url, "Pinboard", "toolbar=yes,width=600,height=700,left=50,top=50"));

You’ll need to get your API Token from your Pinboard account and plug it in where it says YOURUSERNAME and YOURAPITOKEN (number part only) above.

FanFictionNavigator - mark fics as Like/Dislike/Mark/InLibrary, highlight with colors based on which option you select, hide/show based on category, like/dislike author and highlight with color. Only you will see how you've marked things.

You can tweak the colors for the highlighting by configuring the script (I find the default colors make the text hard to read because I use the Reversi skin on Ao3 for white-ish text on a gray background). I also changed it so that when I click “hide likes” it only hides liked fics and not liked authors (i.e. hides fics I’ve read, but not unread fics by authors I like), changed the color of the like/dislike/etc links to match the highlighting color and to show up better, and changed the way it highlights authors (I think the default is bold/strikethrough which doesn't really catch my eye. I changed it to highlight the author name in red/green):

Here are my configured scripts if you’d like to use them instead of tweaking yourself (you need to install both):

FanFictionNavigator

FanFictionNavigator - Colors

Note: Your settings for this script will sync via Tampermonkey but not your data (i.e. fics you’ve liked/marked/etc). If you ever switch between browsers, you’ll need to go to your Ao3 Dashboard and click FFNOptions, export your data, then go through the same process to import it into the new browser.

AO3: Kudosed and seen history - highlight or hide works you kudosed/bookmarked/marked as seen. If you want to use this with FanFictionNavigator, you’ll need to turn off “highlight bookmarks” from the settings under the “Seen Works” dropdown that gets added to your Ao3 navbar or FFN’s colors won’t show. Again, data doesn’t sync between browsers but you can copy it from the dropdown settings. However, it pulls your kudosed and bookmarked fics from Ao3 itself, so that will always show. It's just seen/skipped that doesn't sync:

Ao3 download buttons - adds a download button to the works listings page so you don’t have to open the fic to download it. However, it also doesn’t play nicely with FFN’s colors, so I’m using AO3 Review + Last Chapter Shortcut + Kudos-sortable Bookmarks script which also has a download button that works with FFN (a small down arrow next to the author name). The download button doesn’t work as-is from that link, so here’s my tweaked version based off of this comment. You can configure what format you want it to download by default in the script. There’s also a tweak in the comments to fix kudos-sorting, but it overloads Ao3 and you get a “retry later” error for a few minutes when you try to open Ao3, so I don’t recommend it. I don’t know if any of the other functionalities of the script work because I don’t use them, but it looks like there are tweak suggestions in other comments you can try:

I was using Ao3 Replace Words to replace words in fics that bug me but I realized it wasn’t working on mobile, so I’m using zensurf instead which is not Ao3-specific but works basically the same way. If you want to limit it to just Ao3 (so it doesn’t change words on non-fic sites), just add this

// @include http://archiveofourown.org/*

// @include https://archiveofourown.org/*

Above this line

// ==/UserScript==

(function() {

You can // @include other fic sites like ffnet that way too.

AO3: Links to Last Chapter and Entire Works does what it says on the tin, but the creator was kind enough to give me a code snippet to add that makes the “E” (for Entire Work) appear next to all works and add ?view_full_work=true&view_adult=true to the work URL so that I can easily right-click and share to Instapaper and have it be saved correctly (not just the first chapter but the whole work + not the content warning screen for NR/M/E works). Here is the script with this tweak applied:

I think those are the only ones that I’ve done special tweaks for. Here are some others that I find useful that either don’t require any configuration, or should be pretty straightforward to configure and are explained on the script page.

AO3 author+tags quick-search - doesn’t require configuration

Generates quick links from AO3 fics to more by the same author in the same fandom (or character/pairing/any other tag):

Remove leading spaces in AO3 - doesn’t require config

Removes the leading indents for paragraphs in AO3 works.

Ao3 Only Show Primary Pairing - you have to enter the pairings you want in the script, and you can change how early in the sequence they must appear before the work is hidden. Also works with character tags.

Hides works where specified pairing isn't the first listed. Hidden works show a placeholder that you can click to unhide:

AO3: highlight tags - have to enter the tags you want highlighted, as well as the color you want. It matches case so you may have to enter both “Dog” and “dog”, for example.

Configure tags to be highlighted with different colors. This makes a tag more obvious to your eye when browsing. I use it to highlight things I’m wary of in red so I don’t miss them and start reading a fic I might not want.

AO3: Tag Hider - configure how many tags you want to see before it hides them

Hide tags automatically when there are too many tags. Add hide/show tags button to browsing page and reading page.

AO3 Remove Double-Spacing - no config

Removes awkward double spaces between paragraphs on AO3. Doesn’t smush together paragraphs that have a single line break - it leaves those alone.

ao3 series collapser - no config

Collapse works that are later than part 1 of a series. Leaves a placeholder so you can uncollapse if you want to see it.

AO3 Blocker - no config, but you enter what you want to block from the added navbar dropdown in Ao3

Fork of ao3 savior; blocks works based on certain conditions. I find this simpler to use than Ao3 savior.

FYI there are also style scripts for Pinboard on greasyfork and userstyles.org (this site is slow af for some reason, so be patient while it loads). I use show unread bookmarks more clearly and Modern Pinboard Style (basically a dark mode). Neither require config unless you just want to tweak the settings to your liking. To install to Tampermonkey from userstyles, scroll down to “Install style as userscript”.

I also use these extensions in Kiwi:

Ao3rdr - Adds a star rating system (pictured in some of the screenshots above) to Ao3 works that only you can see. This one will sync your data between devices if you use the cloud sync option, which I recommend so you don’t lose your data if something happens to your device or browser.

Dark Reader - not really necessary for Ao3 if you use Reversi skin, but does make all browser pages dark mode if you want it on sites other than Ao3.

Speaking of Ao3 skins, I have another one set up in conjunction with Reversi that shows all the fandoms on a user’s profile, rather than having to click “expand”:

Unfortunately, I can’t remember where I found this. To set it up yourself, go to your Ao3 -> Dashboard -> Skins -> Create Site Skin, fill in the Title (has to be unique), and paste the code below in the CSS box:

#user-fandoms ol.index {

padding-bottom: 0;

text-align: center;

}

#user-fandoms ol.index li {

display: inline;

margin-right: .5em;

line-height: 2.15em;

}

#user-fandoms ol#fandom_full_list {

padding-top: 0;

padding-bottom: 1.5em;

display: block !important;

}

#user-fandoms p.actions {

display: none;

}

Then hit Submit -> Use. There are ways to hide or highlight various elements (ships, characters, blurbs, work stats, etc) on a works listing page using skins on Ao3. This is getting long so I’m not going to go into that, but I’m happy to help if you want to try it. It’s very easy.

Once you have everything configured on Tampermonkey on your desktop, you can migrate it to your mobile device in one of two ways:

Option 1: Go to Tampermonkey settings and change Config Mode to Advanced

Go down to Script Sync and select your preferred cloud service and save

It will ask you to log in to said cloud service

Install Tampermonkey in Kiwi and do the same thing

Wait for it to sync (this can be slow)

It should sync any changes you make moving forward, but again, it’s slow

Option 2: go to Utilities and check all 3 checkboxes under general (include script storage, include Tampermonkey settings, include external script resources)

Either export to your preferred cloud service or

Export as a zip file, move it to your mobile device, go to this same screen and import

I would recommend exporting as a zip for a backup even if you don’t use it to migrate your scripts

You can unzip and upload individual script files (.js) on this page if you ever need to reinstall a single script with your settings instead of all of them

Let me know if you run into any issues and I can try to help! The script writers are also super nice and helpful if you reach out to them. Yay fandom!

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser​ for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime. 

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now. 

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life. 

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face. 

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself. 

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.  

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman. 

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found. 

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place. 

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody. 

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang: 

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance. 

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides. 

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep. 

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark. 

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover. 

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did. 

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly. 

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion. 

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

[parkersloths]

Hi ^^

First of all – your Art is INCREDIBLE!!!

I especially love your use of colors and textures :) Everything is so bright and colorful, but still cohesive. And your images are so clear without being overly detailed! It’s all literally perfection!!!

I like to draw digitally as well and your art-style is a huge inspiration for me. So I wanted to ask if you have any work in progress videos or pictures? Or if you could explain your process in general? Like, are you using a sketch layer underneath, with how many layers are you normally working, what kind of brushes do you use or any tips overall to improve digital painting?

Of course you don’t have to answer this (kinda a lot of questions, sorry 😅 ). Just know that I adore your art and that you’re helping me on my own art-journey just by sharing your work with the world – so, thank you!!! <3

Hey!! So first of all thank you so much for everthing you said about my art, I really appreciate it! But also omg thank youuu for this amazing ask like this is for real the kind of ask I've always wanted to get, where a total stranger is interested in my process XD So yeah don't worry about asking a lot of questions, they were great and I loved them!

Also I'm super flattered that my art has inspired you in your own digital art journey and I hope the stuff I say here can also help somewhat! This will get pretty long so sorry in advance everyone for making you scroll so much cause for some reason the read more option doesn't work on mobile :/

But anyway to answer your questions!

Sadly I don't have videos but I do have some pics I'll share. This is actually my second attempt at answering this because before I was going to use some WIP pics of the Majid drawing as example but then I didn't want to because it was in black and white and color is kind of one of the main things I like to emphasize in my art so I wanted to talk about it in the example XD Then I started a couple new drawings and was taking pics of those but I got super artblocked, but luckily I just finished one out of the blue that I can use. Okay so... I started answering this, again, and it was getting way too long and rambly so I'm gonna try to keep it simple this time and maybe I can elaborate more another time if you're still interested/ if anyone else wants know X'D

My process in general: I always start by making a simple basic background to work on, just fill it in and add some blotches of color. Then on a new layer I just start painting the subject, no sketch, so again just laying down some colors (I usually take whatever color in the bg is closest to skin tone and adjust the new color from there) and I just start blocking some shapes in aproximately the right places to start defining where things will be and how they fit together and just go from there. It's hard to explain it more cause that's kinda it, I just paint until things look like they're supposed to or at least visually appealing enough XD I add or adjust whatever colors seem necessary along the way (in this particular drawing I left the darker values until way too late which I don't recommend) and just refine and refine and refine things and add as many or as few details as I feel like, working on everything simmultaneously bit by bit.

Layers: like I mentioned before there's no sketch, and I try to use as few layers as possible so usually I'll have about 3-5. One for the basic background, one to three (though sometimes I merge them) additional layers for more background effects/colors/value fixes that I usually add later in the process, and I try to have just one for the subject. Sometimes I have one or two more if I'm feeling too hesitant but I always merge them in the end.

Brushes: I only use one brush at 50% opacity the whole time for everything. It's a squarish/rectangular brush that has some sort of jagged edges and a bit of a watercolory texture.

Tips: so this part is especially hard cause like.. I feel like any tips I could give are only applicable to drawing portraits and even then it'd be for doing it in the particular way that I prefer.. Like for example I could say it's best to work on every area at the same time and never spend too long one thing before moving on to the next but.. some people actually prefer finishing the eyes completely before moving on to the nose for example you know? So honestly the main thing I'll say is kinda to just experiment with a lot of methods and styles and see what works or doesn't work for you. Something that I think always helped me a lot was watching speedpaints of people who were more skilled than me and had a distinct style, just literally watch how they did their thing and every once in a while I might notice something I'd be interested in trying for myself and yeah with practice and experience you just kinda figure out what kind of things you not only like seeing but actually want in your own art. Like years ago I used to sketch but then I saw enough videos of people painting without sketching that I wanted to try it and I realized it's just more fun and makes more sense to me that way. So yeah try lots of different things and see what works for you and what you want to incorporate into your own art style!

Some more standard digital art tips I could give I guess are like.. the thing I said about not spending too much time on just one area (if it applies to your prefered process XD). Flip the drawing every now and then to catch stuff that's off. Stay zoomed out as much as possible and when you do zoom in for details always keep an eye on how the bigger picture's looking. Take your time finding or arranging a good reference pic that really inspires you cause it'll save you time and frustration later. And aaa idk I could say more but I don't think it's that informative or helpful, and all of this is probably really basic obvious stuff anyway and this is long enough as it is so yeah I'll leave it there...

I hope any of this can help in some way or that I've at least answered your questions in a satisfying enough way haha And finally here are some of the WIP pics I took. Where you can see some parts of the process. I did a lot more after that last pic but yeah at that point it's just about fixing little things, refining and adding details, but there you can see the color adjustment thing I usually do as the very last step (though not for this pic). I don't always have to do it, and there are probably times when I shouldn't, but I almost always like to do it anyway and that's why my colors look so exaggerated and bright XD I usually make the midtones more red and/or magenta, the shadows more blue, and the highlights more yellow (and sometimes a bit cyan) but if you wanna try something like that it's definitely fun to experiment with the different color possibilities ;u;

And yeah that's it for now! I'm sorry this is so long, and this was the short version lol I hope you like the answers at least a fraction of how much I loved the questions X'D

[gallickingun]

stardust in our bones {constellations on our skin} || i.m.

SUMMARY: Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain, his masterpieces hung in the form of scars and freckled skin. Sometimes he is overwhelmed by the very public display of his failures, unable to be dismissed even from far away. But you are always there to remind him that even if he is a little damaged, he will always be beautiful in your eyes. And maybe he can come to learn that his scars are but reminders that even if you break, you are not broken. 

This is essentially a few different scenes/scenarios all rolled into one fic about Izuku’s freckles and scars. I hope you love it!

PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: mentions of blood, language, smut, dom/sub scenes, scars, mild violence mention, breeding kink, daddy kink, etc. WORD COUNT: 28.4k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ���*:･ﾟ✧ is in the replies of this post! message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the labor of love that i have produced for my other half @freckledoriya ♡ i hope that this meets your expectations, as it is probably one of the only midoriya fics i will ever write lol. katsuki baby i am so sorry also big shoutout to @k-atsukidayo for making this beautiful header image for me and always reminding me that i’m not as garbage as i think i am ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

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Some call him disfigured or discolored.

They focus much too heavily on the outer turmoil taking its toll on his skin instead of the implications of what is happening within his body – the struggle in seeing himself this way and coming to terms with all that he has lost, marked on his body forever in the form of scars.

Marred flesh, crooked knuckles, gnarled bones.

He relives his trauma every time he looks in a mirror, another cut turned to pinkened scar, another use of his quirk marking his body permanently with a plethora of the color red. He wonders for a moment if he will ever feel whole again, or if he will always see himself as this patchwork thing that the universe toys with by ripping apart just to sew it back together again.

Izuku Midoriya is a mausoleum of pain.

And yet, despite all his physical fallacies, you still find him beautiful.

You watched on in horror as his body took on the tolls of being a hero throughout his time at Yuuei. You were but a young, quirkless teenager, begging for a hero who reminded you of what hope used to taste like. Now, after All Might’s demise, your tongue turns sour and anything that might have resembled hope burns to ash in your mouth.

Then Izuku Midoriya became a Pro Hero at the very agency you’ve been working at and you felt that familiar warmth of hope starting to take root in your chest, driving out that darkness that settled once the world lost All Might.

Deku is kind, much kinder than the average man. Or hero, for that matter.

He stops by your desk at least once a week, with either coffee or something sweet, in addition to his paperwork. He’ll chat with you, leaning over your counter with those sparkling emerald eyes, and you start to realize you can get lost in him. He is a gentle reprieve from your otherwise mundane day.

And in the beginning, you saw sun-kissed skin littered with a dark sprinkling of freckles, like little constellations burned into him by the sun. His cheeks are like the expanse of the night sky and you wonder to yourself when he leans in close if you might could find some stars you recognize.

As you grow closer, minutes turned into hours turned into lunch outings, you realize that you truly misjudged how deep his scars run.

They are not just on the surface, but rather cutting deep into his soul until he is marked at the very essence, clouded eyes ever present when he recounts a tale that brought forth yet another scar. You want to reach out and brush his cheeks, but you must restrain yourself because he is a Pro Hero and you are but an office manager, quirkless and insignificant to him.

You busy yourself with memorizing the patterns on his face and neck. You allow your mind to wander from time to time, trailing your gaze down to his exposed collarbones or torso, depending on how rough a mission might leave his suit. When it’s torn at the thighs, you can’t help but to see the smattering of pale freckles against his otherwise tanned skin.

Izuku is kind, you remind yourself as he approaches you with paperwork tucked into his side. There is no other explanation for his long, drawn out talks at your desk, or the flowers currently adorning your countertop.

“Hey, sorry,” he unfurls the bundled package of papers and lays them flat on your desk, “this week has been insane, lots’a villains on the loose. Which I guess just means more paperwork for everyone, huh?”

You chuckle at him, thumbing through the first few sheets to make sure he’s got it all in order. There really is no doubt in your mind that it’s all laid out exactly how it should, that’s just how Deku is, but you want him stationary at your desk for a little while longer, so you check it anyway.

“And more bruises for you heroes,” you smile, tilting your head upward so you can catch the glint in his eyes. “How are you today?”

Midoriya begins to rattle off a long string of muttered words while you check the paperwork. You don’t mind that you can’t necessarily understand everything he’s saying, just to hear the sound of his voice is enough to satiate you for the rest of the day. You smile and nod when you think you should, the smell of the flowers on your desk more intoxicating now that he’s here.

“-I, well, you see, I guess that since I saved their shop, they said I could have unlimited meals, and I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

You bite your lip, reigning yourself in because of course he just wants to go out for lunch. There’s nothing more to it. You have been to lunch with him several times, extended breaks thanks to both his hero status and your extra hours you work here and there.

“Sure,” you answer, “we can go over the new manual, I have a few-”

“No.”

You cock your head, brow furrowing, “B-But -I”

Deku shakes his head, green curls bobbing against his forehead, his undercut even more obvious now, “N-No, I mean, I want to go, but like, I want you to go with me.”

“I would be-”

“Without the paperwork.”

“Oh.”

The two of you share a look for longer than necessary and now the flowers’ perfume grows stronger, almost sickeningly sweet as your stomach flips. You rack your brain for the words to say, but each syllable dies on your tongue, sparking against a taste bud. You want to pinch yourself to ground your mind into this version of reality where Deku wants to go on a date with you is the current situation, but you can’t move, frozen in place by his expectant stare.

It must take you too long to respond because Izuku launches into another muttering rant, apologizing profusely as he blushes from head to toe. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of his freckles against his reddened skin, and that little break from your psychotic prison allows you to reach forward and grasp him by the hand.

Deku’s jaw snaps shut, eyes widened as he looks down at you, gaze piercing through you as if he had slung a spear through your soul. He’s got a hold on you, he has since the day you first met, but now you know that he’s had you hook, line, and sinker and there was no way you could ever come up for air.

Not that you’d want to.

“I’d love to,” you tell him, voice soft.

His smile matches your own and he squeezes your fingers, the scars on his hands rigid against his otherwise smooth skin, “It’s a date.”

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As time passed, the bruised ribs and shattered bones multiple. The Pro Hero, Deku, is well-known for his gnarled hand, knuckles swollen, and scars carved into his body like veins in a slab of marble. He finds you after each mission, wrapped in gauze and taped back together, and you are the one left to mend the untouchable pieces of him once the surgeons have done all that they can for the surface wounds.

“You should be more careful,” you warn him, hands reaching for his face to palm over his cheeks in worry.

Midoriya laughs, but it is cut short by a wince as he grabs for his rib cage. You lurch forward to steady his frame, but it is of no use, his palm already outstretched to keep you at bay. The frown on your face only deepens at his motions, your brow furrowing together to wrinkle the skin of your forehead.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you once he can stand up right to his full height again, “thank you, for coming and picking me up.”

The pads of your hands find his face again, thumbs pressed into his cheeks, fingerprints grazing over the speckled skin. It’s as if you’re counting them to make sure that none of them have been wiped away from the last time you saw him; like you could keep track of them like inventory if you tried hard enough. The furrow in your brow tells him that he hasn’t done a good enough job at reassuring you, so he steps closer, a knee between your thighs, “I promise I’m okay. They patched me up! All better now.”

All better now.

The words seem shallow, like they can’t possibly touch all of the broken pieces between the two of you. Every time he bares his soul on the battlefield, he comes away changed, a different person than you last saw. He won’t show the world, but at least he will show you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is cutting, patience wearing thin, jaw quivering under the sheer force of the bite of your teeth, “And what about the next time, when they can’t fix you?”

Deku does not have an answer for you then, the question weighing between the two of you like the world caught between your shoulders. At least the answer he can think up is not one that he wants you to hear, let alone one you might take in stride.

Instead of trying to babble on about the efficiencies of agency surgeons and statistics and whatnot, he takes you by the wrists, circling his fingers around your pounding pulse. A gentle laugh bubbles in his chest and it makes you forget about the pain he has to be in for but a mere moment as he looks you in the eyes.

“I’m a hero,” Izuku answers, voice grating against his throat as his eyes bore into you like he’s telling you some enormous secret you must keep to yourself, “and the hero always wins. No matter what.”

As much as your bleeding, apologetic heart wants to believe him, to lap up every word that he’s spewing to you like syrup, your mind can’t quite agree. You’ve spent too many late nights lying awake, wondering when you’ll get the call that he has fallen prey to a villain’s decaying touch, or when he will have been captured and tortured to the brink of insanity, a shell of the man he used to be all that’s left when they find him. Every horror story has played out on the back of your eyelids when you fall asleep, and yet you know there will never be anything you can do to put him back in the little box you first found him in, to protect him and keep him safe.

You push all of those thoughts away, knowing that they will only dampen your spirit for now, and you’d much rather focus on his darling freckled face while you take your afternoon walk. He insists, despite his injuries, that he won’t miss an afternoon walk with you. And it appears that he’s healing even as more time passes, the lingering effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk in combination with quirk-laced drugs mending his body after he’s left the operating room.

Taking in the sight before you – this beautiful, Adonis-like man, with golden cheeks and an innocent sheen in his glittering green irises – you’re overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, so you charge forward and do just that. Your hands find his neck, searching for the hairline lightning strike scars that litter his body from past injuries and fights.

Unbeknownst to him, you keep your eyes open so you can watch as his translucent lids flutter, orbs moving beneath the skin as he’s unsure of what part of you in his imagination to settle on. This way you’re able to see as the apples of his cheeks slowly start to burn deeper shades of red to match his ears and neck.

As you pull away, falling back onto your heels, you drink him in as the light glimmers down on his skin, making him look almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. There is a string connected to your heart that tugs whenever you see the man standing before you, and now is no exception.

“C’mon,” you slot your knuckles between his, tenderly brushing your thumb over the large expanse of scar tissue on the back of his palm, “let’s go.”

Izuku pulls you closer and it’s like another piece of him has fallen into place, your body slotting just right against his side, like you were made for each other. One to match the other, a balance to end all imbalances.

A complete set.

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The knock on your door makes you jump, shuddering beneath your fleece blanket.

You rub your eyes and stand to your feet, leaving the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It’s late, so you imagine it’s most likely just a package delivery.

You’re beyond surprised to see a bleeding Izuku Midoriya slumped forward, using his forearm to hold himself steady in your doorway. You gasp, your blanket dropping away from your shoulders to pool at your feet, launching yourself forward to catch him before he can topple to the ground.

“Izuku,” you gasp, tucking yourself beneath him so he can use you for support.

He laughs, but it turns into a wheezing string of coughs. You help him hobble through the threshold towards the kitchen, sitting him down close to the sink so you can clean him up. Tilting his head back, you look into his eyes and pray that they dilate. When his pupils shrink, you let loose a breath held captive in your lungs.

It’s hard not to think about the reality that this will add another scar to his tally. His whole body seems like a counter, really, with strikes and slashes marring his skin, turning it pink and keeping track of every battle.

Midoriya reaches up to cradle your face in his palm, fingertips brushing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, directly contrasted with his own rough complexion, “I needed to see you.”

“No,” you shake your head and squat down in front of him, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you try to take in every part of him that’s bleeding, “you need to see a doctor!”

Before you can protest him any further, Izuku leans forward to crush your mouth beneath his own. He whimpers in pain as he kisses you, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it almost stirs him forward, spurring him to cup your face with his hands as tears track down to cut through the crimson lines on his cheeks.

Izuku Midoriya is nothing short of an enigma. Here he is, bruised and bleeding, but he wrought his way to find you despite all of the pain. You wish you could burden some of it on his behalf, taking up the mantle of his own personal Atlas, meant to shoulder the weight of his existence so he can catch a quick breath.

His forehead touches yours as he pulls away, a sobbing gasp parting his mouth, “I’ll be fine. I just need you.”

You brush his hair away from his eyes, forcing him to look at you with the tender turn of your wrist. His right eye is bruised and swelling itself shut, blood caked from his brow to his jaw, pouring steadily from the wound he’s got split open on his head.

The only thought running through your mind, creating a path of worn ground against your cerebrum, is that this will be but another one to add to the collection; another piece of art to hang in his mausoleum. Judging by the amount of blood caked in his hair and brow, and the depth of the wound, it will surely leave a tattered scar of flesh behind.

An errant thought crosses your mind then – will he have such painful memories of this specific wound? Or will he recall this one to be the scar that brought him back to you?

You can’t help it when your lower lip trembles. You can never be surprised at the story of this scar’s origin – it will be engrained in your mind forever. Despite your adoration for the hero, you share in his pain, your own body wincing as a new trickle of crimson stains his temple. You tense your jaw, the muscles in your neck quivering under the strain of your ministrations. Even if he remembers this night fondly, you know that every time you glance at the healed section of his body, you’ll remember his tears, his debilitating pain.

“I’m calling Toshinori,” you grit your teeth, steeling your will, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I let him know I was coming.” Izuku inhales in short bursts; it’s all his chest can handle before splintering pain streaks through his lungs like lightning. He winces as he shifts, one hand drifting to your hip. He dips his thumb beneath the fabric of your top, a shirt he recognizes as his own based on the size of it as it fully engulfs your figure. His logo is on the center, bright green text in stark contrast to the dark grey fabric.

A wave of pride swells within him, starting at the base of his back and building upward like effervescent champagne bubbles floating to the surface. He opens his mouth to set them free in the form of smothering kisses, his lips traveling to every available expanse of your skin he can find.

Deku is a force of nature, a whirlwind you cannot reckon with, so instead you succumb to him.

You allow him to swallow you whole for the first time, diving deeper into the eye of his storm until he is swirling around you and suffocating you. But you do not care. If this is how you have to go, with his tongue holding you hostage, hands like anchors on your hips, dragging you deeper until all you know is the darkness, then you are fine with that.

You’d gladly drown as long as he was the one holding you down.

But Izuku Midoriya is not the dark. He is anything but.

So, instead of burning your breath with his own oxygen, he fills you to the brim with light. He is a sunbeam incarnate, pushing through every crack in your bones to cement them with his kindness. His fingers, while biting into your hips, send a singing sensation up into your skin until you can’t help but smile into his kiss. They are rough with tattered flesh, scars of the past and present plaguing his body like a parasite, eating away at his skin until no longer has anything left to give.

Deku doesn’t wince when you sink down on top of him, settling your body against his thighs. Instead he wraps his arms around you to give you some kind of solace, palms searching your shoulders for the perfect place to rest. His fingers are warm beneath your shirt as his fingers seek out the curve of your spine.

The pure thickness of his body is not lost on you, not now. ­Your hands travel over his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the pads of your fingers. You shiver when he holds you closer, your chest flush with his, the tactile pleasure from his rough skin making your toes curl.

His shoulders are riddled with tiny, slicing scars, a light pink color in contrast to his standard tanned skin. You look for scar after scar, appreciating the damaged parts of him just as much as the smooth ones. You moan when both of his hands squeeze your waist, the pure size of him a gentle reminder as his palms engulf your ribs, his knuckles counting the bones as he runs his hands up and down.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs as he disconnects his mouth from yours, tears settled in his irises, making them glassy, “the villain I-I fought, th-they had a canceling quirk, and they almost got me.”

You know that got me is the safer, calmer equivalent of killed me. His kindness oozes like honey into every facet of him, filling the cracks like veins of marble. Your heart squeezes within your chest at the reality that he could have been lost to you, and suddenly the wounds on his body matter a little less.

No, now it is all about having him here, dense and hot beneath your body. Your fingertips tremble at the thought of him being a ghost of the past, something you once had a hold of, but now is nothing but a memory. You feel hot tears drip over your lashes, clumping up at the base of your eyelids as they flow freely. You sniffle, your hands finding the back of his head to cradle tenderly.

Izuku’s voice is soft, his cheeks gleaming red as he admits his next words, “You were all I could think about.”

Your voice breaks with a sob and you hold him tight around the neck, surging forward to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Izuku wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you snugly as he tilts his head for a better angle. You relish in the warmth he provides, his solid presence giving you comfort as you try to drink him in, pushing aside all the thoughts of potentially never having him like this again.

It’s not even about the way your stomach turns as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, or how hot your body grows as he engulfs you like a flame. No, it is something beautiful and pristine, something that curls around your spine and bolsters it, holding you upright with confidence. Izuku has given you something you haven’t had in so long that you almost can’t put a name to it.

Peace.

There is an undeniable calm that washes over you whenever he is around, whether it be by distance or severe closeness. He suffocates you in his light no matter how far away he is; purely by knowing that he is alive, your heart quiets in your chest. You feel safer as you walk down the streets, the very notion that he will always be there, watching from wherever he may be, builds your bones stronger so you can walk with confidence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” you gasp, coming up for air. You don’t go far, your nose nudging over his cheek as you pant quickly, your chest heaving. “I-I can’t do this without you.”

“Hey,” Deku’s voice is calm, his palms reaching up the back of your shoulders to cover you entirely in his heat. All you want is to coat yourself in him from top to bottom, let him claim you however he needs to, so you never have to let this go. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You open your eyes as he nudges his nose over the bow of your lips, kissing your chin tenderly. Your pupils dilate as you take in the smattering of dark freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, painting his skin erratically so that you know he must be a work of art, a gift from the gods down to mankind. He is too perfect to be anything else.

Your forehead drops as you let out a shaky breath, steadying yourself with your grip on his shoulders. “I-I know, I just…”

Izuku repositions his hands so they’re beneath your top, the warm pads of his fingertips leaving a blazing trail of fire behind as he maps out the curves of your body. You watch as his ripped costume falls in tattered shreds on his shoulders, giving way to the pretty expanse of skin usually hidden beneath it.

The sight of his flayed skin, coated in scars and painted with beauty marks, makes your spine rattle within your frame. Your fingers drift to the bared parts of his body on instinct, a primal need settling in the pit of your stomach, and you trace over the white, lightning-like scars. Your thumb brushes over his collarbone, as if you could sweep away his freckles to leave behind unmarked skin.

Your mind wanders, thoughts branching out to wonder if there even is a patch of his skin that is pure, unmarred by any form of markings.

Izuku must follow your train of thought, because he peels his hands away from your body to tug his costume at the waist, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the floor before he pulls his shirt over his head, or what remains of it. The tattered fabric is in a bloody, dirty heap on the floor, but you barely have the wherewithal to notice when he is bared in front of you.

A gasp parts your mouth when you take in his nude torso. He is a plethora of contours and shadows, sinew holding his muscles together in a taut fashion. Your hands are hovering in front of his chest, darkened nipples piqued under the cool air blowing from the vent above. You have to force yourself to swallow, pent-up tension making your throat bob.

“See?” Izuku’s voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back from tears, “I’m right here.”

Your eyes try to find a part of him that isn’t doused in speckles, the darkened patches of skin making him look even tanner. He has them sprinkled all over his body, clumps of them gathering together like tiny nebulas. Your gaze slowly drags down from his collarbones to his abdomen, the freckled dots like destinations on a treasure map, leading you to one central location.

When you make eye contact with the trail of dark hair that starts at his navel, thin and then growing thicker, you feel your stomach turn over. You lick your drying lips, a heat beginning to build up in your core. You would clench your thighs together, but the way you’re straddling him currently makes that impossible. Instead, you roll your hips forward so you can scoot further up his lap.

It’s like you don’t believe what you see in front of you – that he’s truly here, open and bare in front of you, vulnerable in every sense of the word. The wound on his head has stopped bleeding, but that doesn’t mean that he’s okay.

“Touch me.”

You tilt your head, confused by his forward command. Your cheeks burn bright with a blush and he chuckles at the sight of you so flustered. Midoriya takes you by the hands, guiding your touch to his chest first.

The tips of your fingers blaze when they find a ragged scar that stretches across the entirety of his pectoral, “I have so many of these ugly things.”

“How many?” you find yourself asking, the filter hard to find when he has you about ready to come undone like this. You feel yourself go lightheaded, hazy at the feel of his rough skin, his heart beating irregularly beneath your touch.

His voice is heavy when he answers, “I lost count.”

Your eyes snap upward to find the usual playful green color of his irises has faded to a pale jade shade, “Izu, hey-”

Deku swallows an emotional lump in his throat, eyelids fluttering at the pain of it before he inhales a full breath. His chest brushes up against yours and you have to withhold the whine that desperately wants to slip from your lips.

“I don’t understand why people are so fascinated with them,” his tone is teetering on the wrong side of angry, lips curled in a downward snarl. He glances south at the rest of his body, pale scars in stark contrast to the rest of his tanned body. “They’re just reminders of my failure.”

You are forceful when you pull his jaw upward, yanking him to face you before you kiss him harshly. Your intense kiss makes him gasp, his hips rolling up into you despite the pain he’s in. Your palms are bruising on his cheeks, but you don’t care because at least he’s kissing you. Deku’s fingertips finally make their way to your hips where he seeks purchase against your ribcage. His digits are tantalizing as he roams the expanse of your midsection.

“You’re my hero,” your voice is breathless and broken when you release him for oxygen. “Don’t you ever call yourself a failure again.”

Izuku’s throat bobs as he basks in your ferocity – eyes ablaze and fingertips harsh as you hold him in place. He finds himself nodding without really knowing what you’ve said, but he supposes that’s just the effect you have on him. You have taken root in his soul, the galaxy in your eyes blacking out everything else in his mind, allowing him not even a moment to let self-doubt creep in and steal away his faith.

After all, in his eyes, you are his whole world, shattered stars and all.

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“You picked dinner, so I get to pick the movie,” you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, your palms splayed against his chest as you press kisses into his shoulder blades.

You’re obsessed with his back, like some little secret you don’t get to see very often. Tonight the two of you were doing yoga before you ate dinner, so he’s currently clad in only a pair of compression pants that reach his mid-calf, leaving his entire upper body for you to appreciate with your gaze and explorative touches.

You nose over the curve of his spine, kisses open-mouthed as he washes the dishes in the sink. You hear his breath hitch and you wonder if now is a good time to start experimenting with how far you can go. Your eyes roam to the base of his spine, the two small dimples at the start of the swell of his ass making your mouth salivate. You relinquish one hand from his chest to dip your thumb into the cavity his muscles have created, brushing against a cluster of freckles.

It has been some time since you’ve seen him with his shirt off, and many times since then, but you’ve never been able to discover what’s below his belt. Your mind wanders as you suppress the itch in the base of your fingerprints, like the very code of you is designed to strip him down to nothing. You want to know how far his freckles truly go.

In your mind, you believe that he is sprinkled with stardust, paler patches of freckles sporadically placed along his body. He is a canvas, fresh and ready for the constellations to burn into his flesh. You want to swirl your hands over the galaxies imprinted upon him by the gods themselves; as if he were made of marble, ready to carve and curate however they may please.

You take a leap of faith when you dip your fingertips beneath the tight waistband of his joggers. The aborted stutter of his hips combined with the sharp intake of breath from his throat tells you all you need to know.

From here you can see clusters of freckles on the globes of his ass, concentrated mostly near the top, where sunlight can penetrate when he’s not in his hero suit. You have to catch yourself before you drip drool onto his curved backside.

The hand on his chest roams until you find his pebbled nipple, the crevices of your palm washing over the flesh until you hear a muted moan shake his throat. You lean forward, forehead tucked between the cartilage of his shoulder blades so you can feel the heat radiating from him even closer now.

“Can I-”

“Please.”

You’ve never heard him beg before, at least not like this.

It has been some time since your first date, since the first kiss, since the first confession. Your hands start to sweat at the thought of touching his salacious side, pricking with anticipation as you slowly make your way around his hip towards the bulge in his pants. Your tongue stills within your throat as you brush your thumb against the thick tufts of dark green hair at the base of his stomach beneath his navel.

His body is like a roadmap leading you to one desolate place, his skin singing with heat as you grow closer. You can almost make out a whine that he’s clamped his teeth down on to suppress, but that does nothing to deter you from finding a dozen other ways to elicit an infinite number of those same prurient sounds from his lungs.

When the outside of your palm brushes against the throbbing thickness held tight within his spandex, you feel your whole-body tense. Izuku gulps audibly and you have to hold in something that is a mix of a gasp and a giggle.

You reach your free hand down from his chest to pull at the band of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. You can hear the bob of it against his stomach and you let out a heated breath that spills down over his spine. He shivers and you think that maybe you have him just as captivated as he usually has you.

The thought is thrilling. It bolsters your confidence and allows you the audacity to lean forward and slowly trail your fingers along the base of his cock, tickling him in the most tentative way possible. He grits his teeth and you can feel his buttocks clench in front of you as he tries his hardest not to buck forward and ruin your moment.

You kiss the smattering of freckles near the top of his right shoulder, lavishing the area with your tongue as you trail your thumb up the base of his cock until you reach the tip. You can feel the bead of pre-come beneath the print of your finger and you collect it with the ridges of your digit before dragging it downward to coat him before you begin to pump your hand.

He is thick in your hand, unforgivingly hard as his cock pulses within your grasp. You can tell that it’s taking all of his restraint not to throw his head back and release obscene sounds from his throat, like his desire is caged within his chest, begging to be let out with each erratic heartbeat.

Your tongue licks over his shoulders and you know that he must be imagining what your mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock based on the mewling whimpers that leave his tongue. You can hear him panting, but you want to see him, desperate and whining, so you tug on his waistline with your free palm.

It takes him a moment, his eyes glistening with bliss and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but you manage to get him turned so he’s facing you. Your eyes drag slowly down the entire expanse of his torso, catching on his pert nipples, bright and pink as they shrink beneath the stinging touch of your fingertips. You catch onto the constellations of freckles drifting along his torso – if you look hard enough, you swear that they move. Your eyes cross when you look too closely, so instead you allow your attention to drop lower.

Izuku’s mouth is wide open as your eyes fall to the vee of his hips, the paler freckles placed there making you smile. You lower yourself to your knees, semi-uncomfortable thanks to the tile of the kitchen, but you don’t care. Right now, your focus is singled in on one thing and one thing alone.

You lick your lips and the closeness of your tongue to his cock makes Izuku blush in expectancy. There is a little line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth if you blink your eyes free of lust. You pump him another time in your hand, collecting the new wash of pre from his tip to lubricate his cock. As you do so, your eyes drift to the base of him where his green pubic hair collects in a dark tuft. You can’t decide which part of him to focus on because it’s all too much.

Somehow, he has a scar that runs from the innermost part of his thigh upward, just beneath his balls. You wince at the thought of what had to have caused that, and how much it hurt. You allow one hand to drift over the scar as your eyes come into contact with the patch of freckles hidden beneath the trail of dark, coarse hair that is usually hidden by his clothing.

As you pump your hand down to the base of him, you use your thumb to brush some of the hair away, curious as to how dark the freckles are there. Izuku is completely maddened by your touch, fallen under the enchantment of your hands. He doesn’t even mind that you’ve taken a break from dragging your soft hand around his dick, his mind already blitzed from the short burst of ministrations you have already administered.

You hum as you kiss along the taut skin of his lower abdomen, dragging your lips and tongue towards the thick trail of hair that leads you to his cock. It’s almost like the freckled areas taste different, although you’ve probably made all of that up in your mind. And yet, you don’t mind that it’s more of a fantasy instead of a reality, relishing in the sweetness, nonetheless.

“Fuck,” you hear from above you, one of his hands hung in midair, unsure of whether to grab you or the counter. The other palm grips into his hair and the scalp, tugging to keep himself grounded so he does not float away at the gentle caress of your tongue against his skin.

The bow of your lips purses as you kiss upward to the head of his cock, bright red and teeming with pre-come. The silvery, pearlescent bud of arousal makes your mouth water and you find that you can’t help yourself as you encircle your lips around the tip of him.

Izuku is immediately broken from whatever resilience he was able to gather, his hips bucking forward as he slams both hands into the counter. Little broken bits of marble fall into your hair but you don’t care, instead indulging yourself in watching his reaction to your movements. Midoriya’s pupils are blown wide, completely taken over his usually wide irises. The green bleeds black, lust like a cloud misting in his line of sight.

As his upper body tenses, you’re able to see every contour of muscle, every cord of sinew, and you can’t help it when drool dribbles down your chin onto the tile floor. You moan against the head of his cock, taking another inch of him in as you slide forward to get more comfortable. The sound of his nails creaking against the countertop makes your cunt flutter from within the cotton of your panties, clenching around nothing as you imagine the thickness of him in your mouth against your glutinous walls, squeezing him for all the come he can produce.

You trail one hand around the curling scars on his thigh, thumbprint finding the ridges of the expansive scar, the raised skin making your heart ache for a moment before you refocus on his dick. Your eyes almost cross as you try to focus on the freckles now hidden once more by the thick green hair at the bottom of his belly.

As you retreat backward, your line of sight continues down the length of his cock to realize that he has a littering of freckles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors, scattered all along the entire shaft of his dick, and even a few on the tip. You can’t help it when you smile, licking at them as if they could be removed if you lapped at the skin harshly enough.

It is the small things such as this that make your time with Izuku Midoriya so enjoyable. You are learning something about him every day, something even more interesting and exciting than the last.

Before you can slip your lips further down his length, his hand reaches up to clean the debris from your hair, a broken apology parting his lips momentarily. You look up at him, the tenderness in his touch making your heart go soft.

“H-Holy,” his hips buck forward when you blink up at him, the base of his throat bobbing as he curses, “shit.”

As you pull away from his cock, Izuku’s chest shudders as he tries to regulate his breathing. He shifts his feet on the tile beneath you trying to keep himself from pushing up onto the balls of his toes so he can keep some semblance of control as you pleasure him.

Izuku turns away from you and you whine, your tongue licking the underside of his cockhead before you ask, “Why won’t you look at me?”

He can barely force the words out of his throat as he gazes down at you briefly, the sounds coming forth berated and bedraggled, as if he’d dragged barbed wire across the syllables, “I can’t, damn it. I-I’m gonna-”

You take advantage of the line of sight he has on you, opening your mouth wide and taking him in one fell sucking motion.

Midoriya chokes on his own drool, a little silvery string of it falling in midair until it creates a droplet on the crown of your head. He can’t even find the focus to apologize, his knuckles white as he grips the countertop to keep himself sane.

The word he squeaks out next makes you smile, your teeth grazing his dick: “-come.”

You take it as a challenge, gripping his thighs with your nails, digging crescent moons into his pretty tan skin, adding the shapes to his star-like freckled skin, creating a whole galaxy with a simple bruising touch. Izuku can’t help it as his hips stutter forward, the tip of his cock bucking into the back of your mouth to make you gag.

He’s not sure how you do it, with his cock jammed all the way into the back of your throat, but somehow you have the wherewithal to cup his balls in one hand as the other uses his leg like an anchor to stay hovering on your toes. You never cease to amaze him, even now as you’re on your knees and worshipping his cock like your life might depend on it.

“Touch me,” you whimper as you come up for air, “if you won’t look at me, touch me, please.”

Izuku licks his lips and barely has it in him to pull his hand from the counter, but somehow, he manages it. His hand threads through your locks, fingertips buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and desire. The lust has his whole being singing with anticipation as you bring him to the precipice of arousal. He knows that he won’t last much longer, especially not with you drooling around his cock and bobbing your head in perfect rhythm. And now that he can feel you beneath his fingers, he’s not sure if he’ll even be able to speak coherently when this is all over with.

His hands are exploratory in your hair, dipping in and out of your tresses like waves, finding your scalp to scratch lightly, eliciting a husky moan from your throat. The vibrations of your sounds make his cock pulse, twitching against your tongue as you suck him deeper. Izuku isn’t sure how there is anymore of your throat for him to fuck, but when you hollow out your cheeks, he slides further in, and the pleasure starts to coil around the base of his spine as he’s worked towards his high.

“Baby, I-I’m close,” Izuku manages to blurt when he’s coherent enough, your tongue sweeping down the vein on the underside of his dick. He gasps for breath, his head hanging forward, so his dark curls sweep over his lashes to hide his pretty orbs from you. He grunts, as he ruts up into you, “Real close, hell.”

You take it as a challenge, stiffening your posture so you can force your head up and down, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto your pants, but you don’t care. The way his hands grip into your scalp and the quivering of his thighs as he holds off his own release are but a war cry for you, begging your body to go further, to force that release from within his body.

“Come for me, Izu,” you whimper against his cock, the words muffled by the thick skin of him. You try your best to pout, looking innocent with eyes blown wide, “Please, I wanna taste you. So bad.”

His jaw falls slack, and you know that he’s close, his tip is practically rock hard against your teeth. You hollow out your cheeks and moan as you slowly suck him as hard as you can manage with your jaw starting to ache from the stretch of him. Your pussy clamps around nothing, begging for his girth within your walls.

A few heaving breaths stretch his chest, the muscles of his pectorals rippling in strain as he tries to hold himself back, to respectfully come undone instead of sputtering out like a teenager. You nod with his cock still in your mouth, your tongue padding over the sensitive underside. A wuthering whimper breaks within his throat and you feel his thighs clench one final time before he’s coming apart between your cheeks.

You try to breathe through your nose, his cock buried all the way in your mouth so his come hits in spurts against the back of your throat. You use your hands dug into the plush flesh of his ass to steady yourself, his body uncaring to the pain as long as he’s bucking up into your mouth. His hand in your hair goes tight before falling slack, gentle fingertips wafting through your tresses aimlessly.

You tilt your head back as he begins to soften within your lips, trying to keep his come from dribbling out the corners of your mouth. You catch most of it, the slightly sweet taste of it helping it to go down smoother. You suck him one more time, trying to pull the rest of the arousal from his slit, and a high-pitched whine breaks through the calm of the air like shattering glass.

“S-Sorry,” he moans as his eyes screw shut, one of his palms latching onto the countertop again.

A content laugh turns your lips upward and you kiss the head of his cock before he helps you rise back to your feet. Before you’re upright again, he bolsters forward to kiss you square on the lips. His tongue delves between your teeth, mapping out the curves of your gums as he tastes his spend in each crevice of your mouth.

The moan that reverberates from his chest makes your toes curl, your hands curling to fists against his chest as he presses further into you, trying to be flush with your entire body. You can barely breath as he suffocates you lovingly, bringing stars into your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands spread out over the plane of his chest, the tips of your fingers searching for his scars, the placement of them burnt into your mind like a map.

Deku pulls away with a panting string of apologies mixed with appreciation, his irises overtaking his pupils now that he’s come down from his high. His hands search your face and then your arms, taking in every inch of you as he kisses all over your face.

You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his neck to play with the sharp hair at the nape of his neck, the undercut style making his locks dense and coarse up to his ears where the straight line runs.

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask breathlessly, scrunching your nose as he kisses the tip of it.

Izuku is winded when he nudges his nose against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t fucking care.”

You roll your lips together, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss his mouth chastely, “We might have to do that more often if I’m going to get whatever I want each time.”

The thought of you going down on him makes his heart stutter within the cage of his ribs, stars spread out and blinding against the backs of his lids. He can already imagine the sight of you on your knees, your lips around him as you moan and writhe while he holds your hair tight within his fist…

“Earth to Izuku?” you pat his cheek playfully. “You with us?”

His voice is stuttered as he answers you, a blissful glassiness still coating his irises, “Y-Yeah, I’m right here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

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“C’mon, Princess, you can take it, I know you can,” he murmurs into midair, voice stern but breathy, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lick at the head of his cock, engorged and bright red, beads of pre-come bubbling out of his slit, awaiting you to catch them with your tongue. You lap over the taut, pinkened skin, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him – a fine combination of salty and sweet. You can’t help the draw of your attention to the tanned splotches covering him like stardust, mapping out what would seem to be a different set of constellations every time you look too long.

Izuku’s hand is woven into your hair carefully, so he does not pinch your scalp, but he can still hold onto the makeshift ponytail he’s created with his fingers bunched around your tresses. You whimper, eyes torn from his freckled skin, as he guides your mouth closer to his cock, the head of him brushing against your closed lips.

His voice is thick with restraint, his throat bobbing at the sight of your pretty, jeweled irises looking between him and his cock, wondering how you’re going to take the thick of him between your plush little lips. Your eyes are almost crossed as you try to count his freckles, as if you could pay that close of attention when he’s got you on your knees.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, Angel?” Deku is patronizingly kind as he brushes his knuckles over the curve of your jaw. Your eyes zero in on the scarred stripes along his palm and forearm, your fingertips reaching up to slowly drag across the pale lines that tell a story you’ve heard a dozen times. Izuku makes an audible noise of consideration at your marveling, “You were just beggin’ me for my cock, and now you won’t even open your mouth for me?”

He sounds like he’s pouting, lower lip jutted out just enough for it to look convincing. You swallow your inhibitions, throat bobbing when he brushes his cock along the hollows of your cheeks, the head of him smearing what remains of his pre onto your skin. He chuckles as you gasp, your jaw hung open just enough for him to rut up into your mouth.

You gag around him, lurching forward as tears coat your lashes. You whimper, looking up to him like he might save you from what’s to come. But no, you asked for this. You begged him to let you taste his cock, to have him spill his fullest load onto your tongue and force you to swallow.

“Such a pretty girl,” his words turn to a moan as you take him to the base, forcing yourself to breathe evenly so you won’t gag around him again. His hand in your hair tightens and you take a deep breath, the short, stubbled pubic hairs surrounding his cock doing little to hide the freckles on his smooth skin.

You’re not sure why you love them so much – the freckles.

They are such a distraction that you don’t notice Izuku yanking you by the ponytail until you come off his cock with a loud pop. You whine, keening forward to try and lick at his tip, “I-Izu-please.”

“Uh uh,” he cinches his hand around your hair even tighter, tugging your skin backward until it burns. A smirk lilts his lips, “What’s my name, baby girl?”

Your eyes go wide, pupils swallowing your irises whole. Deku almost misses the color, if it not for the fucked out look that takes their place, telling him exactly what he’s done to you. He bites down on his lower lip, half-hooded lids considering you, “You’re already a mess for me, aren’t you baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Your cock,” you whine, squinting your eyes so you don’t have to feel his authoritative penetrating your very being. Your thighs tense, pussy clamping down around nothing but thin air, wet with arousal and begging to be full of him. Before Izuku can tell you to correct yourself with a simple syllable, you repeat yourself, “Your cock, Daddy.”

A satisfied expression smooths his features, the red of his cheeks doing little to hide the smattering of freckles to match those littered across his cock and thighs. You brush your nose against his navel, kissing the gentle swell of muscle beneath it. Izuku licks his lips, hips rolling forward so his cock brushes over the length of your throat.

“That’s’a good girl.” Deku purses his lips as you kiss down his shaft, your tongue lapping over every inch of him. Your eyes are level with his pubic bone, searching for the tanned droplets of sunshine incarnate on his skin, hidden beneath dark tufts of jade hair curled around the base of his cock.

Before you take him between your lips, you lick a stripe from the underside of his shaft up to his navel. You can’t help yourself as the dark smattering of freckles call out to you, a reminder that even though he is tainted by the war of the world, you still have these small victories to come back to. You worship his taut skin with your lips and tongue, the muscle parting your mouth to lick at his body.

Izuku’s fingers weave into the hair at the base of your head, eyes watching you closely as you pay special attention to the various patches of densely packed freckles. You nose over his hipbone, breathing slowly, the wash of warmth prickling his skin and forcing him up on his toes as he reacts to it.

There is a large part of him that wants you to stop. Not because he’s selfish enough to force you to pay attention to the throbbing heat between his legs, but rather because your praise is something that makes him feel even more unworthy. He is self-conscious of his body, both the discolored spots that he’s never able to be rid of in tandem with the ragged rips in his flesh that you seem to love so much. He has never understood your fascination with his body, but you are relentless with your affections.

It comes in many forms. At times it is the way you run your fingertips over his shoulders when you’re laying together, and other times it is your mouth finding his knuckles when you think he’s asleep. You are unashamed to lavish his body with unending passion, and even the smallest of deformities that he believes are his secret, you manage to find.

You loll your tongue out to let the collected spit pool over his length, sucking at the head when you get to it. Deku rubs his thumb against your neck, fingertips searching your hair for purchase. He’s taken aback when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him deep into the heat of your mouth. His eyes go wide, but he’s thankful you can’t see with the way his head is thrown back.

“Fuck, baby,” his hand twitches against your scalp, “fuck, this mouth.”

He starts rolling his hips forward, pumping himself in and out of your mouth like he might your pussy. You feel drool seeping out of the corners of your lips but you don’t dare break away, because that would bring forth a punishment, and your cunt is already sopping wet with the anticipation of his cock buried deep within you. Deku grunts, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he holds you still with the hand against your head.

You reach up to find his free palm, lacing your fingers together at the knuckle, using him as some sort of an anchor to reality as the subservient headspace begins to take over. It washes through you like a balm, a warm sensation that feels like home.  Your eyelids fall over your irises, hiding your expression from him, but he can tell the way you feel by your ministrations against his hand and on his cock. You are desperate for him, one hand clutching his thigh until your nails dig in and leave tiny crescent moon prints behind.

You like to think of his freckles as stars, your marks making him more like the night sky with each grip. You moan as you hold yourself at the base of him, tongue lapping around his length from within your mouth. Your thumb finds a familiar scar on the back of his hand, knuckles marred from battle and bravery.

It’s times like these that you want to cry for him, for what his body has endured. It’s the reason you want to worship every inch of him, to give him what he deserves because god knows the world will never give him back what he’s due. So here you sit, perched in front of him like a little dove, eyes blown to hell and your metaphorical wings spread wide as you take him for all he’s worth.

Izuku can’t take it any longer – the tenderness of your touch mixed with the obedient look in your eyes. It’s all too much, making his head spin at your sincerity.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tugging you by the throat, gently but firmly.

And you follow him, like you would follow him anywhere.

You step forward dumbly, blindly going wherever he tells you. He guides you to the bed, turning you over so your face is pressed into the coolness of the sheets, your bright red cheeks thankful for the change in temperature. You angle your ass upward perfect, round globes ripe for his hands to lay into.

“Such a sloppy little pussy, baby,” he murmurs against the skin of your lower back as he kisses down your spine. His middle finger runs up and down the length of your slit, collecting the silvery strands against his digit, “All this just for me?”

“All for you, Daddy, all for you, promise,” you’re whimpering out, cunt desperately clenched as you try to trap his finger in your heat. “Please, I want you so bad, need your cock, Daddy.”

Izuku pushes his finger into your core, curling it up towards that special spot that it seems only he can find. His finger is thick, knuckle curved in just the right way that it drags along your walls salaciously, eliciting a loud, careening moan from your mouth. You muffle your sounds into the mattress, but Midoriya is having none of that.

He yanks you by the throat, fingers digging deep into your skin until you’re sure that you’ll have bruises, “Nah uh, little one. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Midoriya pumps his finger into you mercilessly, your arousal coating him down to the palm, making your thighs slick. You whimper, your lewd sounds echoing off the walls. You can feel the tip of his cock against your ass, throbbing with heat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from imagining it in place of his fingers.

“I know you can be louder, slut,” Deku pinches your neck tighter in his grip, “I want the neighbors to know my name when we’re through.”

You try to protest but it’s cut short when his finger rams into you, two knuckles deep, a sharp cry splitting your throat wide open. The sound morphs into a whimper, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

Deku leans forward to kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice hoarse with want when he speaks, “That’s my girl. Do it again.”

He relinquishes your throat to start slapping your ass, his eyes unable to fall away from your pretty skin marked red from his ministrations. You grit your teeth together so you can better withstand the pain, giving yourself something else to focus on besides his unrelenting spankings.

“Daddy, harder,” you whine, your ass stinging but not so much that you can’t follow through on your plea.

A dark chuckle reverberates throughout the room, Midoriya’s smirk from earlier returning. If you could see his eyes, you’d notice the way his pupils have completely overtaken his emerald orbs, giving way to the parts of him that want to make you hurt only so he can be the one to soothe you all better.

He indulges you, palm stretched wider so he can land harder smacks to your cheeks. Now he’s got two fingers in you, filling your cunt with his knuckles, the scars against them giving you friction that makes you see stars. He pumps you in time with his spankings, slow but merciless. Deku is careful not to go too far, no matter how difficult that might be with the lust that clouds his vision, painting his sight bright red.

“Good girl,” he rewards you by stopping, grabbing your plush ass in his fingertips, digging blunt nails into your skin so it stings even harsher.

You rut your hips back against his hand at the sudden jolt of pain, tears dripping from your eyelids to the mattress, staining the sheets a darker shade. You whimper, your mind unable to focus on any one stimulation – your ass, your cunt, or your throat.

“You think you’re ready for my cock?” he asks, although you know it to be rhetorical.

You’re nodding your head anyway, desperately begging inaudibly for him to stuff you full, your cunt suffocating around his cock as he pounds into you. Deku slowly drags his hand from your pussy, words dripping just like your core, “What was that, Princess? I couldn’t hear you.”

Now you’re foaming at the mouth to force syllables from between your teeth, blubbering around tears. You sniffle, frustrated with your own headspace and timid with the thought of punishment for not answering quick enough, “Y-Yes, Daddy. I-I’m ready.”

“Hey,” he runs his hand, searing from the spankings, up the length of your spine, fingertips mapping out each vertebra, “you still with me, baby?”

You turn to look over your shoulder when he brushes his thumb over the little blooming bruises on your neck, evidence of his fingers claiming you for his own, “Yeah, I-I’m right here.”

A smile tugs on his lips, his fingers finally pulled from your sopping heat to coat his cock in your slick. You whimper at the loss of contact, cunt fluttering around nothing as you beg for him to fill you up again, any way he chooses.

And he obliges you, bottoming out within the first stroke.

You can’t help it when a fresh set of saltine droplets track down your cheeks, your head thrown back in pleasure as he holds himself steady, his pelvis flush with your ass. It still burns, the stinging of skin-on-skin doing little to quell the ache from his spankings. You lick your lips to try and soothe yourself in some way, your throat already crackling from use.

Licking your lips, you gently move back against him, encouraging him, “Daddy, I want you to fuck me. Please, won’t you fuck me?”

Deku sounds like he’s trying to hold back some sort of salacious sound, a strangled noise caught in his throat like barbed wire. You look back at him, chin pressed against your collarbone. It’s the sight of you that does him in, that wants to claim you for every ounce of what you’ve got to give. He wants to mark your body until there is no color remaining but bright purple and blue and red, bruises and scrapes alike adorning your pretty body, letting the whole world know exactly who you belong to.

The thought of sinking his teeth into every available spot of skin that he can find makes his fingers curl tighter around the supple skin of your thighs until you’re crying out for him. You writhe beneath him as opens his eyes, baring even your soul with his stare. His body squirms as he withstands the desire to launch himself at you, feral and promising with his teeth finding your pristine body and marring it for his own selfish cause.

At least then your bodies would match in their markings.

You’d be his own little galaxy; he muses as his hands massage into your thighs to keep himself busy, so he doesn’t follow through on the yearnings rolling around in his mind. He can see you stood next to him, your body littered in affections – hickeys that are blown out all around your body, little nebulas and planets with their swirling colors of purple and blue; long lines of bright pink scratch marks that streak forward like shooting stars curling around your muscles; pierced tooth marks that scatter across your body like stars.

Even though he’s the Number One Pro Hero, Izuku has never felt so whole until he’s balls deep in your pussy, the tip of him tucked up against your cervix so much so that you swear you feel him in your spine. He takes one palm to gently brush over your stomach, the bulge of his cock making his pride swell almost as much as your belly. You are his whole world, whether or not you are just as bruised and battered as he is. He will bear the burden of the scars if it means he can have you like this forever.

“Take me so well, Princess,” he murmurs into the skin of your shoulders, leaning forward so his chest is pressed flush with your back.

He is hot, but not unbearably so. Almost in a way that reminds you he is still there, an anchor for your soul to latch onto in the darkness of the room, holding you firmly to tether you to this version of reality. You grasp the sheets in your hands, desperate to feel him but unable to from this position, so you settle for the thread count instead.

“Please, Daddy, I want to feel you,” you beg him again, whimpers bubbling up into your chest like champagne bubbles. The effervescent feeling is almost too much, too overwhelming, as it rushes to your head quickly. You have to close your eyes, so you do not get dizzy. You see stars as your lids come down over your pupils and the sight of them reminds you of Izuku’s body. So much so that you want to look up at him again, begging him with your words, “Want to touch you.”

Deku obliges you, slowly pumping his tremoring cock in and out of your heat, coating himself in your slick before twisting your body around so you can peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, “Look at this slutty, sloppy pussy. Such a pathetic little mess for me, aren’t’cha?”

“Yes, Daddy, all for you.” You nod, blinking repeatedly to try and keep your eyesight clear so you can make out his beautiful travesty of a body. Despite the absolute adoration held in your pretty orbs, Deku notices that it is not his face you seek out when you first are turned to look at him, instead your eyes drift to the bared parts of his body that he hates most.

It would seem that each time you find him this way, with your hands mapping out his torso underneath your touch, you find a new part of him, a new marking that you don’t remember being there before. Your breath shudders from your lungs and it feels like thunder erupts in your chest when you breathe, “Please, Daddy.”

You are pouting as you start to run your touch up his arms, starting at his wrists where his palms are pinning your hips into the bed. You swirl your thumbnail around the familiar scars of his hands, those old marks from his time at Yuuei, pushing himself to be the best young hero-in-training there ever was. You recall watching the Sports Festival in his first year, the fight with Todoroki Shouto like a burnt ember settled in the back of your mind. You see the fire and the ice, the shuddering arena shaking with the imminent power of the teenager prodigies.

A hum buzzes in your throat as your fingerprints map out the way to his elbows, finding lengthy scars that make you shudder. Your tongue lolls out against your lips as you wish you could patch his body up with your kiss. You know that he does not marvel at the sight of himself in the same way that you might; you put him up on this pedestal, scars and all, and yet he only sees them as a weakness.

The rough patch of tarnished skin on his right bicep has begun to lose its rigidity as time passes. It was one of his first scars and has been worn down with time. Your hand still finds it, though, even as your eyes are screwed shut and he is angled away from you. It’s like you have a map of his body burned into the back of your eyelids, memorized from all of the times that you’ve fallen apart beneath him or comforted him with your touch.

He is patronizing when he speaks next, eyes blown to hell at the sight of you so far gone for him when he hasn’t even brought you to your first orgasm. He can feel you spasming around him, cunt flexing to try and coax him closer to the edge. He is nowhere near the precipice, holding himself off for your sake, wanton to see you come undone around his cock.

Your pupils try their hardest to focus, begging to be drawn to his bedraggled skin, the stark contrast between tan skin and pale scars heightened even further in your blissed-out state. Your palm flattens against the marking on his bicep, the flayed spot even more expansive than your hand in its entirety. You gasp as he ruts up into you painfully quick, your fingers digging into the rugged flesh, nails biting against the ridges.

When he stills within you, it gives you a moment to slacken your hold and trace the corners of the scar, pretending that he is a patchwork quilt, an antique that you’ll never be able to get enough of. You take a breath and use your free hand to find his chest, a lightning-bolt shaped scar that runs from his collarbone down until it fizzles out into a small scratch near where his taut pectorals meet.

Midoriya trails his thumb downward to your clit, brushing the rough pad of his finger against your sensitive bud. You mewl into the mattress, face turning sideways into the pillow as you no longer are able to hold yourself upright. You beg him to fuck you harder, faster, with something more that you know he has not given you yet.

“What do you want, baby girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you want me to do to this pathetic, slutty little pussy.”

You gasp out words, but he cannot make sense of them as they’re lost in the fabric of the sheets. He slams into you once before dragging his cock outward, slowly skimming the tip between your folds, “Louder. Or else I’m spanking you again.”

He thinks for a moment, tilting his head to consider you as he looks down his nose at you, “And I’m flipping you back over.”

“N-No, please, wanna-” You are begging for breath, your inflamed lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, and you can’t make syllables coherent enough for him to understand. You whimper, squeezing your eyes closed as the brunt of his hand comes down hard over your ass repeatedly until you’re screaming.

Izuku is holding you by the ass, both hands dug deep into the plush skin, “Did I fucking stutter?”

You are able to behold one last gaze of his ethereal body, skin marked like the night sky, before he has you with your face dug into the pillow, his cock and hips jackhammering into you from behind. He does not give you but a moment to breath, the fabric of the pillow stuffing your throat as you try to inhale through your mouth. You cough and it causes your cunt to squeeze around his dick. Deku stutters forward, a choking sound echoing in the back of his throat.

“Holy hell,” he mutters, leaning forward to drape himself across your back, reaching around with his hands to pinch at your nipples. “So fuckin’ tight, little one. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

You whimper out something that sounds like a response, so he takes the lead and starts rutting into you again, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing off of the walls. You can’t help the drool that spills from your tongue, wetting the sheets and sticking to your chin. You’re practically in tears as he abuses your pussy with his cock, it only growing as you feel the buildup of his power starting to swell from within him.

The air turns electric, but not nearly hot enough for you to know that he’s turned his quirk on. You force a glance over your shoulder, mewling out something that sounds like a pleading cry for him to turn you back so you can gaze up at him again.

“But I like taking you like this, Princess,” Izuku runs his thumbs over your ass, using the cusp of his power to strike small lightning bolts of seafoam color against the skin of your backside. You jolt at the pain, bucking your hips back into him and he moans, “There you go, baby.”

You whine, curling your toes against his hips from your position. He chuckles at the sign of desperation, sweat glistening down your back from exertion. His hips slam forward again, and you’re sure he’s bruised your cervix this time with how deep he has buried himself into you. There are ridges of scar tissue around his hip bones that you can feel even as he fucks into you from behind, the raised skin making your ass burn from where he has slapped you with the strength of his quirk.

“Daddy, I wanna,” you are panting like a puppy into the sheets, your pussy dripping onto the mattress beneath you. You huff out a breath and squeal when he splits your pussy open again with a particularly rough thrust forward, “Daddy!”

Deku pinches your backside with both hands, the biting touch of pain making your eyes water until tears are coating your lashes and staining the pillowcase, “What, huh? What more do you want, Princess?”

You know that Izuku is a sucker for your needs. If you whine hard enough, he’ll give you anything you want. So, with that in mind, you pout to give your demeanor an even more innocent aspect, “I-I wanna kiss you, p-please.”

As expected, he stills his hips from where he is bruising your ass with his scars and bones alike. You wonder for a moment if the imprint of his marred skin will leave an impression on you if you could carry around a little piece of him always.

However, this time when he yanks himself from you, a squelching sound echoes throughout the room in tandem with your mewling whine at the loss of heat, and he does not reenter you immediately. You are about to stutter out something akin to a protest, but you feel his fingertips dip into your sides and instead you let loose a yelp.

Deku takes you by the hips, easily yanking you upward and flipping you around so your back is flush with the mattress, the sweat on your spine making the sheets stick to you. Your eyes are wide, hands gripping into his marred biceps like claws sinking into his skin.

“What?” he is smirking as he nudges his nose against yours, the heat of his cock pressed into your folds but not penetrating just yet. “I like this angle better.”

He nips at your skin before pulling himself back, his hand groping your breast with purpose. He is tweaking your nipple under his touch while his other hand runs his cock against your slick heat, teasing you mercilessly. He watches the lips of your pussy tense when he gets close, wavering at the anticipation of his cock dredging into you with force.

“Plus,” Deku tilts his head, palm reaching up from your chest to grab your face between his fingers, “you never answered me.”

His thumb finds your clit again, dick teasing you by resting between your thighs, throbbing and dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His fingers are intense as they squeeze your cheeks together, lips ballooned out pertly. Deku chuckles at the sight of you, red in the face and begging him for more with the subtlety of your eyes.

Something twinges within him as he can’t keep your focus on his eyes, but rather on his body. He should feel pride swell in his chest at your adoration of his finely tuned body from years of hard work, but he knows that you are focused on the scars of his body and it gives him a sour taste in his mouth.

The thoughts in his mind flee from your pert chest and smooth stomach and instead he wonders what it is about his skin that you find so enticing. You run your fingertips over each ridged scar, finding the different colors of worn skin beneath the pads of your hands, showing them immense affection with just a gentle touch. His whole body shudders at the feel of you appreciating him with massaging motions and tracing, but he wants to ask you the questions he’s been begging silently for months, years even.

You are trying to form words, but the only thing coming from your mouth is spittle, drool seeping through the cracks of your lips until it coats your chin, cool beneath the air conditioning. Slowly your eyes roll forward so you can look into his darkened pupils, the middle of his irises resembling the darkest beauty marks that he has littered throughout his body. You smile at the sight of his intense irises seeking you out.

Midoriya laughs as the heel of his hand sops it up, smearing it back against your lips before cleaning his palm on the bed sheets. He leans forward, his cock sheathed fully within you as he grows closer to your face. Your palm reaches out to cup his jaw, the tips of your fingers finding the familiar pale lines of his skin to trace like it were a nervous tick.

“C’mon, now,” he kisses your nose, an innocent gesture in stark contrast to the intense motions he’s administering to your clit. “Tell Daddy.”

Your mouth splits wide open with the three words, a confession you know that he’s heard you utter before, but it does not come any less lascivious from your lips the more you beg, “One for All.”

He does not respond immediately, pupils dilated as he glances down at you. Your body squirms beneath his lack of movement, begging for some sort of friction on any part of you. The skin of your ass tingles as he presses you down firmer into the mattress, and you want to cry out but all you can blubber is those three words, again and again, as you plead for him to use his quirk on you.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you swear to him, nodding your head enthusiastically, “I want it so bad, Daddy, please, I want you to-”

Your begging is cut short by a sizzling in the air, the familiar popping of his quirk activating making your skin pebble with goosebumps. Your mouth runs dry at the sight of his skin lighting up with those familiar red lines, power coursing through his veins and making his hair stand on end.

Reaching up, you run your fingers through it, nails scraping at his scalp so you can feel the heat of his energy sparking against your fingertips. You arch your back upward to try and catch some of the wayward sparks, the salacious stinging of your skin only furthering the copious amount of slick between your thighs.

Deku tilts his head up to look you in the eyes, pupils shrunken down so his sea green irises can shine bright, glowing in the darkness of your bedroom. The entire room is aglow with his power, the very strength and resilience that has allowed him to build up so much intensity a conduit for your pleasure. His cock pulses against your thighs and you find yourself clenching around him, your body begging for him to stay close, too frightened at what might happen if he were to pull away.

“This what you wanted?”

His voice is deeper now, a rumbling timbre in his chest that makes your toes curl. You are panting at the expectancy of it all, sweat trickling down your temples and spine from the sudden change in temperature. The heat rises the longer he uses his quirk, so much so that you wonder if you could burn from it. The thought excites you, lights up your eyes until you cannot hold it in anymore.

You lean forward to kiss him on the mouth, slotting your lips between his. Pops of electricity stem from his entire body, sparking in midair before fizzling out with a gentle wash of ash. Deku licks at the seam of your lips, pressing his tongue between your teeth to map out every bump of your gums.

“Please,” you whimper against his tongue, “fuck me, hero.”

You have no more than spoken the words when his cock slips into your heat, coated with your arousal as quickly as he can rut forward. He grits his teeth to keep his composure, body trying to crumble between the use of his quirk and the feel of your tight cunt. You can’t help but notice the way he stretches you out even more so now than before, and you know that it’s in part to the fact that his girth has widened even further after he’s summoned his dormant power.

Deku reaches forward to press his glowing palm to your chest, rolling the bud of your breast between his fingertips as he starts to fuck into you. Your body is racked with effort, practically a ragdoll beneath him, all weak joints and jellied bones. And yet he is as powerful as ever between his mouth and his hands and his dick, every part of him built for your utmost undoing.

Lines of electricity fly from his body, bright green lightning strikes making the air pop all around you. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth when the first one stings your skin, lighting up the room in a flash of intense voltage. Izuku pauses, his hips stilling, “Baby?”

“Again,” you are panting, eyes half-closed as you revel in the pleasure from the shockwave. “Please.”

Deku has to focus on the electric side-effect of his quirk, closing his eyes so he can control the power radiating from his body. He starts to roll his hips into you slowly, once he feels settled with the coursing energy brought on by One for All.

You peel your lids back so you can watch as energy rushes through his frame, lighting up his body in such a way that reminds you of the pure power that he keeps hidden from the world most of the day. The light coursing just beneath his skin only serves to further draw out the beauty of his marred skin. His freckles are stars painted against the bright red and green patterns of electricity surging around his body like lightning bolts. You reach up to brush your thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, sucking in a breath at the sheer heat he’s radiating.

The reality that you have the very universe under your touch does not go unnoticed by you. You marvel at the constellations splayed out before you on his skin, giving you a small drop of the milky way right here in your home. It is overwhelming, the thought of it all dizzying as the heat thuds against the back of your eyes. And despite the boulder that sits on your shoulders at the burden of having to hold up his universe, you feel a jolt of exhilaration with the responsibility settling in your belly. You will be the one who he can crumble into when he’s tired of shining out for everyone else.

After all, a star can only be born after a nebula collapses.

Deku’s arms are strong around you as he holds you in place, cock sliding deep into your heated core, collecting your slick and his pre for easier lubrication, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft making you shiver as it drags against your walls. His biceps flex with the use of his quirk and the effort of holding you in midair to keep you snapped up into him and your hands are drawn to his bulging muscles all over again.

There is no doubt that he could keep you safe from any harm – one flick of his fingers, and a villain is rendered to a helpless annoyance.

The notion makes you shiver, reaching your hands up towards his shoulders, caressing his arms to feel the protruding cords of muscle rippling under the stress of his quirk. Your fingerprints find scars, puckered pink and marring his pretty tan skin. Other people might think that these markings make him weak, proving that he is fallible, mortal. But you think that every line on his body is a visible reminder that he has given so much to those who might not ever give it back. He has been beaten, bruised, and broken, and yet here he still stands, tall and proud in the face of danger.

Izuku knows that look in your eyes – wonder, awe, respect.

It swells his pride even further, his chest taut as he puffs himself up at the sight of you with adoration like stars in your irises. His thrusts are more intense now, guiding you closer to the cusp of pleasure, begging your body with the pulse of his cock to come undone.

“I-Izu, please.” You’re pushing your face into the pillow now, the burning hot pool building up steam in your belly becoming too much. He doesn’t even care that you’ve slipped up, not when he’s got you wrapped around him like a coil, working you from the inside out to drag the licentious sounds from your throat.

“Please what, Princess?” His hand sparks electricity around your chest, your nipple now pert with the fizzle of electricity as it creeps beneath your skin and into your veins. “Look at me, c’mon.”

He smacks the side of your breast, watching as the round flesh ripples under his ministrations. He breathes heavy, his chest inflating rapidly as his hips drill mercilessly into you. You clamp around him, quietly pleading with him to stay buried to the hilt so you.

When you don’t respond by turning your head, Midoriya grabs you by the cheeks, dominantly forcing your vision back to him. He’s almost regretful when you whimper, a shining trail of drool spilling from your mouth to pool into the pillowcase. The damp spot draws his attention and his cock twitches within your pussy, brushing up into your cervix and making you cry out, throat so hoarse that your voice cracks.

Izuku blinks hard, pulling his eyes away from the dark circle on the pillow to focus on your face, slipping his thumb into your mouth to press down on the center of your tongue. He smirks, his free hand holding you by the ass now, digging blunt nails into your flesh to create a conduit for his electricity to flow straight to your backside.

You whimper around his digit, the sound muffled by his finger, “G-Gonna come, Daddy.”

“Are you now?” he asks proudly, tilting his head to consider you. “Did I say you could come?”

You’re shaking your head as he grabs your ass harder, bringing tears to your eyes at the immense pressure combined with the raw feeling from his spankings earlier. As if to challenge you, Deku starts jutting forward, driving your hips deeper into the mattress until you feel like you might fall through.

The use of his quirk makes him so much stronger, his corded body trying to restrain from using its full power on you, despite calling all of it forward. He grits his teeth down so hard that you think you hear his jaw creaking, but you hardly have time to notice before you’re having to ward off your own pleasure. Using every ounce of One for All, Izuku bruises your cervix with the engorged head of his cock, the quirk enlarging every part of him.

You beg him with blurred words and hazy vision, whining and keening, until he’s leaning down close to your face, his hand now moved from your mouth to your throat, wet fingers wrapped around your neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs with his nose against your cheek, lips dancing along your jawline to place feather light kisses, much in contrast to the otherwise bludgeoning intensity of the rest of his ministrations. “Such a pretty little thing.”

Your eyes find his face as he leans back to look down at you, the freckles dusted over his cheeks stark beneath his bright red streaks symbolizing the use of his quirk. You reach upward to tuck your palm against his cheek, cupping the skin burning hot with the coursing energy of his power. Your thumb brushes over the roundest part of his face and his eyes shudder closed at the feeling.

He kisses your wrist, bottoming out into your cunt with a harsh thrust forward. Deku turns his gaze to you, electric irises finding your soul through way of your pupils, “You gonna come when I tell you?”

“Yes, yes,” you’re practically foaming at the mouth, little spit bubbles at the corners of your lips at the thought of coming around his cock, your arousal mixed with his seed as he fills your core with his come. “Please, Daddy, I wanna come for you.”

Izuku nods, kissing your wrist again before falling back on his thick legs to grab you by the thighs, lifting you up off the mattress. It is just a display of his strength, his biceps bulging with effort, but it does what he intends for it to do when he feels your dripping arousal slipping from your slit down to drip onto the mattress.

“Fuck, look at your sloppy little pussy, Princess,” Deku moans at the sight of your silvery slick pouring out of you. He runs his thumb against the curve of your backside to catch what he can, running it over your clit before sucking his digit between his teeth.

Using his damp fingertip, Izuku begins to work at your clit, his other hand still pinning your thighs up in midair. He licks his lips at the sight of you on the cusp of pleasure, your body begging to come undone with the way your pussy clamps around his cock.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes you with a kind voice, electric pops crackling in the air like fireworks. “Come for me.”

You quit holding back, letting your body rush with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure. Every part of you is on fire, from his touch mixed with the searing heat of his body and the green lightning that strikes your body to leave tiny pink pucker marks. The sight of you marked up by his teeth and tongue and quirk bring him to his own heightened arousal, unable to hold back when he feels you gush with come from within the confine of your walls.

The glowing iridescent light making the room fluorescent fades into the dark with every spurt of his come into your cunt until he is no longer using One for All.

“Good girl,” he kisses your cheek, “now let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

You’re not sure what flips the switch within you – whether it’s the tight look of his uniform showing off the peaked buds of his nipples and the engorged head of his cock, or if it’s the blush on his freckled cheeks, making him look so much younger than the twenty plus years old he is now.

Whatever it is, it makes your mouth water and your fingertips buzz.

“Bedroom. Now.”

“B-But, the pad tha-”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Izuku’s thighs spasm at the authoritative tone of your voice and suddenly he feels about two inches tall despite towering over you no matter the situation. He tucks his head downward as he walks past you, down the hall towards the bedroom the two of you now share. Usually he is the one speaking those words as he stands over the top of you, his hand stinging red from spanking your ass as he orders you around, but the way they sound from your tone of voice makes his entire body quake.

The soft click of the door as it slips shut makes goosebumps rise on his skin, the stubbled hair on the back of his neck standing as upright as possible. There is a grunt from your mouth and a shuffling of your feet on the carpet as you kick off your shoes.

“B-Baby, I-”

Somehow you have shoved your foot into the crook of his knee, toppling him over onto the bed so he’s face first into the mattress, his ass perked upward as he tries to balance himself so he does not fall over. The globes of his backside are stretched tight within the spandex of his uniform, and you know the beautiful expanses of freckled skin that lay beneath the material.

Izuku looks over his shoulder, attempting to protest or ask you what is wrong, but you don’t want to hear it, so you lean forward and press your palm against his cheek, “You don’t speak unless spoken to, do you understand?”

He’s whimpering under your harsh touch, but the way his pupils dilate tells you that he’s enjoying it at least enough to test it out. You shove yourself backward, centered between his ass cheeks as your knees dig into the edge of the mattress. The tips of your fingernails run over the plush flesh of his backside, digging in to make him gasp and writhe beneath you.

Your heart hammers in your chest at seeing the up and coming Pro Hero wriggling like a frightened animal under your ministrations, and you’ve barely laid a hand on him yet. You run your knuckle up his spine, “Take your top off.”

The way he balances his head on the mattress and grapples with his shirt in an attempt to take it off is almost comical, so you crack a smile, thankful that he can’t see you. You lick your lips and drag your hand back down his back to rest at the base of his spine as he scrambles to take the shirt off, but he’s too flustered and it ends up bunched up around his neck and shoulders.

Finally, he gets so frustrated that he rips the fabric in half, shreds of thread falling against his skin and the sheets. You feel heat flood to your core, your spine white hot within your body, the tingles of heat spreading from the center of you outward until your fingertips and toes are blazing with fire.

You hum in appreciation at the sight of his rippling shoulders and trap muscles, his body shifting to dip back into the mattress, balancing all of his weight on his forearms as he leans forward. Your touch drifts from his shoulders to his obliques, the bumps of muscle corded beneath your digits. You watch as his body ripples with a shiver, every one of his muscles tensing as your fingers pad over his freckles, finding patches of darker skin to administer affection to.

It must be the pure anticipation that has his frame tense and quivering, the smallest of muscles twitching as you work your hands around his body. You settle your palms at his hips, flattening your hand against the expanse of skin at the center of his torso, “Baby, relax.”

You lean forward and kiss the dense smattering of freckles between his shoulder blades, “Now be a good little hero and take off your pants.”

The way you say it sends another wave of pleasure straight to his cock, the already throbbing organ about ready to bust from arousal and you haven’t even disrobed him yet.

Your feet pad against the carpet as you find your way to the edge of the bed, stripping out of your outerwear until you’re left in only a dark lace set, the filigree bringing out the beauty of your skin. Izuku goes dumb at the sight, turning his head just enough to get an eyeful of your chest area. His eyes about bug out of his head, wide and blown with lust as his tongue lolls over his lips, dripping a silvery string of drool onto the bed sheets.

“C’mon, Deku,” you force the word to come out in a patronizing tone, “strip for me.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, but somehow manages to push through the aroused haze clouding his judgment to wriggle himself out of his tight-fitting hero suit. The bright green fabric is left in a pool on the floor, tattered clothes just the start of your destruction.

The head of his cock is bright red and there is a part of you that falters, wanting to beg him to take control and absolutely demolish your pussy with his harsh, controlling movements and his filthy mouth. It lasts but a moment, and yet he can still see it. There is a shift in his eyes, the way he considers you, and he leans forward to say something, but you’re grabbing him by the face, cheeks between your fingers, before he can speak.

“Roll over.”

Izuku does as told with little hesitation, flopping his shoulders around so his ass is once again in the air, primes and ready for your palm to lavish with spankings. Your breath shudders from your lungs and you lock your thighs in place by tensing them, centering yourself between his knees. The balls of his heels come into contact with your hips as he sways slightly, his mind dizzy from the promise of pleasure.

“How many?” you ask, your voice low and sultry, surprising even you with the depth of it.

A choking noise can be heard, but it’s muffled by the pillow. You chuckle, patting his ass prospectively, feeling the flesh ripple beneath your complacent prodding. Dipping forward, your chest falls flush with his back as you press feathery kisses over his midsection, finding the freckles like little gold pieces, adding each one to your treasure chest as you kiss it.

Izuku manages to spit out a number, something reasonable, and so you add a few more on top of it in your mind, smirking even though he cannot see you. You run the pads of your fingers down from the tops of his shoulders to the globes of his ass, the perky, round muscles making your stomach flip. You can’t wait to see the way his bruised ass mixed with the dark brown freckles of his skin – how beautiful the colors will be, how it might actually look more like a galaxy with shades of purple and blue as an accent to the brunette freckles dotting his skin like the night sky currently.

You reach your hands back and start to lay into him, counting the spankings in your head without keeping track of them aloud. You stop after you’re satisfied with his whimpering cries, his face buried deeper into the pillow with each endearing smack.

An errant thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but to dwell on it. If Izuku is already blubbering, how much farther can you take this before he’s crying into the pillow? The idea that you can bring one of the strongest men in the world to tears sets off a string of dynamite in your heart, the fuse triggering something akin to pride in your chest. You feel your whole body swell at the thought and you know that you must make it a reality tonight.

“How many was that?” you ask patronizingly, digging your nails into his ass to hear him squeak.

Your hands are already raw, burning at the feel of slapping his muscled backside repeatedly. Still, you knead your hands into him to elicit a pained whine. He writhes under you, his hands curling around the sheets until they’re beginning to rip under his tight grip.

“I-I dunno,” he blurts, a curt sob breaking his words. “I’m sorry!”

You chuckle and it comes out much darker than you originally intended. You release his ass, the thick of it jiggling as you let go. The pads of your fingers are gentle as you wash your touch over him, appreciating the way the redness of his freshly spanked cheeks brings out the deep color of his freckles, the splotches even more prevalent now that his body has been momentarily abused.

“Oh, you’re gonna be sorry, baby,” you kiss each of his ass cheeks, flicking your tongue out to tease the heated skin, “you better start counting.”

Just as you punctuate your sentence with a sigh, your hands begin to strike him repeatedly. You struggle to keep count, desperately wanting to listen to his moans and whimpers as he gasps, mewling with both pain and pleasure as you lay into his backside. Midoriya is already misty-eyed, the feel of your domineering touch just enough to bring him to a subservient headspace, his spirit wallowing in the pain that your hands are doling out.

You barely have time to stop before he’s blurting out the number that matches the one you’ve counted. You smirk, leaning forward so your nipples scrape against his skin, “Good job, baby.”

The heels of your palms are what is stinging the most, so you can only imagine how his ass feels. You have a momentary relapse in thought, wondering if maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, if maybe you’re going to push him to an edge he can’t come back from.

Although, when too much silence has passed and he is turning to gaze up at you over his shoulder, every inhibition you have flies directly out of the room through the crack in the door. His eyes are blitzed, lust making his pupils swallow the color of his irises, forehead crinkled in desperation as he attempts to form words to beg you back to him.

You rub at the pert skin, brushing your thumbs over the smattering of freckles on the roundest parts of his ass. Deku is whimpering beneath you, calf muscles fully flexed as he rocks back and forth in anticipation of your next slap.

“Such a good little hero,” you murmur, massaging your hands into his glute muscles. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Izuku whines, toes curling up beside your hips. He huffs but you can’t see his face to notice how fucked-out his eyes have become. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of his ass, and he preens, eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sudden stinging sensation.

You answer him with a resounding smack on his backside, making sure that your fingertips are curved just right, along with your palm, to make it sound much worse than it truly is, praying that you can manipulate his mind into believing that you’ve marked him for longer than a few moments.

The way the freckles on his skin trail from the top of his body to the bottom is nothing short of enticing. It brings about a certain innocence to him, something hidden that only you are allowed to know of. Your eyes can’t stop trying to put together a map of his body, begging to know just where the freckles begin and end. He is littered with them, his body darkening from time spent in the sun.

“P-Please,” his whole body is convulsing in pleasure. You can see his cock throbbing between his thighs and the mattress, his balls weighty with the impending excitement of his release. The bedsheet have a damp spot near the tip of his cock, most likely from his pre dripping at the sudden shakes of his body from your spankings, “I-I want more, Princess. Please!”

You smirk, hand hot from repeated spankings, “What’s your number?”

Deku pants, digging his nose into the mattress as if that might save him from having to answer. His hands are clamped around the sheets, nails threatening to rip into the thread count mercilessly, “I-I dunno, I don’t know!”

Your hand comes down over his ass repeatedly, unrelenting in your ministrations as you mark his backside bright red. You know that there will be little busted blood vessels to mix along with his freckled skin, purple lightning strikes that serve as a reminder to the way you broke down his resolve and conquered his body.

“P-Princess,” he whines, voice cracking in the midst of his sentence as he tries to beg for repentance, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

You curve your fingernails into his skin, uncaring to the way his body fully tenses, dips and curves of muscle and sinew on full display as he lays completely bare against the mattress. You want to strew yourself across him to feel the ripples of his muscles as he tenses under your touch, to know the reactions of his body as they are happening firsthand. A chill tremors down your spine at the thought of him, all dense and thick beneath you, and how you have complete and utter control over him. You hold his pleasure in your hands, he’s entrusted himself to you in this very vulnerable situation, and the reality of it almost brings tears to your eyes.

Instead you focus your energy into snarling around your teeth, sneering his name like slander, “C’mon, Deku, be a good little bitch and tell me what you think you can handle.”

He is verbally silent, the only thing you can make out from his face smushed into the sheets is mewling whimpers to match the way his body quivers. You teasingly stroke your thumbnail over the blushed skin of his backside, bouncing your touch from freckle-to-freckle as you scrape your nails into him.

Another couple of seconds pass by before you snatch your hand from his ass so you can slap him again when he spurts out an answer, “Th-Thirty!”

“Fifty it is,” you chuff, digging your fingertips into his buttocks in a massaging motion, preparing him for the next round of spankings. He pants, rutting his hips forward into the mattress for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection, balls weighty with his release as they slap between his legs.

You tap his hip, letting him know that you want him to readjust himself. Izuku bends at the waist, seething as the bruised skin of his bottom stretches with the motion. You resituate yourself between his knees, ass directly in front of your face. A gentle kiss is pressed to either of his cheeks, eyelashes daintily brushing over his throbbing flesh, and he jolts his hips back into you until your teeth graze his skin.

“Eager little thing,” you tut your tongue, grabbing him harshly by the hips.

You selfishly want to mark him up, to remind the world that he belongs to you no matter how much of himself he gives away every other moment of his life. When the sun goes down, when the bright sky bleeds into the night, he comes home to you and the both of you fall asleep under the stars, wrapped in one another’s arms.

Izuku’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, sweat dripping down his spine as you press up into him, “Such a slut for me, huh, honey?”

The next time he backs into you, you pinch his ass between your fingers on one side and on the other cheek you bite down hard into his skin. Midoriya bucks forward at the sudden jolt of pain, only worsening the scratches left behind by your canines. He grinds his face into the mattress, pressing the mix of his tears and sweat into the sheets, begging for a cool release from the heat of his body as he searches for it in the mattress. You swear that he sobs into the pillow, begging you for something, but you can’t quite make out all of the syllables.

You line up behind him, your lower abdomen flush with his round, freckled bottom, “You ready, baby?”

“Princess, please,” his voice is hoarse now, all jagged around the edges as he begs you for more, “I-I want you to be rough with me, please? I wan’ you to mark me up.”

On command, your fingernails dig into the flesh at the curves of his shoulders, raking down the length of his back in one elongated swoop. He cries out, throwing his head back so his green curls brush the piques of his shoulders, and he grinds his hips back into you. You can’t help the low growl that claws at your throat as you trail your index finger down over the ghostly sight that your nails have left behind. He seethes through his teeth at the burning sensation lighting his back on fire, but he still does not complain.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you handled, okay?” Your hands find purchase on the curves of his obliques, fingernails burrowing into the taut skin of his abdomen, crescent moon patterns left in the wake of you. “I’m gonna make sure all the other heroes know who you belong to.”

Your name bubbles from his lips, a prayer he’s pushing to the heavens, blessing the stars with his babbling. In the midst of one of his mutterings, you begin your next round of pert spanks to his ass. You give him little reprieve, counting in your head as you go along.

He’s a blubbering mess, all mismatched syllables and grunts and moans tearing his throat apart until he’s crying for you to mark him as yours, to claim him in a way that leaves no question as to who he belongs to. The echoes of please, please, please bounce off every wall, a cacophony of sound making the hair on your neck stand erect.

When you finish, your hands are stinging profusely, but you make sure to soothe your palms over his bottom, the flesh bright red and angry. His freckles look even darker now that his skin has been accented with the beginnings of purple bruises and crimson handprints left behind. You coo, leaning forward to kiss the center of his back, pressing your body into him so you’re flush with every inch of him that you can find, “What do you say, pretty boy?”

When Midoriya turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes blissed-out so his pupils swallow his viridescent irises whole, he gargles the words, “thank you,” in a cracked whisper. You nod, trailing a row over kisses down the dip of his spine, nudging your nose over his muscled body, silently telling him to relax.

“You want more?” you ask him quietly, your hands digging into any surface of him that you can find to try and release some of the tension built up from the time spent together. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please, Princess, please,” he’s blubbering out the words, thick and heavy with the emotion pent-up in his throat, “I just wan’ be good for you, whatever you want.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowing in playful contemplation, “Whatever I want, huh?”

He’s nodding ferociously, his chin knocking into his chest with his enthusiastic actions. You know part of it is to make up for the lack of words that he can’t force through his teeth, so you merely chuckle and give him one final spank to his backside, “Roll over then.”

The speed with which he fumbles into rolling over onto his back is comical. You watch as a flurry of limbs wind together only to come apart again when he’s on his back. Izuku is wincing, the glassiness in his eyes reminiscent of tears and he’s trying his hardest to come across like he’s not in pain, although you see the way that he favors putting more of his weight on his shoulders instead of his ass so he’s bent at an odd angle.

“Whatever you want,” he is gasping the words out, puffs of exaggerated but necessary breath forcing his cheeks to inflate. “I’m yours.”

The words make your whole body puff up, heat starting in your core and creating steam that rises from your esophagus to your brain. It becomes muddled and you’re hazy now, drunk off of the power that he has given you with those five words. You reach forward and slide your thumb against his piqued nipple, licking your lips as you think of what you’re going to do to him not that you have him to use however you please.

“All mine?” you ask, your voice grating against the front of your throat harshly. You hum, “What do you want me to do to you then, baby?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose now, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, “I w-want you to use me, please, Princess, want you to use my pathetic cock to make yourself feel good.”

You reach forward and guide his scarred hand towards your cunt, “Touch me.”

Izuku is eager to please, so he’s fumbling forward until his thumb finds your clit, ministrations errant and disastrous. It’s adorable, really, the enthusiasm with which he seeks you out only doing further service to your ego. You feel your head grow dizzier as your core turns with tumultuous heat. You know that you do not want to drag this out too far as you already can feel the twitch of an impending crest of pleasure building from within you.

His thick finger slides up into your heated core and it takes all of your self-restraint to keep your moans between your teeth, holding the sounds captive like they might tell all of your secrets if you let them loose. You bite your lip, sucking the skin into the bite of your teeth, tilting your head back so you can close your eyes and enjoy the pleasure as it comes.

“Maybe if you touch me just right, I’ll let you feel my pussy on your cock, huh?” You have to face him, have to see his reaction, “How does that sound?”

Midoriya is bobbing his head, agreeing to whatever words you’re speaking, he can’t quite make out any one syllable with the way his brain is drowning with the sight of you straddling him. He’s not sure what it is about you, but he absolutely adores the idea of you holding your own against him, wrapping your body around him and denying him of whatever control he normally possesses.

And maybe that is what gets you wet too, because you know that he could fling you off of him with a simple flick of his wrist, and yet here he is, letting you demolish every last shred of his self-respect.

You can’t help it, with the way he’s already beginning to drool and the sight of his eyes drinking in your semi-naked body, you have to feel the soft heat of his mouth around your fingers. It is too quick, the way you jolt forward and press the pads of your digits against his soft mouth. He moans, realizing just what you’re trying to do because he’s done it countless times himself, and opens his mouth wide.

Your fingers slip inside the seeping heat of his tongue and cheeks, the muscle lapping at your digits until they’re soaked and knuckle deep. You lean down so you are but inches from his face, the squelching sounds that your pussy and his mouth make together doing little to still the erection pressed against your ass from behind and the absolute waterfall between your thighs.

Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to sink down on top of his twitching cock and let him have his way with you, to rock yourself along his length until you’re both finding that beautiful high together. But you know that if you wait, if you drag this out and force him to bend to your will, then it will bring you both to your knees.

“So pretty with my fingers in your mouth, Izu,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He attempts feebly to kiss you, turning his head, but your fingers catch on the corners of his lips and stretch the pink skin until it is pale. Your eyes flicker toward the bow of his mouth where a thin, white scar resides. You remember seeing this one when you first kissed him, and the memory of it makes you nostalgic, the years you’ve spent together built up much like his scars.

You lick a warm stripe up the column of his neck, feeling the muscles and veins throb underneath your ministrations. The heat of your breath combined with the slick of your spit makes Deku’s hips jut upward, his balls slapping loudly against your ass as he ruts into you painfully.

“Did I say you could move?” You are leant back now, your fingers still in his mouth but otherwise you are parted from him. Deku’s face pales, eyes widening in fear as he shakes his head, apologies tumbling in tandem with his spit from his lips, drool seeping down his chin until it is shiny.

The heel of your palm comes underneath his chin, so you have your hand wrapped around the lower part of his mouth, controlling his head with the simple turn of your wrist. You tilt his head upward so he can no longer see you, and pick up your hips to reposition yourself so you are hovering above him, just enough so you can start to tease the head of his cock against your slick slit.

He’s whimpering, “Please, Princess. I wanna touch you so bad, please, I wanna make you feel good.”

You let him beg for you, pumping your hand up and down his cock while you brush the angry red head over the gathering silver slick at your entrance.  You chuckle as his hips shuffle in the slightest, his discomfort obvious as he is practically vibrating with the desire to take over.

“What is it, baby? Eager?” You sink yourself down far enough to take the head of his cock within your walls, clamping down hard enough to make him whine. “I can’t wait to fuck myself on this pathetic little cock, Izu. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow.”

Another round of blathering drivel is boasted into the air, his words muffled by your fingers, but he still forces them out, nonetheless. His tongue continues to curl around your knuckles and lavish the pads of your digits, sucking on them in between heaving breaths. You let a small moan shake your throat, rolling your hips forward to take another bit of his dick but not all of it, not yet. The enjoyment you’re getting from his stuttering whimpers and moans only heightening your senses and arousal.

“Princess, please, I-I think I’m gonna-” An aborted rut of his hips dies when you rake your nails down the entirety of his chest. Your fingers catch on the rigid edges of some of his scars, but otherwise you turn lines of his tanned flesh red from your scratching.

Izuku whimpers, his body arching upward as he tries to take it all in stride. In doing so, he sheathes his cock completely within you, the base of his shaft now flush with your lips. You cry out at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back in pleasure as a wave of white-hot arousal makes your thighs glossy with a new wash of slick.

When you come to, you lean forward to place a palm on either side of his head, holding yourself up so you are loitering over him like a shadow, praying that you are as every bit as menacing as you’re attempting to be. You grit your teeth and roll your hips several times, unbending to even his hands on your body, relentlessly fucking his cock until he’s screaming for you to stop.

“C’mon, little hero, I thought you’d be better than this,” you take his earlobe between your teeth and tug, “I thought you’d have more will power. You’ll never be number one if you can’t even last this long beneath me.”

Izuku shakes his head, “I-I can, I can do it, I-I promise. Please, just let-”

“I don’t think you understand,” your voice is low, menacing as you nudge your nose against the bridge of his face, nuzzling the freckled skin. The intimate act is far more tender than your tone, and it gives Izuku chills that you can display such dual sides of yourself simultaneously. “I’m not letting you do anything.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that there is nothing that he can do to change your mind, at least not in this setting. Deku’s hands still on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circular motions into your skin in a way that seems to be grounding him as much as it is stimulating you. You press a chaste kiss to his mouth before beginning to snap your hips upward and then back down onto his cock, clamping your walls around him when you feel the head of him press into that spongy spot hidden all the way in the back of your core.

You kiss all over his neck, finding clumps of freckles and stranded singular ones, lavishing the same amount of affection over each of them. Your mouth finds scars, both tiny, hairline fractures in the marble of his skin, as well as large, patchy ones that mar large splotches of his skin.

Even in these moments when you are the one doling out commands, you still find ways to appreciate his body. Your touch roams along the dips and contours of his torso, the rough ridges of your fingerprints searching for the matching ragged lines on his skin. You sigh into his throat and he slips a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, begging for you to come undone around his cock, praying that you’ll let him please you.

One of your hands wraps around his throat until you hear him choke, and then you speed up the pace of your hips until he’s begging through wheezes for you to relent. You lean back and he hikes up his legs so you can rest against his thighs, your body on full display in front of him. His eyes do not know where to land and neither do yours as you map out the various textures and colors of his skin – from the pale lightning strikes of his scars to the darker scattered splotches of freckles.

Izuku Midoriya is a vessel for the travesties of the world.

But you will spend the rest of your life trying to make up for its mistakes.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

One day it slips.

You don’t think much of it, because in the heat of the moment, with him buried at the hilt and you crying for release, the words don’t stick out very starkly against the other filth spewing from either of your mouths.

“Gonna stuff that pretty pussy full of my come, baby,” he bites your earlobe as he ruts into you mercilessly, “You’re gonna be so round and full of me.”

At the time, you thought he meant that you would be full of his cock and come, but after he starts to show particular attention to your stomach during sex, you wonder if there’s something else going on.

When he has you beneath him the next time, you drag his palm to your belly and look him in the eyes, “I want you.”

His freckles burn beneath his blush, much starker against his tanned skin thanks to the flush of warmth. Izuku tilts his head, the dark curls framing his forehead bobbing with the motion, “You have me, baby.”

You shake your head and whine at the lack of contact once he’s stilled. You bite your lip and push the heel of his palm into the gentle swell of your belly beneath your navel. He swallows, gulping so hard that his throat bobs. You lick your lips and take a short breath as he shifts above you, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of your body.

“I want you to come in me,” you murmur, tugging him downward with the gentle grip of your hand on his neck. You kiss him square on the mouth and his fingers reach to find your folds, middle and index finger parting you so they can slip inside to curl against your heat. You whine, the sound amplified as his tongue searches your teeth, “P-Please, Izu.”

Midoriya’s fingers thrust forward in you so intensely that he can feel his fingertips bulging your belly with the palm that’s pressed against your navel. His eyes widen at the sensation and it only spurs him into kissing you more fervently, teeth and tongue clashing as he tries to overwhelm every sense you possess.

You protest as he pulls his fingers from you, your eyes screwed shut as you whine. He tuts his tongue against his teeth, nudging his nose along the curve of your jaw as he places biting kisses along the bone, “Hush. Do you really think I won’t give you what you need?”

The authoritative tone in his voice brings you to silence, eyelids fluttering open so you can look him in the eyes as he leans back to balance himself on his thick thighs. Your touch is pulled from him as he goes further away, your fingers aching in midair for something to ground yourself with. Otherwise you just feel like you’re going to float away, your mind hazy with the effervescent bubbles of euphoria that travel up from your throat.

Before you have another moment to keen at the loss of his heat, he’s piercing your pussy with the head of his cock, butterflying your lips wide open so he can rut up into you with ease. The combination of his bubbling pre-come and your already slick arousal dripping from your cunt make the slam of his hips easier to take, easier to beg for.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” Izuku coos in your ear, dropping his head to your shoulder to suck on the skin of your collarbone.

The jut of his cockhead into your core makes it difficult to think, let alone form fully coherent sentences. Izuku seems to relish in this, though, because he does not slow the drag of his cock or the flow of his words. He continues to goad you into begging for his release, for what you truly want, and it’s maddening. Your eyes cross beneath your lids at the overstimulation of it all until you’re blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I wan’ you to breed me, Daddy!”

Izuku falters for a moment at the brashness of your words, but you barely have time to feel bashful before he’s rolling his hips again, growling near your ear with a ferocity you’ve never felt from him before.

“That’s my good girl,” he mutters while trailing his lips down to your breast. He lavishes your nipple with the rough pad of his tongue, lapping over the skin carefully so you’re begging him for more. “How am I supposed to breed you, honey? Tell me.”

The patronizing tone of his voice tells you that he knows exactly what you want, but he would rather hear the request coming in the form of panting words and wanton moans from your lips. You sniffle, your eyes watering at the bruising pace he’s setting. His hands drift down the tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing against the innermost part where your skin is the most sensitive. Your cunt clamps down around him, fluttering at the ghostly feel of his tantalizing touch.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unable to think of something to say to fill the void. You bite your lip as his mouth works at your chest, tonguing your nipple before biting at the mound of skin to drive a yelp from your lips. “I want you to c-come in me, Daddy! I want you to stuff me full o-of your come, please!”

He pouts around your nipple, leaving the small space he’s just sucked a hickey into in favor of your pert bud, “I already come in you, baby girl, what do you really want me to do?”

You bite your lip and fist the sheets at your sides when you feel frustration and embarrassment wash over you. Izuku nudges his nose along the swell of your chest before leaning up to kiss your chin, hovering like a menacing shadow. His smile does little to quell the bubbling intensity in your belly.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” he’s gentler now, breaking his more dominating side so he can reassure you, “I know you can. Just tell me what you want.”

The shining in his irises makes your knees weak but bolsters your spine to force you into uttering the next words, no matter how uncomfortable they might sit in your belly. You take a breath and look up into his eyes, “I want you to put a baby in me, Izu.”

“Good girl,” he manages to muster out the words with restraining the growl that aches at the back of his throat.

His hips cant forward, fingertips now just under your knees. Your breath comes in shaking pants, your chest shuddering under your confession. Izuku kisses your cheek and then your nose, positioning his hands while he has you distracted. His mouth ascends down upon your own as his fingers dip into the supple skin and muscle of your thighs, bruising the underside with the ghost of his fingerprints as he pushes your knees back until they’re almost touching your chest or the mattress.

You gulp in pain as his cock stretches you out in a whole new way with your body flayed out like this. You look like a butterfly, your wings spread so he can smother you with his movements. Deku licks at the seam of your lips and you gasp, your mouth parting so he can delve his tongue inside. Your whole body shakes at the intensity of his thrusts, your irises swallowed whole by your pupils as they dilate at the feel of your cunt trying and failing to clamp around his cock to keep him still so you can adjust.

“Say it again,” Deku encourages you, his voice breathless as he ruts you into the mattress.

Your shoulders and the curve of your ass are pressed so deep into the cushion that you swear you might fall through to the floor. You curl your toes and try to angle your hips forward to no avail. He has you fully enraptured in the way he wants, his body practically controlling the movements you’re allowed to make with how he’s pressed and holding onto every part of you.

“I-I want you to put a baby in me, Izuku,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

A pert slap lands on the outside of your thigh and you whimper at the thought you’ve done something wrong. Your eyes water and you look up at him, emerald irises glowering down at you with a mix of primal need and control.

His voice is nothing short of a growl when he commands, “Who am I?”

Your eyes go wide, forehead creasing at the realization of your slip up. You can’t form the words fast enough, scrambling within your subservient brain to find the right phrase. You bite your lip as his hips still upon your silence, practically begging him with your body to keep going.

The echo of another smacking of his palm against your leg resounds in the room, sending a shudder down your spine. A new wave of arousal coats his cock from where he’s buried within you. He smirks, “Such a sloppy pussy, baby girl. You’re so filthy, getting off on me smacking you around.”

He leans close into you, removing one hand from your thigh to frame your face, his thumb dug into the soft flesh beneath your chin so he can force you to look into his eyes. “Now, I’ll say it again, who am I?”

You gulp, your lower lip trembling at the sight of him, and your voice cracks when you speak, “D-Daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

Izuku kisses your bottom lip before showing the same affection to the top. His gentle ministrations are rather contrasting to the way your hips sting with the memory of his spankings. You blink slowly, taking him in from this close angle.

He’s so pretty, you know this even though your mind is hazy with subservient want. His freckles and scars stand out so pertly against his skin, showing you a roadmap to someplace you know you’ll get to someday. You reach up to frame his face with one hand, thumb brushing over the speckled spots along the bridge of his nose and cheek, marveling at the sight of his beauty.

Deku turns his face to kiss your wrist, “What’re you thinking?”

“You’re pretty,” you blurt, voice almost childish in the way you say it with such wonder.

The phrase stills his nose against your palm, his breath hot as it rolls down your wrist and forearm. You feel your pulse beat harshly within your veins at the change in temperature, emotion swelling in your throat until your neck bobs as you try to swallow it.

It’s not the stereotypical compliment that he might receive, however that does not change its weight. Izuku takes a short breath before he begins to kiss down the length of your arm, nuzzling your elbow once he’s pressed there. He looks up into your eyes and the absolute adoration that is settled into your irises, bejeweling them until he is wondering if they might actually be gems, gives him the effervescent sensation all over again.

Pretty.

The word plays on loop in his mind, until he has dissected all six letters of it down to their very essence. The combination of your tone and expression as you admit what’s truly on your mind causes his heart to tear into his rib cage with the speed at which it beats. He breathes in short, heaving gasps, the warmth of his breath spilling over your chest, nipples pebbling beneath him.

If you were to try and pin down his appearance, you might say it were bashful. You have seen several sides to Izuku, but the bright red tinge on his cheeks, creeping up his neck until his ears are burnt with the color, makes him seem much younger, much more innocent. It’s hardly innocent, the way that he’s bludgeoning your cunt with his cock, but you take this moment to remove yourself from that fact entirely, instead focusing on the wobble of his chin and the mist in his eyes.

In addition to the shyness, you also see doubt, conflict.

You push your fingers into the hair behind his ear, beckoning him closer so you can appreciate him closer. Your opposite hand presses against his cheek, the scar that runs along his jaw ragged under your touch. Midoriya’s lips part, the tip of his tongue hidden just behind his teeth.

“Pretty,” he echoes the word, unintentionally, you believe, by the way his face screws up once he realizes he’s said it aloud. Midoriya reels back from you, sitting back on his thighs, the tip of his cock twitching from within your core.

Your face goes bright red at the admission, your hand falling away from his face in shame. You gulp, readying yourself for another smack to your leg in admonishment at your confession. You wince, hiding yourself as best you can with him looking down at you in such an intimidating way by turning your face into the pillow, closing your eyes.

The wait feels like forever, as if he’s going to edge you with anticipation until you’ve gone blue in the face from holding your own breath. He surprises you with a gentle laugh parting his lips, screwing his eyes shut.

You take a chance and open your eyes, blinking slowly so you aren’t shocked at the expression on his face if it contrasts the giggle that sets off another round of arousal between your thighs. You lick your lips and bare your soul when you ask, “Y-You’re laughing?”

“You’re so cute, baby,” Izuku kisses your nose, his grip resetting to your thigh.

The bruising hold he has on you reminds you that even though he might come across as twinkling eyes and a mop of curls, he is the strongest hero alive, and he could crush you like a bug if he truly desired.

He tilts his head, “I think you’re pretty too.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

Izuku furrows his brow and leans back so he can study your face in its entirety, “No, Princess, I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

“I-I just ruined the mood by calling you pretty,” you have the urge to ask him to put his fingers in your mouth just to get you to be quiet. Anything to staunch the flow of these ­superfluous words that won’t stop tumbling from your lips.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw until his fingertip is pressuring your lip to stay open so he can study your teeth and gums, “Nah, you didn’t ruin the mood. Answer me this – who do you belong to?”

Instantly your thighs try to clamp together, knees wobbling at the statement and the firmness in his tone when he says it. You swallow, eyes blown wide, your tongue suddenly becoming very heavy in your own mouth. You want to whine, to cant forward and take as much of him as you can but he has you held still with a palm in the center of your chest, pinning you to the mattress as he waits for his answer.

Your hand covers his own, fingers slipping between his palm and knuckles so you can anchor yourself to him, even in this moment. Your middle and index fingers swipe back and forth over the back of his hand, finding the familiar triangular scars and tracing over them with purpose. They ground you, somehow, when your mind starts to flutter off into this subservient space and you can’t feel anything from your knees down.

“Y-You,” you manage to stutter, thighs wobbling with the stress of pinning him between your knees. Your eyelids prick with tears from the embarrassment you felt earlier, and Izuku tuts his tongue against his teeth, “Why’re you crying, pretty girl?”

You shake your head and he kneels forward to kiss you on the lips, chastely, “Or should I give you something to cry about?”

Before you can answer, he simultaneously lands a harsh slap to the inside of your thigh with one hand while pinning your neck to the pillow with the other, applying enough pressure that you wheeze. Izuku smirks down at you, watching as tears well up in your eyes and cause them to look like glassy marbles. He trails his fingertip along the inside of your thigh, your entire body quivering with the anticipation of when he will strike next.

His cock twitches within you and the movement makes your muscles jolt. Your hand smacks against his thigh as you dig your fingertips into the dense sinew. You breathe in heavily, your chest expanding, “Daddy, please.”

Izuku begins to rock back and forth slowly, dragging his cock salaciously along your inner walls, the veins and curves of his cock making your cunt flutter around his girth. You whine at the slow pace, your palms studying his skin as a distraction to keep your dirty mouth satiated. You want to beg him to go faster, to give you more friction, something, but you know better than to ask him for anything in this moment.

“If I’m Daddy,” he muses in your ear, his breath a hot wave of desire as it rolls down your neck to splay out at your shoulder, “then it’s only fair that we give you a name too, right, Princess?”

The suggestion he’s making sends a shiver down your spine and you clamp down on his cock as he slips all the way into you, the base of him flush with your lips. You grapple onto him for fear that he might pull out of you again, but you want him to be fully sheathed in you when he snarls out his next words.

In digging your nails into his skin, you find a new scar on his shoulder that you hadn’t noticed before. It is thin, just slight enough that it slipped from your radar. It is a single ridge of skin running from the back of his shoulder to his collarbone, streaking his skin with a pink color in contrast to his normally tan color. Your middle and index fingers focus on it, mapping out each bump like your life depends on it.

As his body tilts forward, your eyes catch along a patch of intense freckles at the tops of his shoulders, where the sun shines most concentrated. Your exhale, eyelids fluttering as you feel his weight press down into you the closer he comes. The palm of your hand travels to this smattering of freckles, digging into his muscles in a massaging way as you force your touch downward. Izuku’s breath hitches as you circle the pad of your middle finger tenderly over the flesh, eyelids snapping open so he can look down at you in something akin to shock.

He melts into your touch when your ankle digs into the dimples at the base of his back, yet another scar providing friction against your skin. You whimper as his hips buck forward on instinct alone, the pressure of your body pulling him forward.

Midoriya nudges his nose sweetly along the column of your throat, open-mouthed kisses placed against your main vein that leads him to your heart. He breathes slowly over your chest, nipping at the skin closest to your nipple, but far enough away that he won’t hurt you if he bites down too hard.

“Mm,” he hums as he dips his head further, curling his spine so he can kiss the top of your belly, above your navel. His palm pushes into the supple skin, thumb drifting over where your uterus sits beneath your skin, “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘till you’re full of me, Princess. Isn’t that what you want?”

You’re begging him silently with ferocious nods, dipping the pads of your fingers into his shoulder blades to pull him closer once more so he can rut into you with his strong hips. You feel the head of his cock brush against you from the inside, and that along with the added pressure of his palm pushing into you, makes you keen loudly, a whine rippling through your lungs.

At that sound, Izuku loses any and all control he might have had on his body before, one of his hands now holding your thigh up so he can dominate you from above, your ass not even flat against the mattress anymore. It’s a good reprieve from the suffocating heat beneath your back, but the only thing you can truly focus on is the way that his hips drive into you in midair, his knees bolstering him forward to fuck into you relentlessly.

“You’ll be so fuckin’ pretty with my come dripping out of this sloppy pussy,” Izuku’s voice is slurred with pleasure, his eyes closed as he ruts into you from above. You whine, your chin ducked into your chest at this angle, but it doesn’t matter that it’s slightly uncomfortable; the only thing you can pay attention to is the way he fills you up, stretching your pussy with his thick cock.

Pulling almost all the way out only to slam into you again makes your cunt clench when he’s fully sheathed to try and keep him captive. He’s too strong, though, and he pulls away easily, the added tension only providing the both of you with further pleasure. You both whine, Izuku’s head dropping so you can no longer see his eyes, forehead covered completely by dark curls caked with sweat and sticking to his skin.

Deku licks his lips and you watch as he tilts his head to gaze down at you, the primal need to see you full giving his eyes a deeper color, a green so dark it’s almost black. The sight of him so overcome with arousal makes your stomach turn, a fresh wave of heat coating your inner walls and slipping down his cock in the form of silvery slick.

He pants, his jaw hung open, “You want me to fill you up? Come in you over and over until you can’t take it anymore, until your pretty belly is bulging with my come?”

You don’t have the chance to respond when he bottoms out within you, stretching you out even further as his cock spasms with desire. It’s like he’s growing within you even more so now that he’s imagining your tummy swollen from his come. Your jaw hangs open even as you throw your head back, your hands flying to the comforter to snag what you can beneath your fingernails.

Izuku does not waste the sight of your neck, bare and open, practically begging for him to claim as his canvas. With his next stroke he is careening forward to latch his tongue and teeth onto the sensitive skin, your jugular pulsing beneath his mouth. Your hand flies upward to tug at the wild curls near the back of his scalp, your thighs held in place by his hips as he continues into you at a steady pace.

“I can’t wait to put a baby in you, Princess,” Izuku is panting in your ear now, the lewd sounds of his hips bucking into yours the only other sound you can make out. Your shoulders shudder underneath his weight but he is holding you like an anchor, so you know that you are safe in his embrace. You turn your head, so your cheek is pressing into his, leeching the heat from his skin until your own flesh is burning.

“Fuck,” Deku laps at your throat aimlessly, as if he can’t quite get where he wants, but he doesn’t know what else to do, “Gonna fill you up every time I get the chance, breed you until you’re begging for me to stop. Pump that pretty pussy full of my come until you can’t walk straight.”

Your cunt spasms around his cock and he knows that means you’re close to coming. He’s pushed off his own release in favor of coming in tandem with you, so he starts to pump into you faster, drifting a hand down to your clit to try and stimulate you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You’re whining, nails dragging against his biceps unforgivingly, “Daddy, c’mon, I want you to come in me. Please, won’t you come in me? Fuck me full of your come, please!”

The entirety of your mouth is sandpaper dry with your insistent begging. You lick your lips at the feel of his cock spasming within your core, the tip of him brushing against your cervix in a bruising manner. “I-I wanna make you a Daddy for real, please, won’t you put a baby in me?”

A feral growl parts his lips at your request, and your body clenches from head to toe at the sound. You can’t breathe, your entire being is suffocated by the essence of him – body, mind, soul. He is everything and it covers you like a hot blanket, searing into your skin until you’re branded for him.

“You want this load?” he asks breathlessly. “Want me to breed you up good?”

He is barely able to look at you when you whimper out your response. Goosebumps cover the expanse of his body as he thinks about what you’d look like, swollen with the imminent promise of his baby growing in you. Something digs into him at the base of his spine, something that makes him ache with the need to see you waddling around, unable to see your ankles as you rest your palm on the top of your tummy. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut so he can listen to your wanton desperation, sweat making the two of you stick together at every juncture.

Deku grunts one last time before all his resolve floods from his body, “Here you go, Princess, don’t waste it.”

The angle he has your body in, folded up like a pretzel, would usually make it hard for you to waste any of it, but the sheer amount of come being pumped into you makes you nervous. You feel the familiar seeping of his seed from your cunt and you reach down to try and sop it up, but Izuku beats you to it. He uses his thumb to collect the milky fluid, rubbing it over your clit to use as lubricant as his dick continues to pump the rest of his load into your abused hole.

“Good girl,” he whispers absentmindedly as he fucks you through his aftershocks, the pad of his thumb driving you crazy as you squirm beneath him. Izuku can tell by the sheer force with which you’re clamped down on him that you’re chasing your own high, your eyes squinted closed so you can focus on orgasming until you’ve coated his cock with your arousal.

Izuku fights through the bliss that’s clouding his mind to lean down and kiss over your face, “C’mon, Princess, come for me.”

When your eyes split open, the first thing you notice is the scar that cuts from his hairline down over his eyebrow, separating the tail of his brow from the base. You reach up to brush your fingertip over it, your heels dug into the curve of his ass to bring yourself closer to him, if that were at all possible. Your mouth hangs open as your thumb maps out the scar, ragged flesh the very opposite of the remaining smooth plane of his body.

“I love you,” you whisper, silent silver tears leaking from your eyes as the combination of all of your senses being stimulated pushes you over the crest, drowning you in the waves of pleasure he creates by rocking into you.

It has taken years for Izuku to understand that you paying attention to the jagged parts of his body does not mean that you would not love him if he were any less broken.

Your vision passes over each inch of his body, taking inventory of the markings on his body – freckles, blemishes, scars – as if they might have changed since the last time you looked. Your hands roam over his shoulders, finding the pale scars and dipping your fingertips against them to feel the ridges against the rough pad of your digits.

Midoriya melds his mouth against yours, lost in the taste of you as his cock spasms within your tight heat. Your entire bodies are coated in a mixture of tears and sweat and slick, but you don’t care as he lowers himself down on top of you until you’re flush with one another from shoulder to ankle.

His tongue is mapping the curvatures of your teeth when he responds in kind, “I love you, too.”

He slows once he realizes you’ve both been milked of whatever else you might have left to give. Your body is gently placed back down on the bed, hot sweat sticking to the cooled sheets. Izuku kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, lavishing each inch with the utmost affection, it could make you cry.

Your hands work through his hair, curls falling silkily between your knuckles. You lean forward and kiss the spot on his forehead where his brows are furrowed. At the feel of your affections, his expression softens and the creases on his skin soften into nothing but fine lines. Izuku smiles up at you, nuzzling your cheek, “You did so good, baby, you’re always such a good girl for me.”

“Mhm, you make it easy,” you croon into the shell of his ear as he tilts himself forward, still buried in you even as his cock goes soft. You tilt your head, curling a finger around a lock of his hair, “W-Were you serious?”

Izuku catches a glint of the diamond on your left hand, a proud grin bringing out his dimples, “You’ll know in, what, four weeks?”

The whole thing is too exciting, and you know that even though you’re still on contraceptives, it could happen. He doesn’t move to correct himself, instead waiting on your answer.

“F-Four weeks,” you nod, your tongue sitting heavy and dry in between your teeth.

Midoriya catches your hesitation, “We won’t change anything, except how many times a day I bury my cock into that pretty little pussy of yours. We’ll see if I can beat out the statistics on your medication.”

You know he’s talking about the one-in-whatever chance that your birth control doesn’t work, but the way he says it drags shivers up your spine. You curl both hands into his hair and swallow the thick emotion pent up in your throat, “You meant what you said?”

“Four weeks,” he echoes as if it should be an answer. Izuku knows better than to have a permanent conversation with you when your eyes are still glassy like this, your mind still submerged in that headspace he puts you in when the two of you fuck this way, rough and merciless. All he can do now is remember to talk to you about this once you’re both calm and rational.

Your eyes fill with a fresh set of tears and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the base of your throat, “I’m gonna fill you up with so much come, baby. We might have to get you a plug.”

You tighten every orifice of your body, fingers dug deeper into the muscle of his shoulders. Your thumb catches on the curve of one of his particularly deep scars, slicing into him like veins on a marble slab. In your heightened state, it’s easy to feel like you’re floating in midair and might never come down, but the tactile reminder of his body beneath your fingertips gives you that anchor that you need to keep yourself from drifting too far.

Methodically, you drift the pads of your digits back and forth, a melody playing in your head that you play out against his body. The rigidity of his form, strong and barring as he loiters over you, only adds to the calm that you feel wash over your frame, settling into your bones like stardust. You feel lightheaded, but in a giddy way, the warmth of Midoriya’s body just as soothing as the patterns you’re marking into his body.

Two tears drip over the edges of your eyes and you look up at him, bringing a thumb up to brush his hair out of his eyes, “I-I wanna make you a Daddy. For real.”

You think back to the day you first met – how he stole your heart with one simple look. He has always been it for you, that you now realize. From the first syllable to now, he has reigned you in, held you beneath his thumb in such a captivating way that you don’t ever want to escape.

You want to give back to him what the world never could – a little hero of his own.

It’s a blank slate, a place to start anew. Something that the burdens of Izuku’s past can never bury under layers of scar tissue and regret. The giddiness that makes your heartbeat in a frenzy only gives you more confidence to reach forward and wrap yourself around him like an animal begging for comfort. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, “You deserve this, Izu, you deserve to be happy.”

“Hey,” he calls down to you, upturning your face with the gentle pressure of his thumb underneath your chin, “I am happy, here with you.”

Your face grows hot at his confession, and you wonder if you misconstrued your words. You swallow, rolling your hips upward to reconnect your bodies at the waist, trying to convey that you can give him so much more, that you’re offering up your body to be a martyr. Your eyes water as you link your hands around his neck, thumbing at the crest of his undercut.

“Please,” you whisper, voice broken but beautiful as your single syllable speaks volumes even in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

There is a growl that erupts in his throat and he lunges forward, sucking and licking at your neck. You whimper, falling slack in his touch as you try to keep yourself anchored to him with biting, blunt fingernails. Your jaw hangs open just enough that he can see the pink of your tongue if he leans far enough back.

As Deku reclaims your mouth in his own, the primal thing burning deep in his belly spurring his cock to go for round two, he can’t help but think to himself that he’s going to make you a momma, no matter how hard he has to try, or how long it takes.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

“Why are you so enamored by them?”

You still your hand over his bare chest, your index finger tracing the ridge of one of his biggest scars – a rippling cut straight through his pectoral, the tip of it disappearing in the curve of his muscles as they meet in the middle.

When you don’t answer, Izuku swallows the lump in his throat and sits up a little straighter, leaning his shoulders back against the headboard. He looks down his nose at you, shallow breaths making his chest inflate quickly, “I guess I just don’t understand what could be so fascinating about them. Why do you like to touch them all the time?”

You turn so you are strewn across his abdomen, your chin rested in the seam of his pectorals as you look up at him, “I guess they make me feel things.”

“F-Feel things?” Izuku’s face scrunches up in confusion, the wrinkles of his nose making you smile.

Tenderly, you brush your thumb over the creases of his forehead until he relaxes, and then you start mapping out the scarred lines on his face and taking inventory of his freckled cheeks. You sigh, chewing on your lower lip, “It depends on what’s going on, but when I look at you, I feel any plethora of things – sadness, joy, horniness…”

“My scars make you horny?”

You let out a laugh and drop your forehead down and bury it in his chest to hide the blush on your cheeks. Your palm falls from his face to his collarbone, gripping his shoulder as best you can. Midoriya joins you in laughter, tucking his nose into the crown of your head so he can plant kisses into your hair. He is always so soft and kind with you, especially in these moments after you’ve been conjoined by the hips for hours on end, your heart beating in time with his as you lay pressed flush against one another. There are moments when you are a cage of limbs and you do not know where he ends and you begin, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Seeing you all roughed up just does something to me, I dunno!” You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eye, “I like knowing that you can handle yourself, and each scar has a story and we’ve been together for years and I still don’t think I’ve heard them all.”

It looks like there is something on his mind, with the way his face tenses up as soon as you stop laughing together. You rub your ankle against his calf and force him to look you in the eyes with a gentle nudging of your knuckle against his jawline, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

Izuku is not normally speechless or lacking in things to say. In fact, more often than not, you have to gently place your hand on his shoulder to remind him that everyone can hear his loud mutterings, or that sometimes there are more appropriate times to speak your mind. This time, his tongue lolls around within his cheeks as he tries to come up with the right thing to say.  The pattering of your heart grows faster the longer he is silenced, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears as you anticipate what could possibly be plaguing his mind at a time like this.

Your thumb brushes against a scar near his ear and he circles his fingers around your wrist, “Would you still love me if I didn’t have them? If my skin was perfect, like Kacchan or Todoroki?”

“First of all, Todoroki has a big ass scar on his face, so jot that down,” you tease, pushing yourself up to kiss him square on the lips. You pull away from him but not entirely, still brushing your nose along the bridge of his cheeks, “And Bakugou has a stupid quirk that gives him great skin, so he’s an awful example.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes and shoves your hand away from his face, sitting up even further so you fall away from him, curling yourself into the sheets. His countenance looks overly contemplative, and it’s beginning to worry you. You sit up in the bed, grabbing his shirt off the nightstand to cover yourself with, tossing it over your head with ease. The fabric pools at your waist but it smells intoxicating, just like him, his warmth from earlier in the night somehow still sticking to the fabric to provide you comfort.

“You know what I mean,” he grits his teeth, unable to look at you as he poses the question, “I-I just…I wonder if you love them more than you love me, sometimes, is all.”

It does not take long for you to redirect his attention back to you, turning his face with a rough yank of your wrist. You look him in the eyes, and he is but a broken little boy in this moment, begging for you to piece him back together.

The thought that he is nothing more than patchwork put back together by the scars on his body makes you feel hollow inside. How can a man who has given up so much feel like so small in a moment of pure reflection? Does he not see all the good he brings to the world, and yet how little it ever dares to give back to him?

“Izuku Midoriya,” your voice is stern, and you watch as he bolsters his spine as if he were talking to a Pro Hero, “I would love you if your whole body was covered in scars or if you had perfect skin. Why would you say something like that?”

Before he can give you some long-winded answer, you throw a leg across his lap so you’re straddling him and he has nowhere to run to, nowhere to divert his attention. Your palms are on his face, cupping his cheeks and making sure to look him dead in the eyes as you give him a dose of the truth. Still, you fear your words may not be enough to satiate his wounded pride, his blistered ego.

“When I look at you, I see how much the universe has stolen from you, how much of your body the world has taken, and how everyone else just takes you for granted.” Your voice grows heavier with each word, the threat of tears sitting in your eyelids, making your face warm. “I see a man who, time and time again, gives everything up to save the world, and all it does in return is take.”

You intake a short breath, trying to calm yourself because this is his moment to ache until his heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Now it is your job to soothe his burning soul with the salve of your reassurance, mending his inner turmoil with a metaphoric touch that you pray can seep into the cracks of his resolve until he’s full once more.

Brushing his hair away from his face, you lean in closer so you can speak softly, “You once called them ugly. I think that every single scar is a reminder of something that happened in the past. I love to hear your stories of how you got them, each heroic act displayed on your body like a little lightning bolt of truth.”

A sigh parts your lips and you drop your gaze to his chest, finding the familiar ridges of flayed skin easily. You lick your lip and trace your thumb over a few of them, relishing in the quiet moments before you have to speak again.

“I don’t love your scars, I love you.” You press your palms flat to his chest so you can cover the expanse of his pectorals beneath your hands, the heel of your palm against the swell of his chest, “I would ask you for all of your stories even if I never touched a single scar, even if I never saw one. I’d ask you because I want to know you.”

Your hands travel north towards his neck, delicately roaming over the thin skin of his throat before winding into the hair at the back of his head, “I’m so fascinated by them because I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for them, that I don’t believe you to be weak just because you’re marked by your experiences. If anything, I think it’s beautiful, that you’ve been given this burden like Atlas, to carry around the weight of each on one your shoulders.

“But even though it’s beautiful, that does not mean that it’s right,” your voice turns cold, hard and jagged as you speak through your teeth, “How much more can you be expected to give? Does the universe not see what it’s done to you? What it’s asking of you to continue doing? I just can’t imag-oh.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his hands traveling up your spine beneath your shirt, palming at the skin of your shoulders. Izuku nips your lower lip and you are melting in his touch like always, “I love you.”

You tilt your head, gasping as he starts down the column of your neck, biting kisses in a warm, wet line as he descends. You echo out the sentiment in return, barely able to make out syllables with the salacious way his lips and tongue are working at your skin. Your hands twist in his hair and he pulls you flush with him so he can nudge the collar of the shirt aside to show your collarbones the same attention as your neck.

“Oh!” you pipe up, your voice hardly more than a squeak, “And I love your freckles too. They’re so cute and I love how they’re literally everywhere, even your dic-”

“Less talking,” Izuku takes you by surprise, tackling you back into the mattress, “more kissing.”

And you happily oblige.

Besides, you have the rest of your life to tell him how much you love his freckles.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

a/n: all right. that’s it. never writing deku fic EVER again. phew. kacchan, please don’t be mad, honey, it was for a friend, i swear!!!!!

also it’s almost 4 am when i’m posting this so if the last section doesn’t make sense i’m sORRY!!!

taglist: 

@tui-lah @viviankennedy @bnha-homeroom @frogsmarch @anxietys-a-bitch @succulent-momma @albuquerquemalu @ali-on-reverie @iamthe-leaf @kamehamethot @hoe-biscus @ux-l3ee @lovelustdollsworld @bigbootyconnections @alexandria-selina @eianthedumbass @sanguinekeigo @desia2 @loveydoveythot @shoutosplaything @thatloserweeb @kittysocks20 @jayetheanimefreek101 @toastedpopsicles @riotfuckery @spidrskarma @panbaigel @unsafetypin @peltho @mes-bisous @ee-blue @mildlyman @moondust-and-starlight @ihaileysenpai @hijackedreese @vampiregirl70 @gwizzpanda @powderedjellidoughnut @salemthewitch​ @unknown-girlie​ @mea-100​ @crystal-is-in-the-digiworld​ @phantomjeans​ @lozmarton​ @bananayogurtbitch​ @wwhndsome​ @violeteyedkeith​ @pumapurman​ @stfucanunot​

[suckmykawaiidesu]

Compilation of Nessian Moments:  ‘A Court of Wings and Ruin ’ Edition

Hello loves! ♥️

I recently asked for a compilation list of Nessian moments and there doesn’t seems to be one so I decided to hurriedly put one together before the release of “A Court of Silver Flames”. I have probably missed some scenes but these are the ones that I came across during my re-read. I will be making a post for each book and will link them once available:

A Court of Mist and Fury

ACOMAF Target Exclusive Story uploaded by bookofademigod

A Court of Frost and Starlight

Sneak Peak at the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight

A Court of Wings and Ruin

Chapter 15

Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing. She was in a pewter-colored gown, its make simple, yet the material fine. Her hair was braided over the crown of her head, accentuating her long, pale neck—a neck Cassian’s eyes darted to, then quickly away from, as she sized us up and said to me, “You’re back.” With her hair styled like that, it hid the pointed ears. But there was nothing to hide the ethereal grace as she took one step. As her focus again returned to Cassian and she added,

“What do you want?”

But Cassian sauntered over to Nesta, a half smile spreading across his face. She stood stiffly while he picked up the book, read the title, and chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader.” She gave him a withering glare. “And, again, why are you here?” She snatched her book from Cassian, who allowed her to do so, but remained standing beside her. Watching every breath, every blink. “Elain’s mate is here,” I said. And it was the wrong thing to utter in Nesta’s presence. She went white with rage. “He is no such thing to her,” she snarled, advancing on me enough that Rhys slid a shield into place between us. As if he, too, had glimpsed that mighty power in her eyes that day in Hybern. And did not know how it would manifest.

“If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” “Shut your mouth,” she snapped, every inch the conquering empress. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—” “You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian only gave her a crooked grin.

Nesta only shook her head, turning toward the chair and her book. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” A stinging dismissal, if not admission that she still trusted me enough to consider Elain’s needs first. Rhys jerked his chin at Cassian in a silent order to leave, and as I followed them, I said softly, “I’m sorry, Nesta.” She didn’t answer as she sat stiffly in her chair, picked up her book, and dutifully ignored us. A blow to the face would have been better. When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing

Chapter 16 I cringed. “I guarantee Nesta is now guarding Elain. I think she might honestly kill him if he so much as tries to touch her.” “Not without training she won’t,” Cassian grumbled, tucking in his wings as he claimed the seat beside Mor that Azriel had vacated. The shadowsinger didn’t so much as look at it. No, Azriel just walked to the wall beside Cassian and leaned against the wood paneling. But Rhys and the others remained quiet enough that I knew to proceed carefully as I asked Cassian, “Nesta spoke as if you’ve been up at the House … often. You’ve offered to train her?” Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them. “And?” “And what you saw in the library is a pleasanter version of the conversation we always have.” Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times. “I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

Chapter 17 Not that there was much finery to bother with. I’d opted for my Illyrian leather pants and a loose, white shirt—and a pair of embroidered slippers that Cassian kept snorting at as we flew. When he did so for the third time in two minutes, I pinched his arm and said, “It’s hot. Those boots are stuffy.” His brows rose, the portrait of innocence. “I didn’t say anything.” “You grunted. Again.” “I’ve been living with Mor for five hundred years. I’ve learned the hard way not to question shoe choices.” He smirked. “However stupid they may be.” “It’s dinner. Unless there’s some battle planned afterward?” “Your sister will be there—I’d say that’s battle aplenty.” I casually studied his face, noting how hard he worked to keep his features neutral, to keep his gaze fixed anywhere but on my own. Rhys flew nearby, far enough to remain out of earshot as I said, “Would you use her to see if she can somehow fix the wall?” Hazel eyes shot to me, fierce and clear. “Yes. Not only for our sakes, but … she needs to get out of the House. She needs to …” Cassian’s wings kept up a steady booming beat, the new sections only detectable by their lack of scarring. “She’ll destroy herself if she stays cooped up in there.” My chest tightened. “Do …” I thought through my words. “The day she was changed, she … I felt something different with her.” I fought against the tensing in my muscles as I recalled those moments. The screaming and the blood and the nausea as I watched my sisters taken against their will, as I could do nothing, as we— I swallowed down the fear, the guilt. “It was like … everything she was, that steel and fire … It became magnified. Cataclysmic. Like … looking at a house cat and suddenly finding a panther standing there instead.” I shook my head, as if it would clear away the memory of the predator, the rage simmering in those blue-gray eyes. “I will never forget those moments,” Cassian said quietly, scenting or sensing the memories wreaking havoc on me. “As long as I live.” “Have you seen any glimpse of it since?” “Nothing.” The House loomed, golden lights at the walls of windows and doorways beckoning us closer. “But I can feel it—sometimes.” He added a bit ruefully, “Usually when she’s pissed at me. Which is … most of the time.” “Why?” They’d always been at each other’s throats, but this … yes, the dynamic between them had been different earlier. Sharper. Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.” “Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.” For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.” “I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.” I still dreamed of him trying to crawl toward her, reaching for her even in the semiunconscious state the pain and blood loss had thrown him into. As Rhysand had once done for me during those last moments with Amarantha. Perhaps only a few wing beats separated us from the broad landing veranda, but I asked, “Why do you bother, Cassian?” His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda, especially not when Rhys gracefully landed beside us and strode in ahead with a wink. But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Chapter 17 His focus shifted behind me before he replied—and Lucien shut his mouth. His metal eye whirred softly. I followed his glance, and tried not to tense as Nesta stepped into the room. Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric … Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

Chapter 19 Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.” I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian. Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?” I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?” I choked, and Cassian shot me a warning glare, daring me to laugh. But I felt for that bond in my mind, lowering my mental shields enough to say to Rhysand, wherever he was in the city, Please come spare me from Cassian and Nesta’s bickering. A heartbeat later, Rhys crooned, Regretting becoming High Lady? I savored that voice—that humor. But I shoved that simmering panic down again as I countered, Is this part of my duties? A sensual, dark laugh. Why do you think I was so desperate for a partner? I’ve had almost five centuries to deal with this alone. It’s only fair you have to endure it now. Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

Chapter 22 The Carver purred to Cassian, “If I tell you a secret, warrior-heart, what will you give me?” Neither of us spoke. Carefully—we’d have to phrase and do this so carefully. The Carver stroked the shard of bone in his palm, attention fixed upon a stone-faced Cassian. “What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.” Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?” My blood went cold. “What came out was not what went in.” A rasping laugh as the Carver laid the shard of bone on the ground beside him. “How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.” Rhys had warned me of the inmates’ capacity to lie, to sell anything, to get free. “Nesta,” the Bone Carver murmured. “Nes-ta.” I squeezed Cassian’s hand. Enough. It was enough of this teasing and taunting. But he didn’t look at me. “How the wind moans her name. Can you hear it, too? Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.” I wasn’t sure Cassian was breathing. “What did she do, drowning in the ageless dark? What did she take?” It was the bite in the last word that snapped my tether of restraint. “If you wish to find out, perhaps you should stop talking long enough for us to explain.” My voice seemed to shake Cassian free of whatever trance he’d been in. His breathing surged, tight and fast, and he scanned my face—apology in his eyes.

Chapter 23 “Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment. He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

Chaper 24 Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?” “I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ” Nesta vomited again—then silence. Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.” The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned. There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed. Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame. She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys. Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered. “Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity. He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.” She blinked slowly. But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be. Until Lucien breathed, “What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. 

Chapter 27 Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed. Or for any of the furniture in this room. Precisely why Rhys now placed himself on Amren’s other side—to draw her attention away from me, and Mor behind us, every muscle in her lithe body on alert. Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

Chapter 30 Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up. I chose that moment to winnow to the skies above the House, chuckling as wind carried me through the world. Some sisterly payback, I supposed. For Nesta’s general attitude. Mercifully, no one saw my slightly better crash landing on the veranda, and by the time Cassian’s dark figure appeared in the sky, Nesta’s hair bright as bronze in the morning sun, I’d brushed off the dirt and dust from my leathers. My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

Chapter 31 In the terrible silence, Cassian hauled me out—toward the dim center of the pit. Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

Chapter 32 I wondered what had happened in those initial moments, when he’d found my sister. As if he’d read my thoughts, Rhys sent the image to me, no doubt courtesy of Cassian. Panic—and rage. That was all he knew as he shot down into the heart of the pit, spearing for that ancient darkness that had once shaken him to his very marrow. Nesta was there—and Feyre. It was the former he saw first, stumbling out of the dark, wide-eyed, her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breathe— She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead. “ Feyre,” she rasped, pointing behind her with a free hand, shaking him solidly with the other. Strength—such untapped strength in that slim, beautiful body. “Hybern.” That was all he needed to hear. He drew his sword—then Rhys was arrowing for them, his power like a gods-damned volcanic eruption. Cassian charged ahead into the gloom, following the screaming—

Chapter 39 But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried. I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy. Nesta held Mor’s stare. Her jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened—as if fighting some battle to keep questions in. Mor didn’t drop her gaze. Mor had never seemed ruffled by mention of Cassian’s past lovers. Perhaps because they’d never meant much—not in the ways that counted. But if the Illyrian warrior no longer stood as a physical and emotional buffer between her and Azriel … And worse, if the person who caused that vacancy was Nesta … Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.” My heart leaped into a furious beat, my arms slack at my sides at the insult, the threat. But Rhys said, “Mor.” She slowly—so slowly—looked at him. There was nothing but uncompromising will in Rhys’s face. “We now leave for the meeting in three days. Send out dispatches to the other High Lords to inform them. And I’m done debating where to meet. Pick a place and be done with it.” She stared him down for a heartbeat, then dragged her gaze back to my sister. Nesta’s face had not altered, the coldness limning it unbending. She was so still she seemed to barely be breathing. But she did not balk. She did not avert her eyes from the Morrigan. Mor vanished with hardly a blink. Nesta only turned and headed for the sitting room, where I noticed books had been laid on the low-lying table before the hearth.

Behind us, Amren murmured to Nesta, “Cassian has gone to war many times, girl. He isn’t general of Rhys’s forces for nothing. This battle was a skirmish compared to what lies ahead. He’s likely visiting the families of the fallen as we speak. He’ll be back before the meeting.” Nesta said, “I don’t care.”

Chapter 42 Nesta only lifted her chin. “I …” I’d never seen her stumble for words. “I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but… avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means …telling them what happened.”

Mor sagged a bit, jewelry glinting with the movement, and went to take Cassian’s arm. But he’d at last approached Nesta. And as the world began to turn to shadows and wind, I saw Cassian tower over my sister, saw her chin lift defiantly, and heard him growl, “Hello, Nesta.” Rhys seemed to halt his winnowing as my sister said, “So you’re alive.” Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?” Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze. Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire. Rhys began to winnow us again, and just as the dark wind swept in, I heard Cassian say to Nesta, his voice low and rough, “The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.”

Chapter 44 “You’re insane,” I breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” I pointed toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” “Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” Nesta let out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she said to Tamlin, “perhaps you should first look in the mirror.” Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Chapter 45 Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?” “I have not yet decided.” Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell. “Armies take time to raise,” Cassian said. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.” Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.” My heartbeat was so wild I could hear it in every corner of my body, feel it pounding in my arms, my gut. But it was nothing compared to the wrath on Cassian’s face—or the icy rage on Azriel’s and Rhys’s. And the disgust on Mor’s. “That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.” She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

Chapter 47 Helion paused his debating the wall to survey her carefully, as he had done earlier. Spell-Cleaver. That was his title. She surveyed him with her usual disdain. But Helion gave her the same bow he’d offered me—though his smile was edged with enough sensuality that even my heart raced a bit. No wonder the Lady of Autumn hadn’t stood a chance. “I don’t think we were introduced properly earlier,” he crooned to Nesta. “I’m—” “I don’t care,” Nesta said with a snap of her wrist, striding right past him and up to my side. “I’d like a word,” she said. “Now.” Cassian was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing—at the utter surprise and shock on Helion’s face. It wasn’t every day, I supposed, that anyone of either sex dismissed him so thoroughly. I threw the High Lord a semi-apologetic glance and led my sister out of the room. “What is it?” I asked when Nesta and I had entered her bedroom, the space bedecked in pink silk and gold, accents of ivory scattered throughout. The lavishness of it indeed put our various homes to shame. “We need to leave,” Nesta said. “Right now.” Every sense went on alert. “Why?” “It feels wrong. Something feels wrong.” I studied her, the clear sky beyond the towering, drape-framed windows. “Rhys and the others would sense it. You’re likely just picking up on all the power gathered here.” “Something is wrong,” Nesta insisted. “I’m not doubting you feel that way but … If none of the others are picking it up—” “I am not like the others.” Her throat bobbed. “We need to leave.” “I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here—” “I don’t care about me, I—” The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere. But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?” Nesta stiffened, mouth pursing as she weighed his tone. “It feels like there’s this …dread. This sense that … that I forgot something but can’t remember what.” Cassian stared at her for a moment longer. “I’ll tell Rhys.” And he did.

Chapter 48 Nesta let out a breathy, sharp noise and surged from her chair. I lunged for her, nearly tripping over the skirts of my dress as she staggered back, a hand clutching at her chest. Another step would have taken her stumbling into the reflection pool, but Mor sprang forward, gripping her. “What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain. Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

Chapter 49 Nesta smoothed a hand down her dark dress. “What do I do now?” A purpose, I realized. Assigning her the task of finding a way to repair the holes in the wall … it had given my sister what perhaps our human lives had never granted her: a bearing. “You come with us—to Graysen’s estate, and then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.” Not quite a mission, but Nesta nodded all the same. Right as Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder and prowled toward us. He paused a foot away, and frowned. “Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply. He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.” No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.” He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though. Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard— mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place. Nesta surveyed the fine dagger in her hand. Then lifted her head to look at him. “I told you to come to training,” Cassian said with a cocky grin, and strode off. I studied Nesta, the dagger, her quiet, still face. “Don���t even start,” she warned me, and headed for the stairs.

Chapter 51 On and on they went, until Devlon looked over Rhys’s shoulder—to where we stood. A scowl at Mor. A frown at me—wisely subdued. Then he noticed Nesta. “What is that,” Devlon asked. Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil. “That,” Cassian said too quietly, “is none of your concern.” “Is she a witch.” I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes.” And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched. “She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” “She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon countered.

Chapter 56 But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian, at the helmet he had tucked into the crook of his arm, the weapons still poking above his shoulder, in need of cleaning. His dark hair hung limp with sweat, his face was mud-splattered where even the helmet had not kept it out. But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion. But she reached for his arm—his shield arm. Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells. “And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise. But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth. “How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud. Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—” She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet. I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle. Too tired to ask if she possessed the magic to heal it herself. Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her— didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration. And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort. She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face. Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself— “You’re hurt?” At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.” Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent. Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

Chapter 56

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one blackarmored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle.

Chapter 57 Nesta laid a hand against her bare, rain-slick throat. Cassian began another assault on a Hybern captain—slower this time than he’d been. Now. I had to go now—quickly. I took a step away from the outlook. My sister narrowed her brows at me. “You’re leaving?” “I’ll be back soon,” was all I said. I didn’t dare wonder how much of our army would be left when I did. By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

Chapter 61 I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted… Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced— “He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly. Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit. She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived. But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?” Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look. After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.

Chapter 62 Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up— Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mudsplattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face. Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world. “I don’t see anything.” “Go deeper,” Amren urged. “Find that tether between you.” She stiffened, but Cassian stepped closer, and she settled again. A minute went by. Then another. A muscle twitched on Nesta’s brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth. “Nesta,” Cassian warned.

Chapter 63 Cassian chuckled hoarsely, and looked to Nesta, who remained pale and quiet. What she’d seen, what I’d seen in her mind… The size of that army… “Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape. Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

Chapter 64 “We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully. Rhys, Amren, and Mor were meeting with the other High Lords, informing them what had been done. Seeing if they knew anything. Had any way of helping. Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

Chapter 66 “Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.

Chapter 69 During the brief midday break in a large meadow, Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into Illyrian fighting leathers. When we emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Cassian had insisted, yet he’d admitted that since she was untrained, she was just as likely to hurt herself as she was to hurt someone else.

Chapter 70 Nesta pushed herself onto her elbows, hair shaking free of her braid, lips bloodless. She heaved into the grass. Rhys’s magic shot out of him, arcing around our entire army, his breathing a wet rasp— Nesta’s hands grappled into the grass as she lifted her head, scanning the horizon. Like she could see right to where the Cauldron was now about to be unleashed. Rhys’s power flowed and flowed out of him, bracing for impact. Azriel’s Siphons flashed, a sprawling shield of cobalt locking over Rhysand’s, his breathing just as heavy as my mate’s— And then Nesta began screaming. Not in pain. But a name. Over and over. “CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!” She scrambled to her feet, as if she’d leap into the skies. Her body lurched, and she went down, heaving again. A figure shot from the Illyrian ranks, spearing for us, flapping hard, red Siphons blazing— Nesta moaned, writhing on the ground. The earth seemed to shudder in response. No—not in response to her. In terror of the thing that erupted from Hybern’s army. I understood why the king had claimed those rocky foothills. Not to make us charge uphill if we should push them so far. But to position the Cauldron. For it was from the rocky outcropping that a battering ram of death-white light hurled for our army. Just about level with the Illyrian legion in the sky—as the Attor’s legion dropped to the earth, and ducked for cover. Leaving the Illyrians exposed. Cassian was halfway to us when the Cauldron’s blast hit the Illyrian forces. I saw him scream—but heard nothing. The force of that power… It shredded Azriel’s shield. Then Rhysand’s. And then shredded any Siphon-made ones. It hollowed out my ears and seared my face. And where a thousand soldiers had been a heartbeat before… Ashes rained down upon our foot soldiers. Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away. Rhys was looking at her like he knew, too. Like he didn’t know whether to scold her for the guilt Cassian would no doubt feel, or thank her for saving him. Nesta’s body went stiff again, a low moan breaking from her. I felt Rhys cast out his power—a silent warning signal. The other High Lords raised shields this time, backing the one he rallied. But the Cauldron did not hit the same spot twice. And Hybern was willing to incinerate part of his own army if it meant wiping out a strength of ours. Cassian was again hurtling for us, for Nesta sprawled on the ground, as the light and unholy heat of the Cauldron were unleashed again.

Nesta had her brow in the grass as Cassian landed so hard the ground shuddered. He was reaching for her as he panted, “What is it, what—” “It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come… That she’d done it to save him? Rhys only ordered him, “Get back in line. The soldiers need you there.” Cassian bared his teeth. “What the hell can we do against that?”

Chapter 72 Rhys made to shoot me back down to the ground, where Amren and Elain were still waiting. Nesta said, “Wait.” Rhys obeyed. Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.” I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.” Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.” “How,” Rhys said softly. “It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.” “He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.” To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king. “No,” Rhys said. Nesta snorted. “You’re not my High Lord. I may do as I wish. And since he’ll sense that you’re with me… You need to go far away, too.” Rhys said to Cassian, “I’m not letting you throw your life away for this.” I was inclined to agree. Cassian surveyed the depleted Illyrian lines, now holding strong as Azriel rallied them. “Az has control of the lines.” “I said no,” Rhys snapped. I’d never heard him use that tone with Cassian, with any of them. Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta. “You gave everything, Rhys. You went through that hell for us, for fifty years.” He’d never addressed it—not fully. “You think I don’t know what happened? I know, Rhys. We all do. And we know you did it to save us, spare us.” He shook his head, sunlight glinting off that dark, winged helmet. “Let us return the favor. Let us repay the debt.” “There is no debt to repay.” Rhys’s voice broke. The sound of it cracked my heart. Cassian’s own voice broke as he said, “I never got to repay your mother—for her kindness. Let me do it this way. Let me buy you time.” “I can’t.” I wasn’t sure if in the entire history of Illyria, there had ever been such a discussion. “You can,” Cassian said gently. “You can, Rhys.” He gave a lazy grin. “Save some of the glory for the rest of us.” “Cassian—” But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?” Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.” And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us… That distraction they’d offer … Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.” She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

Chapter 74 Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Her power had stopped hurling the king across the forest. He now stalked toward them, brushing off splinters and leaves from his jacket—taking his time. Knowing she would not leave. Savoring the awaiting slaughter. Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.” The same words Rhys had given him. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could manage. Cassian said softly, brushing away the tear that streaked down her face, “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” The King of Hybern stepped into that clearing, dark power wafting from his fingertips. And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still— then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together. I will offer you a bargain, I said to the Cauldron. I will offer you my soul. Save them. “Romantic,” the king said, “but ill-advised.” Nesta did not move from where she shielded Cassian’s body.

Chapter 80 My sister had barely spoken, barely eaten these past few days. Had not visited Cassian in his healing bed. Still had not talked to me about what had happened.

- END - 

[bookwyrminspiration]

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

chapter summary: The consequences of Sophie’s decision are starting to catch up to her, but she doesn’t know how to handle them.

Chapter 4: The Broken

Word Count: 4.7k

warnings: crying, numbness, avoiding problems, emotional breakdown (that’s the crying part), swearing, let me know if I need to add anything else

taglist: listed at the end, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

everyone ready? here we go!

ao3 link here or read beneath the cut! 

Sophie held onto the imparter until the buzzing stopped, having gone to whatever the elven version of voicemail was.

It started ringing again.

And another, behind her.

She turned painfully slow, dread curdling her skin, watching as Fitz pulled out his own imparter, staring down with that eerie gaze as it buzzed in his hand.

Then Biana.

Then Dex.

Then Wylie.

None of them answered.

The imparter in her hand chimed once, then again. They’d stopped trying to hail her--now they were sending messages. She couldn’t concentrate on the words flooding the screen, her fingers trembling too severely to hold it steady.

Before she could think it through, she opened the imparter, purposefully not reading the dozens of messages pouring in--from more than just her parents. She typed out a quick message, sent it off, and turned off the notifications, shoving it back into her bag.

The words burned the back of her throat, the ones she’d never get to say aloud, had left sealed behind with that cover when she made the choice--she made this choice--to leave.

She didn’t see what the others did as she continued moving forward, the grasses shifting from decrepit and decaying to unkempt but thriving, the vines becoming more lush, thicker and snaking and warm and untended to.

But she didn’t hear anyone pick up a call. She kept moving.

The area was...peaceful, if a bit wild. The marks left behind were clear--this area had been cared for, once upon a time. Now moss overgrew the trees, the rocks shaped as though meant to be sat upon, woven baskets left discarded on the grown, now-rotten fruits spilling from each.

“Over here,” Biana called, blinking into sight in the distance. Sophie hadn’t realized she’d disappeared.

Biana stood at the base of one of the thickest trees, towering, curling roots tearing into the soil below, sturdy enough that she stepped atop one like a stair. Biana pointed upwards, to what she’d called them to.  

Their panting wasn’t the only sound amongst the trees, the faint chimes of soft bells pealing from above, so quiet she’d almost thought the trees themselves were singing. The sound sucked the air from her lungs, draining her dry as she ran her fingers through the knots of her hair, peeling it from her sweat-soaked neck, twisting it through her hands. Resisting the urge to tear it out.

Once upon a time someone had sung such similar songs to her as they braided her worries away.

Once upon a time she’d sat with them, and cooked with them.

Once upon a time they’d died.

She dropped her hand to her side. Now was not the time.

“Okay...how do we get up there?” Wylie stood at the base of the tree near Biana, hand resting at his chin as he frowned upwards.

Just barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves and vines a rustic, curved base was visible, wrapping and coiling itself around the thick trunk, as if it’d always been there. Greenery covered it, untamed and overgrown, spreading from somewhere unseen up above.

The gnomes abandoned tree-houses.

“We climb.”

Sophie panted softly in the light of the rising sun, palms scraped and aching. It had been higher than she’d thought, no easy way up aside from the branches gracing the trunks--the gnomes had planned it that way. Hadn’t anticipated anything would be able to find a path.

Not that it mattered now.

They stood on a wooden porch, able to clearly see the rest of the homes from here--it was an entire community. She’d known, logically, the scope of the gnomes who’d gone missing. Who’d left. But standing here--there were dozens of elaborate, woven residences clinging sturdy to the forms of these trees, wrapping around them with the trunk jutting through the center.

The chiming of those faint bells reverberated throughout the area, the budding rays of sun peeking through the foliage, reflecting off small gems and pieces of glass scattered throughout the builds.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, spinning slowly, taking it all in.

Linh curled her fingers, and the sound of bubbling water rose from various places throughout the trees, delicate dripping irrigation systems diverting the dew and catching the light. Cascades of warm flowered vines fell from the roofs, curling around the braided edges of the railings on each porch. There was a gap, a gate in each, where a thin path--wood suspended on loose vine--stretched out to the next tree, the next habitat over, some meeting and crossing, each dripping with moss and foliage and morning dew--and gouge marks.

Her stomach turned ice as she tentatively stepped out onto one of the bridges, gingerly fingering the marks. This place was beautiful, yes.

But it was abandoned. Empty.

The people who had woven these bridges, molded themselves into the trees--none of them remained.

The wings at her back shivered, twitching with her despair, and the urge to rend them from her skin nearly consumed her. Monsters had ransacked this place, torn the people from their homes and broken their paradise.

Nothing from below, no.

They’d been attacked by monsters with wings.

“What now, Sophie?” Keefe was looking at her so softly, head cocked to the side, it made her want to rip it from his face. She shook herself internally, dousing the thought with alarm. No. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d done all this...come all the way out here, just to keep herself from hurting people.

She wouldn’t start now.

She would fight this, whatever was happening to her, whatever was changing within her, as long as she fucking could and she would not let it control her. She’d needed to get out of the underground, couldn’t trust herself to be near them anymore--but neither could they.

“Now…” she paused for a moment, unsure what to do. So many things had gone so wrong so quickly, the ground ripped from beneath her feet. What would they do? “Now, we hurt them back.”

Her resolve was steel against the chill morning air, cutting through the loathing with absolute certainty. At least for now.

Maybe she couldn’t trust herself to be a safe person anymore, but neither could any of them. The wings had come first--and Tam’s eyes had come next. Who knew when--if--it would stop. Where. Maybe it wouldn’t.

They could all be on a collision course, already doomed and just waiting to reach the end of the road. But until then. She was going to do everything she could to hurt back the people who’d taken the safety, the individuality from her friends. From her.

The others felt her thoughts, her determination through their linked minds, and she watched as each of their faces hardened alongside her own.

They couldn’t trust themselves either.

Didn’t matter whether or not they had a dangerous ability, they’d still become an unknown to the people they loved. Still hated not knowing when and if and what would happen and where and if it would stop and whether or not they could trust their own minds.

None of them could, but they were all in it together.

It was a risk. Any of them could lose themselves, turn on each other they way they were afraid they would underground.

But it was a shared fear, a shared future, a shared determination.

But it was all of them, all of them versus themselves.

And that was a risk, a chance, they’d take any fucking day. 

The window in Sophie’s space was broken.

It would’ve been beautiful, once upon a time. Gnomish things often were. Curling, intertwining branches curved around each other, climbing up the wall in a haphazard arc, overgrown with flora. The view beyond was somehow better, the tops of the trees bursting with color, dripping dew set ablaze by the early morning sun.

Now glass littered the floor, dusting the panels, scattering themselves across the floor, pieces of different colors of someone else’s life. Faint tendrils of vine clung to the few cracked panes remaining in the frame, as if desperately holding itself together.

She tucked her knees in closer to her chest.

The light flowed through that shattered window, catching on the pieces on the ground, reflecting back up on her face as she sat there atop someone else’s bed, mussed and pressed against the wall, those wings spread behind her as she sat staring through that shattered hole.

She should be sleeping.

The others were.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t. Not when the last time she’d done so she’d woken to be someone--something--else. Not when her imparter lay beneath her legs, ablaze with messages she may never read.

Those wings shifted behind her and she grimaced, gaze fixed straight ahead.

She hugged her knees closer.

Sophie Foster was

so

tired.

The wings twitched again, and her breath caught. The trees outside that shattered window grew slightly blurry, and she blinked hard. It wouldn’t go away.

Tear after tear tracked its way through the scrapes and dirt on her face, drifting down her cheeks and dripping their way across the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her nails dug into her skin, trying trying trying to hold those pieces of herself together, hold herself together like that broken window. Those pieces that had been shattered and scattered within moments, flipped around and tossed with abandon.

She couldn’t find that Sophie who’d been so angry, so determined, bursting with fight. Her friends had made a commitment to her and themselves, to get back at the people who’d done...this...to them.

They’d each claimed a home, an old gnomish space.

And when Sophie had walked into hers, chosen it for the wreath of moonflower vines framing the door, the moment her friends’ eyes left her, every bone in her body had turned to stone and her muscles to feathers.

She’d sat before that broken window and she hadn’t moved since.

She couldn’t.

Every time she moved, so did…they.

Just thinking about it sent a jolt through her spine that had them twitching. She hadn’t seen them, hadn’t looked.

She’d seen the stumps in the mirror, had caught glimpses of color and shape in her friends’ minds when she’d crashed into that tree, when she’d jumped from that creature.

Not enough to see them.

There was a part of her, a foolish, hopeless part of her, that thought if she ignored it long enough, it would go away.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t there.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t real.

Seeing them made them real.

She didn’t want them to be real.

She

was

so

tired.

Sophie’s gaze drifted outside the window, wandering between the different colored leaves and the draping vines and the flowers dangling from the--her--broken window.

Then it caught.

Alongside the bottom of the twisted branches was enough glass left for a splintered reflection to stare back, hollow tear-stained eyes, knotted hair stuck to her skin, curled up like she could disappear if she held herself close enough.

Wings.

They were hard to see in the glass, but they spread behind her, as if reminding her they were there. Her pulse roared in her ear, body overcome with that numbing tingle of pure panic.

Sophie inhaled. And slowly turned to look at them.

They were...real.

Attached at her shoulder blades, they spread from her back, the entirety of them on display. She couldn’t...tell what they were. Her friends, they each had something identifiable. An animal, a creature of some kind. Something distinct.

These...weren’t.

But she could identify the base.

Bumblebee.

That was the shape. The delicate, thin membranes threaded through with veins, and as they beat they made the same buzz. That’s what she’d been hearing earlier, she realized. That hum as she walked through the forest--it had been the wings.

But the color was off. Bees' wings were colorless, maybe a gradient of beige near the body. These were alive with splotches of color, translucent blues fading into purples blending into greys, speckled throughout with blinding white.

Like the endless expanse of the night sky. The hollow echo of the void.

Her eyesight blurred again, and she blinked hard as she followed the veins from the edge of the wing, all the way to where it met with her back. It took her a few moments to understand what she was seeing.

Another way she’d been set apart.

There were...feathers. Small, colored feathers textured through with speckles and swirling white patterns at the very base--only at the base. As if those wings had been unable to decide what they wanted to be, and had decided to be everything.

Sophie reached out, tentatively tracing a finger along the membrane.

She jolted, back arching reflexively, as if someone had tickled the bottoms of her feet.

She pressed out an exhale.

So they were sensitive.

Very

sensitive.  

Sophie turned back away, looking out through the window once more, suddenly so so...numb. Her eyelids became lead, trying to succumb to gravity.

No.

Please.

Jerkily, exhaustion-worn, she reached for her imparter, still pressed between her legs. Anything. She’d do anything to keep from falling asleep again.

She thumbed open the messages, the unanswered chats between her and her terrified, desperate, confused parents. She couldn’t read them. The adrenaline trying to sear its path through her veins could’ve been nothing for all she felt.

She knew it was there. But it was doing nothing.

Sophie’s shoulders dropped, imparter slipping from her grasp as the electrical signals in her body stopped working. Her fingertip caught the edge of the screen, sending the conversation scrolling back back back.

Until she could see that one, final message she’d sent her parents.

I’m sorry. I left of my own will. I didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t look for me. I’m sorry. I love you. I always will. I’m so sorry.

And then Sophie Foster collapsed.

She could see herself. She was supposed to, at least. She wasn’t actually there.

There was no her to see.

 The mirrors only reflected themselves back on each other again and again, becoming a darkening, sickening shade of green with each faux version of not-her.

 The mirrors were empty.

 Where was she?

 Why couldn’t she see?

She was here, wasn’t she?

Why couldn’t she see herself?

 The mirrors weren’t supposed to be empty.

 Where had she gone?

Cinnamon and wind pressed against Sophie’s face, and her eyes snapped open, instantly on edge. She jerked up, those wings buzzing with alarm. Her fingers splayed behind in the torn sheets of that bed as all her senses overloaded her mind with too much information all at once.

The sun was still out but it was setting the trees were wet and the fibers of this blanket were individually woven together and the air was rusting the flower petals on the door and--

“Woah, woah, woah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” Fitz was holding his hands out placatingly, like she were some startled animal. Which...she supposed she was.

Sophie took a moment to respond, breathing slowly until all that sensory information became no more than background noise.

“Are you...alright,” he asked, lowering himself onto the bed, sitting diagonal so those wings didn’t get in the way. Those wings. She’d hadn’t looked at them closely yet. Had been too frenzied on adrenaline.

She changed the topic. “Do you know what...kind...those are,” she asked, gesturing towards the wings with her chin.

He grimaced, gazing over his shoulder. “I tried not to think about it, if I’m being honest.”

“But…” Sophie prodded, encouraging him gently with a nod of her head. Her face softened as she scanned him, the rumpled clothes--he’d changed into a new outfit--the unkempt hair, as if he’d pushed it back and forth, torn his fingers through it; the circles and lines beneath his eyes, framing his face like bruises; the scratches lining his knuckles, the way he pulled and fidgeted with his hands as he looked back at her--behind her.

The wings tucked in, resting against her back as she gently nudged him with her arm.

“Well...obviously, I’m assuming a bird of some kind.” He exhaled lightly with faint amusement, rolling his eyes. “You know. Because of the feathers.”  

“Can I...may I see?” Her voice was too quiet, should’ve been too quiet. But they both heard her all too clearly. She winced, starting to pull back, lean away. She’d so clearly hidden the ones attached to her, now she was asking him to show off the pair on his back.

His eyes widened slightly as she retreated, and the wings spread slightly. He shifted on the bed, and the full length extended, wrapping up and descending around her, nearly enveloping her.

She couldn't keep the silent gasp from slipping through her lips, mouth falling opening as she saw the full pattern of those wings. Rich brown feathers melded into warm, golden honey, spattered throughout with occasional pops of cream. The feathers were smaller closer to his back, growing steadily longer and sleeker as they reached the outer edges of the wings, nearly the length of her forearm.

“I don’t know what kind of bird they could be,” he admitted, blush staining his cheeks. “There aren’t many with natural, earthy coloring in the Lost Cities.” His voice broke at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it. The Lost Cities. They truly were lost now, weren’t they. A faux paradise broken into pieces, nothing more than memory. As ruined and haphazard as she was.

Sophie shook herself. Not now. Fitz needed her. She needed him. She cocked her head, looking at the pattern. “They remind me off…” she trailed off, sending her mind back back back. Something was pulling at her, a memory; something from her human life. There. A day at the San Diego zoo, her human mother holding her hand as they looked through the habitats.

“A golden eagle,” she whispered.

Fitz said nothing as she reached out, almost in a daze, running her finger along the edge of those feathers. He didn’t react, so…

“These aren’t sensitive, are they?” It was more statement than question, but he nodded anyway.

“Why? Are yours?”

Something clanged through her at that, jolting through her muscles and sending her thoughts convulsing into the shadows. Hers. She pushed it aside.

“We’re talking about you right now,” she teased, a little too out of breath to be okay. Her fingers fisted in the ragged bed sheets, resisting the urge to pull at her skin, her scalp, anywhere she could get her hands on.

He frowned at her, scrunching his nose a bit. “This isn’t just a me thing, Sophie.” His voice was too gentle, too caring, too too too aware of everything going on inside her and reading her like a book of melodies he could leaf through at his whimsy. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you after everything. But I know you’re trying to hide it. The leader we--all of us, Sophie--want you to be isn’t a person who will hide themselves from us. I know it wasn’t the same for you, the mission, waking up, but that doesn’t mean we’re that different.”

He glanced over her shoulder at both those pairs of wings, bumblebee and golden eagle. “Please don’t push us away. You don’t have to talk to me,” he continued, looking down at her clenched fingers, gently uncurling them and holding her hand in both his own. “But please talk to one of us.”

Fuck.

They sat there for a few moments, just breathing next to each other in heavy silence as Fitz brushed his thumb rhythmically over the back of her hand, ready to wait. To wait as long as it took her to say whatever was boiling brewing curling steaming screaming inside her.

It broke her.

Her fingers tightened in his as her whole body wracked with sobs, shuddering and collapsing in on itself. Her free hand slapped to her mouth, trying to push the noises back into her lungs, the room splotchy and blurred as those tears she’d tried so hard to ignore and to keep to herself and to pretend were only temporary slipped through.

She didn’t scream.

Fitz pulled her into an embrace as she shuddered, crying silently into his shoulder. Her throat was so so thick, so tense, her tongue so heavy in her mouth she couldn’t speak. Nails digging into his shoulder blade, fingertips brushing against the base of those wings, and she cried harder.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to--. What did she want?

His arms were so warm around her, so steady as he held her, squeezing her closer and waiting waiting waiting for her.

She couldn’t find the willpower to voice it, to speak it aloud.

She didn’t need to.

She didn’t have the strength to speak, but her mind was stronger than her body.

I don’t want to become a monster.

That was what she was running from, hiding from. This possibility. The chance that the wings weren’t the end, that maybe this was where the first monsters had come from, all those months ago. And she was next. She’d have to sit inside her body and watch it rot, becoming the very thing she hated, despised, so dearly. Something with nothing inside it, something bloodthirsty who frothed at the opportunity to attack, no thought behind her actions, a danger to anyone near.

And that had driven her away from some of the most important people in her life. Looking back, it was still safest for her to be as far from her family as possible, but it still hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt.

She hadn’t been able to read the messages from her parents, whatever they’d said to her in terror, desperation, fear for her.

Maybe one day it would be fear of her.

She hated what she’d done to them, but she couldn’t fix it. Not when she was like...this. An unknown assuming the worst.

I know. Fitz inhaled shakily next to her ear, and she realized he was crying too. I know...exactly what you’re feeling. His mind was whirling beside hers, both their mental shields lowered as they sat beside one another.

His thoughts were slow but oh so tragic. Each one a nightmare, his body ruined and decaying, a monster that had once been him crawling its way into the underground, tearing the stones from the walls, gouging into the unprotected below.

Ripping his mother’s heart from her chest.

His arms clenched around her and she held him closer too.

Hey. Hey. Hey, she consoled, gently rocking the two of them back and forth. You...You’re not a monster, she finally whispered, and he sagged in her grasp, burying his face in her neck. I don’t think you could be. You’re too...good.

He laughed hollowly against her skin as she released her death grip on his shoulder blades, a hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

She’d tried to distract herself from the wings on her back by asking about the ones on his...but he’d also tried to distract himself from his quiet nightmares by asking about her own. What a pair they were.

What a group.

This was the two of them, but they were not solitary lights. They were fragments of stars amongst the constellations of people they had chosen to love.

Eight of them living through the exact same waking nightmare, only a few doors away.

“We’ll fix this,” she promised, voice hoarse from her tears. “I don’t know...I don’t know what fixed will be. Maybe we’ll be out here for the rest of our lives. Maybe we’ll go back to the underground eventually. Maybe...maybe we’ll even go home.” Her voice broke on the last word, but his breathing had slowed. He was listening. “But whatever it will be, we’ll find it. We’ll make it. All of us. We work best when we work together. If anyone can fix this...it’s us.”

Fitz leaned back, his palms running down her arms and coming to rest in their laps.

“Yeah,” he whispered, staring down at their interlaced fingers, eyes red and vacant. And it was so so natural to reach forward, brush his tears away with her thumbs, hold his face in her hands for a moment before picking up his own once more.

He looked up at her at that, opening his mouth as if to continue, but he paused, head cocking to the side and a slight smile spreading across his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just...are you--” he cut out, looking down at his palms, laughing slightly as he angled them towards her, so she could see.

The skin of his palms was dusted in a faint layer of light powder, almost a translucent silver. He pointed to her own arms, and she followed his gesture.

“What are you--oh.” All thoughts left her mind, leaving her with just a what? Every inch of her exposed limbs was brushed with a fine layer of powder, clinging to the surface of her skin and catching the sunlight streaming in through that broken window.

Sophie scooted back on the bed, shaking out her arms, a shower of light dust raining down. She wasn’t even angry about it, there was only pure dumbfounded bafflement as she brushed the powder off again and again and again, mostly of it falling to the sheets, but enough clinging to her skin that she was sure she’d never be rid of it.

Fitz laughed louder at her perplexed expression, glancing at him as she shook out her hands again, his voice cracking slightly as he stood, bounding to the broken window and eagerly leaning out, looking around.

“What are you doing? This is a very serious situation Fitzroy,” she said, scrunching her nose at him lightheartedly. Sure, she was confused. But she could handle that if it got rid of that horrid numbness shadowing his face. Whatever it was sent a sweet scent wafting from him, and she smiled slightly herself. He was...genuinely amused. But what was he doing?

He turned towards her and grinned, pointing to one of the flowers framing the glass, a soft periwinkle encrusted with speckles of grey, drooping from the vines. “Look.” Flower between his fingers, he tapped it a few times, a shower of that fine powder falling from the center.

“...and?” She wasn’t following.

“You’re a bumblebee,” he laughed slightly. “It’s pollen.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” she sighed, pressing her hands into her cheeks, squishing her face as she turned to look at him. “Our homes being overrun by mindless bloodthirsty creatures: I can handle. Living underground for months: I can handle. Running away from our families: I can handle that. Growing fucking wings? I can handle it. But this pollen. I just don’t think I can take it. I think this, right here, this will bee my breaking point.”

Fitz full on snorted at that, her little pun, and she found herself grinning back at him.

His smile faded after a moment and he titled his head to look at her, the movement inhuman. “You can handle it, huh?”

She dropped her hands down to her lap, thinking it over. She’d been joking around, wanting to make him laugh, ease the weight off both the shoulders the way Keefe did so effortlessly, but...the words hadn’t come out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she answered finally. “I think we can.”

Maybe not now. This would hurt, this would linger for a while yet, but she’d get there. There was a while yet to go, but it would be manageable someday.

She’d have to remind herself of that.

He nodded to himself, briefly meeting her gaze, and she was put off for a moment at the intensity of his stare. He nodded again, and something shifted in his stance. His muscles eased and a sturdy calm washed over him, like he’d seen something in her that’d given him confidence.

“I guess then we’ll--” he cut off as both their heads snapped towards the door.

The sound.

Light footsteps pounded erratically against wood, losing their balance several times as they skidded right onto that patio outside. Something pinged in the back of the mindbubble.

Something’s wrong.

They each flinched as the door burst open, Biana’s hair frazzled, eyes wide with pure panic, the scent of damp terror permeating the space. She leaned in just long enough to say two awful words.

“It’s Dex.”

Taglist: @loudnerdfest @rainbowtay-11 @cadence-talle @pyrokinetic-loser @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @itstiger720 @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjennie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @booknerdddddd

[criquette-was-here]

Long Due Replies

Hi everyone! It’s been some crazy few months for me. Real life has taken over completely so I didn’t have a chance to pay attention to my inbox. There are lot of asks on troubleshooting and I apologise for not being able to help on time. I hope everyone who needed help has got it somehow >.< There’s a crazy amount of messages, so I’m going to hide it under the cut.

@shutupshirley said:

Hi Criquette, I’m sorry because this is dumb, but I don’t understand how to install your neighbourhood lighting mod on an installation of Ultimate Collection... do I change out every lighting.txt file I can find across all the expansion and stuff packs? :/

Thank you!!!!

Hi @shutupshirley! I’m not a big specialist on windows version of TS2 and UC but I believe there are two folders you have to look at and they are ‘Fun with Pets’ and ‘Open for Business’

Anonymous said:

What do you imagine residents of Feverfew are called? I keep doing Peruvian but like Ferfewian or some

Oh, yes, I was thinking about this matter at some point! Feverfewian is what I came up with. I even found a wiki article about different names for different town inhabitants to sort of made it up a bit, but I haven’t write down the result I had and now I’ve lost it. I think feverfewians sounds best, it can even have some silly derivatives like ‘fewies’

@3sushiroll said:

Hi Criquette, I'm getting into SC4 and have been getting the hang of it while using the sims 2 hood planner. I've been starting to use bridges and have been using yours. When I put in the tile measurement into the hood planner (ex: 15 tile = 8 in SC4), it doesn't exactly line up in game. Does this usually happen for you and you put in a piece of fake road in the middle or am I just doing it wrong and it should line up super nicely? Thank you for all your wonderful creations!

Hi @3sushiroll! Yes, TS2 parses SC4 roads this way. I always put some decorative road in the gap or I make the shores narrower so that the bride would overlap the road. But to make slopes where the road ends equal, you have to use TS2 terraforming tool to make this flat empty piece of terrain right after the road end into slope so that it would look like the opposite.

Anonymous said:

Hi there, hope you're doing well! I downloaded your simple walkways set and noticed that they float. They don't sit on the ground properly. Is there anything I can do on my end to make them sit closer to the ground? Any help would be appreciated, thank you!

Hey anon! Thank you! Yes, this old set of walkways was made this way. Maxis made neighborhood mode roads float, so I had to do the same with road related decorations. But now you can use these Cobblestone paths or side walks from the Rural Charm, they’re as close to the ground as possible.

Anonymous said:

hey! would it ever be possible for you to create recolors of the cobblestone sidewalks in red brick/cobblestone?

Hi anon! I don’t think so :| I can’t even find the time to fix some Ferverfew related issues >.<

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette. I liked Feverfew very much. I would like to make some of the houses multi-unit, keeping your doors in place. Is it possible to add the function of apartments to these doors? :)

Hi nonne! As far as I’m aware, you can only default replace those apartment doors which is quite useless. What you can do, is to put an apartment door right behind the front door. This, obviously, would eat up the space but could work as a solution.

Anonymous said:

Hello! I just downloaded Feverview and it's gorgeous! I can't believe all the little details you added, the effort and love you put into this project is incredible. I just had a small question: a few residential lots are fake apartments, I was wondering if you know how to turn them into functional apartments 

Hi anon! I’m glad you liked Feverfew! ^__^ In theory, you can use SimPE or Lot Editor to change lot type from residential to apartment and then implement apartment doors somehow, but since I don’t have AL in my Super Collection, I have zero experience in that.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette! :) I just realized recently that if I delete objects in game, I have to delete first the recolors of it. I've already deleted a bunch of objects without knowing about this, so now my downloads folders has houndreds of recolors without meshes. Do you know about anything I can do to find and delete these orphans? (Delphys download organizer just can't make difference)

Hi anon! I’m definitely not a helper on the matter of keeping Downloads folder organised, sorry ^^’‘ I would thing about finding sets of files with similar names keeping eye on the absence of the word ‘mesh’ in the names, and looking at the file size at the same time. And that would take ages, obviously. 

@ardyyy4 said:

Hello Criquette. I love Feverfew so much. But I have a problem. The grass and NHood objects are flickering together and it looks bad. How can i fix it? Thanks.

Hello Arda! That’s because of the neighborhood camera you’re using. I’d recommend you to install this particular camera just to get rid of flickering.

Anonymous said:

Hello! First of great content! Always been a fan! I was wondering if you could give a bit of advice with hood deco, I have downloaded an Ocean floor from Gwenke, and in lot view it only shows up at the very far edges, around my lot it is missing (it does show when render is set to small though). And it shows on beach lots too, I was wondering if you know of way to make it so that it is seen no matter what the view distance is etc? (I have the relevant cheats on btw) Thank you in advance!

Hey nonnie! Thanks :) Have you ticked off object hiding in the settings? Other than that, it could be camera issues.

Anonymous said:

is there a way to stop neighborhood decor from fading? I know there is the „boolprop dontmergenhflora“ cheat, but I still get some fading. for excample when I look at the lot from the street the NH decor by the street fades

That’s definitely sounds like object hiding option from the game settings :}

Anonymous said:

Hey how are you ? I hope all is well. I was wondering how is it that ts2 has no ski deco but in ts1 we had ski slope and skate lake !?? I was wondering can you and the sim community make deco or interactive items such as a ski slope or even snow shoes or just something that goes with seasons n BV pack ?

Hello anon! I hope you’re well too! Ski slope and winter sports related decos is something I wanted to make since 2016, but never had enough time to do so. Sometimes I even think about available TS2 technologies to make an animated ski lift and umm.. may be in the next ten years? ^^’‘

Anonymous said:

hello!! i'm sorry if u already answered something like this (i searched but found nothing) but the better nightlife isn't working for me :(( i put the better nightlife+voielle water on download fold and the decorations still flashing in pink light, i did something wrong? (i use win10) sorry for the inconveniente

Hey anon! Sometimes you have to do these weird steps in order to make it work:

remove Better Nightlife + water mod from your downloads folder,

load the game, load the neighborhood, make some changes, exit game

put Better Nightlife with water back. Toggle day/night with ‘L’ key to see if it works. If it’s not, than the problem is somewhere else. Pink flashing also could be unrelated to Better Nightlife, so I’d recommend to check TS2 graphics setting for Win10 manuals available.

Anonymous said:

Hello there, I'm having a problem with the rural charm, on lot view the roads have yellowish boards (idk how to explain exactly). I saw that was because of CuriousB terrain, but I don't have it downloaded anymore so I'm kinda confused. What should it be? Sorry for bothering,,,

Hello, anon! What’s current season you’re having in your game? It can be the season lighting differences that make roadside and terrain grass colors different. If it’s not, I’d check the Downloads folder to see if there’s still some terrain DRs I’ve forgot about.

@pinkflamingosims said:

Hi criquette! I was wondering if you have any idea why some hood deco cc crashes on mac, like palm 1 to 4 from the tropical 4t2 set by leoz94. Leoz94 says the only difference is the high polycount, but I don't think that's it, it looks a bit high to me but not insanely so, I have  other stuff in that range with no problem... Have a nice - evening?

Hey @pinkflamingosims! I hope you’re doing well! Yes, some hood decos are really make the game crash and frankly speaking, I think that’s jsut package related issues like broken references in the resource tree. The best way to fix this type of hood decos is to make a clean and stable new clone and replace mesh/textures again.

Anonymous said:

Hello and thank you for amazing Feverfew map! I have a problem... ground is flashing red and I cannot fix it, do you have solution for this problem? It's been soooo long when I last played Sims 2 so apparently I did something wrong when installed CC. :(

Hello anon! Thank you! Oh, red flashing could be the result of lighting mod not being installed correctly. I’d start with getting rid of any lighting mods to see if it helps.

@marv61​ said:

Hi Criquette. I just downloaded your terrain of Forkshire, it looks great! I know it has been since 2009 that you uploaded the terrain but I was wondering if you have a completed Neighborhood with houses, trees and all for download? I would love to play your version. Thanks.

Hi Patchman! Oh, goodness no! :D That was 12 years ago, those TS2 files are long gone since then.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette, first things first, I love your work thank you so much, you inspire me! Now the question: I have been using the dirt roads from your Rural Lanes set and found that sometimes it is difficult if not impossible to fit them to the slopes of steep terrain. Would it be possible to instead create road pieces as a texture like your Neighborhood Decals? That way they would "stick" onto the terrain regardless of shape. Wondering what you think? Love!

Hello and thank you, anon! The problem with the decals – we can’t see it in lot mode yet. And it must be a DR only so we’d have to ditch one of the Maxis’ decals for dirt road, which isn’t great too.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette! Will Betternightlife mod ever be updated to work with lighting mods with dawn and dusk? Is there any that already works with it? I really want to use the light up hood decos!

Hey anon! You can use it with lighting mods that add dusk and dawn to the game. For instance, there’s one here by @dreadpirate​.

Anonymous said:

Hey Criquette! I recently used your template to make lit-up hood deco buildings using the Better Nightlife mod. The day text was great! However, the night texture was being clipped by the day texture. That is, some parts of the day texture was showing through the night texture. Is there a fix for this?

Hello nonnie! I’d recommend to check the meshes to see if day/night parts clip through each other and if they aren’t I’d check if all the day/night TXMT data is correct.

@criquette​ said:

I've installed Fewerfew following all your istructions. Apparently it works but the night lamps are flashing pink even ig I've installed the mod better night light. It seems that this mod does not work properly. Any recommendation?

Being Criquette, you should know the solution to that issue yourself :P Just kidding, sorry, couldn’t resist! If it flashes pink only by night than you have to check your ‘Downloads’ folder for conflicts. If it’s flashing constantly day and night, than I’d better check graphics setting using some windows related guides available across the Internet.

Anonymous said:

Hello, I love Feverfew and it's amazing. I have a problem where Linden Tree 1A isn't showing up in my game even though it's in my downloads folder. Also the railroad tracks are flashing blue, and those are in my folder too. Thanks in advance!  :)

Hello anon! What type of the trees you’re using? Stand alone or default ones? If you’re using defaults, you can find the trees under Maxi’s oaks accordingly. As for the flashing blue railway tracks, check if you have this set in your ‘Downloads’ folder :)

Anonymous said:

Hello Criquette, before asking for help, I came to say that the Brazilian community loves your creations. But, to get to the point, anyway, I have been thinking about creating a Hood (inspired by Rio de Janeiro), so I would like to know how to create Deco Hoods for my game (the statue of Christ), I can't find that anywhere, Would you help me?

Hi there! Ah, most kind, thank you ^^ Well, there’s no big deal in creating hood decos. You have to switch your SimPE to advanced mode and after that neighborhood decoration will be visible in the catalogue to be cloned. I assume you already know how to make lot mode objects and know how to create, edit or convert meshes/textures though.

@hideshio​ said:

Hello! I found your train set (and it's AMAZING) on mts and was wondering if you had a railroad crossing sign? With the lights, X, and the red/white hand that goes down. Or the lights that go across a pole above the railroads. Thank you!  =D

Hello @hideshio​! Well, there is a railway crossing sign with lights and red/white hand included in this set :D it’s not animated though. But still!

Anonymous said:

Hi criquette, I’m a huge admirer of you work and I was wondering if you had any advice regarding road placement. Specifically the difficulty of road pieces that are deco only being able to be placed underneath the actually roads leaving it looking a little off.. if there a way to raise them higher before placing them or some kind of work around? 

Hey anon, thank you! Unfortunately, there’s no way to make decorative road pieces work for lot mode and neighborhood mode at the same time. If you lift them so they look okay in hood mode, they will float in the air in lot mode. Since my latest creations are lot mode oriented, I’ve decided to save my efforts on making road pieces even with neigborhood mode roads.

Anonymous said:

Hey Criquette. I noticed that in my Feverfew none of the buildings across the street of Feverfew Sports Hall show up. I know those are supposed to be hood deco and look like duplex buildings, but I can't figure out what I'm missing. I deleted and redownloaded everything and couldn't fix it. Also the river ends at the first bridge in front of the cathedral, so the boats next to it appear to be flying. What is going on?

Hey anon! There’s definitely some files missing. If you’ve checked and redownloaded all the files, try to replace the Feverfew neighborhood folder with initial one. The game never restores disappeared hood decos by itself. Even if they were placed in the folder after their absence is discovered.

@simping-simmer​ said:

Hi Criquette, am I remembering correctly that there is a trick you can do with SimPE to change the height of individual pieces of hood deco? I’m struggling with putting ships in my dock because if I change a CC ship’s placeability to be able to be on both land and sea, it just sinks, but if I only keep it on sea, it can’t get close enough to the shore to place it in my docks. Does this make sense at all? Lol

Hello @simping-simmer​, you’re absolutely right. You can change the height of placed hood decos via SimPE. Things you need to do are described here and here

Anonymous said:

Hello! I love all your work.  I was wondering if you had ever thought of making some desert roads along the lines of the Terrain Mod: Dusty Roads for Desert Neighbourhoods by Stev84? I love the way this looks in my desert, but unfortunately, this mod makes the road in live mode a floor, which then makes you unable to place driveways.

Hey anon! Thanks ^^ Frankly, I don’t have any plans on creating any desert related CC at all :|

Anonymous said:

Hello Criquette. I would like to thank you for all the amazing work you have done creating content for sims 2. Thanks to you all my projects are possible. My question is: Chainlink fences for neighborhood deco... Do they exist? Searching the web these past day only found for build mode. Do you know of someone who already make some for deco hood? Or kindly will you be able to make some if its not much work? My sports fields and Industrial zones will be pleased for sure! Once again, thank you! :)

Hey anon and thank you! I don’t think hood deco chainlink fences were created by someone yet, but they definitely would be a great addition to the game. I was going to create some while working on Feverfew, but never had enough time to do that. May be i’ll make one at some point in the future!

Anonymous said:

Hello, Criquette. Do you know of any way to place lots without the area around it moving? I downloaded Ousmeo's remake of your Dullsfielde and read his og post using the waytime machine. When viewing that post, Tumblr recommended similar posts, one of which seemed to be a tip to prevent good deco from moving when placing lots nearby, but that post wasn't archived, so I can't visualise it. My guess is that if anyone else knows about this, it must be the best hood decorator that ever was ;-)

Hello anon! Ugh, this TS2 ‘feature’ is driving me mad quite often too! Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to get rid of it. The only way to fix the consequences is to backup initial hood folder and when you finish placing lots, replace spoiled terrain with the initial one with SimPE or HoodReplace.

[booksimp]

Flame of Autumn - Part Two

A/N: Part two of Midnight at Rita’s is finally here, everyone! Sorry it took so long, I started a new job and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. As you can tell, I’ve named this series something different. That’s because Midnight at Rita’s was supposed to be a smut one off, but it has a mind of it’s own and has become an actual fic. This will be part two of a series called “Flame of Autumn”. This fic is going to be quite long, and more elaborate than anything I’ve written here so far. I hope you enjoy!

“Oh, fucking hell.” I curse, clapping a hand over my mouth in shock.

Azriel chuckles sardonically, running a hand through his already sex mussed curls, puffing out a shocked breath. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide.  

“Well said.”

For a few moments, we just sit and feel the bond thrum between us, like the plucked string of a cello. We’re still flushed and dazed, our panting breaths the only sound in the room as we stare at each other. 

A strange intermingling of emotion overwhelms me. Elation, joy, desire. A desire to take hold of Azriel and never, ever be parted from him. But all of it is entirely eclipsed by a sense of dread. It wraps itself around my throat, my heart, like a noose of ice. 

A mate is just another person to lose, to endanger with my own existence. 

The faces of all those that have suffered to protect me, that I ultimately lost, flash across my vision. A macabre version of a scrapbook. Just as easily as he perceived my earlier insecurities, Azriel notices the rising emotions in me. With the mate bond newly revealed, I wonder if the connection we’d felt all night had been the first clue. That, and his uncanny ability to read me like an open book. 

“Sabine, I don’t expect anything from you. But I- I’d like to explore this. We can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” 

His face shines with hope as he takes my hand in his, squeezing gently. A hesitant reach down the bond caresses against me. His eyes are open and earnest, a shy smile on his face. The epitome of honest and trustworthy. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew Sabine isn’t my real name. 

A pang of guilt shoots through me, at the dishonesty of it, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Lying to others has become disturbingly easy over the years I’ve been in hiding. I’m skilled at it now, diversion and distraction like second nature. But the thought of keeping up the ruse with my mate is unbearable. Having to lie every day, and to the person who should know the absolute truth of myself? I can’t do it. I won’t do it. 

I’m opening my mouth to admit things I haven’t in years, when my mothers face flashes through my mind. She was the first to implore me to hide my abilities, and the first to die because of them. 

“You threaten his crown. He will destroy everything you love to keep you quiet, my girl. You cannot give him more ammunition. You get close to no one. You keep moving. Don’t ever come back here.” 

Her words ring in my ears like I’m hearing them for the first time. I shut my mouth with a snap. I can’t tell Azriel anything, for fear of bringing the wrath of my father down on him. Can I even stay in Velaris? 

When I first heard of the hidden city of the Night Court, heavily guarded by the most powerful High Lord, I rejoiced. Isolated and with a varied population, it made the perfect hiding place. Not to mention that Velaris is far outside the reach of my fathers court. I’ve felt almost safe here, and the thought of leaving this city, of leaving Azriel, has my heart sinking into my stomach. Azriel slowly places a hand on my cheek, breaking me free of my internal struggle. Concern shapes his features, hazel eyes heartbreakingly gentle. He is too perceptive to not see the indecision and fear in me, bond or not. Without meaning to, I speak. 

“Okay.” 

A relieved grin graces his lips. I feel the apprehension fading from him, being replaced with soft joy. It makes my decision for me. Azriel is an Illyrian, not exactly an easy target. We’re in the safest place there is for me. If I guard my secret well enough, I can stay. Stay, and see where this newfound bond leads us. I pray to the Cauldron that I’m not making a stupid, selfish mistake. 

“Are you sure?” His brow furrows, intent on my response.

In that moment, I know that no matter how strongly he feels, Azriel will let me walk away. If I decide he’s not what I want, he would honor my choice no questions asked. It only makes me more certain of my decision. I’ve never been one to tolerate a controlling male.

“Absolutely. Are you?” I ask, inching closer to him, still clutching the sheets against myself.

His eyes flicker down to my chest, and back to my eyes. When a faint blush paints his cheeks, I nearly drop the bedding in shock. So the confident male can get flustered. I file the information away for later, barely containing a smirk. 

“Of course I am, I’ve waited almost six hundred years for you.” His voice is low, each syllable more sure than the last. 

My heart soars inside my chest at his words. Depthless hazel eyes bore into mine, and his shadows brush against my bare skin. They send shivers all along my body, and I edge even closer to him. He meets me in the middle of the bed, his forehead touching mine as his gaze roves over me like I’m a precious, once lost jewel. I do the same, drinking in the sight of the magnificent shadowsinger before me. My mate. 

Long ago, some inexplicable force decided that he belonged to me, and I him. I wonder what makes us so compatible, and I find I’m excited to discover every reason for myself. I want to know all the simple, small details of him like the back of my hand. I want to memorize the planes of his face, every color in his eyes.

If my mother could meet him, I imagine she’d remark on the beautiful grandchildren we’d make her. It's that thought, and the sudden realization that we are both very naked, that has a fierce blush coloring my face. 

“Maybe we should get dressed.” I whisper, only slightly breathless. 

Azriel’s eyes run along my sheet-clad form once more, before he pins me with  that now familiar alluring smile. 

“As you wish.” 

He says again, only making me more flushed at the memory. Without an ounce of shame, the Illyrian rises to his feet and walks to the dresser at the other end of the room. He begins digging through the drawers, before selecting some grey sweatpants and a long sleeve black shirt for himself. I’m still wrapped in his sheets, attempting to not gawk at the unobstructed view of his ass, when Azriel looks over his shoulder at me. He smirks at my obvious observation of his body.

“Do you want something other than your dress? Something more comfortable?”

I look down at the rumpled silk garment on the floor and grimace. He’s right, the thought of shimmying myself into it right now is about as appealing as a cold bath in the middle of winter.

“Yes please. Preferably something a bit warmer.” 

He nods, and picks a few items from his dresser. He places them on the bed before me and fixes me with a sweet, slightly shy grin. 

“Are you hungry? I have pastries from the bakery down the street. I could make coffee?” 

My ears perk at the mention of food, and my stomach grumbles in agreement. I like that instead of pushing me to continue our conversation about our future, he’s making sure I’m fed and comfortable. That warm, light sensation flutters in my belly again.  

“I never turn down coffee or carbs.” I manage to get out, smiling coyly. 

“Noted.” Azriel smiles again, a quiet amusement in his eyes. 

He leaves me to change, heading towards the kitchen to start the coffee. I put on the sweatshirt and black briefs left for me. Both are too big, but they’re warm and soft against my skin. Worlds better than the dress. I pull the collar of the sweatshirt up to my nose and inhale his scent of cedar and moonlight and rain. Gods, what does he bathe in that makes him smell so good?

For the first time all night, I’m able to observe Azriel’s bedroom. My eyes widen as I take in the beautiful A frame ceiling with exposed wooden beams. The soft patter of rain on glass draws my eyes to the east wall, which is made entirely of paneled windows. Silver rivulets of water run down their surface, reflecting flickering beams of moonlight into the room. The floors are a dark oak, the walls a calming sage.

Candles burn on Azriel’s overflowing bookcase, and the fireplace crackles merrily on the opposite wall. I reach out hesitantly with my ability, and feel the heat of each flame flicker inside my awareness. For a moment, I watch the candle flames dance and twist under my will. It's rare that I ever have the chance to explore my gift, the small flames too often exploding into an uncontrolled inferno that attracts attention. But I can’t help playing just a little.   

The sound of a kettle whistling startles me from my reverie, and a few tea lights extinguish entirely. I wince, and quickly light them again before following Azriel into the kitchen. 

He’s at the counter, adding hot water to a french press. The earthy scent of coffee tickles my nose as he presses the grounds down, the muscles of his arm flexing deliciously.

“How do you take your coffee?” He asks, gesturing towards a pale box of pastries for me to choose from. 

“Cream and sugar. Lots of cream.” 

“You like your coffee sweet.” He smiles to himself as he pours extra cream and sugar into my cup, as if adding the observance to a mental list.

 I pad closer and peer at the box of pastries over his broad shoulder. On the front it reads ‘Diana’s Bakery and Coffeehouse’ in elegant script. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I open the familiar box, and take a bagel from inside. 

He notices me smiling at the pastries and raises a thick eyebrow at me, the corner of his lip quirking up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing it's just - well I work at Diana’s.” I laugh, taking a bite of the magically warmed bagel after liberally smearing it with cream cheese. 

“You do? But I’ve been in there everyday this week, I haven’t seen you.” 

He passes my mug to me, filled to the brim with creamy coffee, and I take a careful sip. He leans against the marble counter, hazel eyes looking me up and down, that small smirk making an appearance once again. What is it about males liking us in their clothes? Not that I’m complaining. 

“Well, you wouldn’t. I work in the back with Diana as her baking apprentice. I even baked those cinnamon rolls.”

 I know they’re mine by the slightly imperfect glazing. Diana is meticulous and every single treat she bakes is always flawless.

He points to the icing covered cinnamon rolls inside the box, mouth gaping in shock. 

“These cinnamon rolls? They’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ve been buying you guys out everyday.” Azriel exclaims, eyes wide and alight with surprise. 

“Oh, so you’re the reason I’ve had to make twice as many recently?” I chuckle, pink staining my cheeks. The fact that Azriel loves my baking brings me way too much delight to be proper. 

“I’m sorry, but Cassian and I can’t get enough of them. What do you do to them? They’re like biting into a cloud!”

“I can’t tell you that! It's a secret recipe!” I wink, a goofy grin on my face.

Azriel rolls his eyes and smiles, grumbling about how secretive bakers are as he deposits a large mound of cinnamon rolls onto a plate. A truly genuine smile breaks across my face at the sight. He collects his own mug and leads me to a comfy couch, where we both plop down and tuck into our midnight snacks. 

I can’t help but watch him, completely mystified. This sexy, adorable male is my mate? I’ve never felt lucky a day in my life, but as Azriel finishes his third cinnamon roll, I can’t help but feel like the fates smiled on this one aspect of my life. Having finished my bagel, I sip on my coffee and relax into the couch. I’ve been running for a long time, keeping everyone at arm's length, never staying in one place for more than a few years. But maybe I can stay hidden in Velaris and keep Azriel a lot closer. Maybe I don’t have to be alone. I want that future so badly it becomes hard to breath.

“So you bake. You dance at Rita’s. What else?” 

Azriel’s voice brings me back to the present, and I glance up from my coffee cup. Silent laughter dances in the hazel depths of his eyes, his plate of pastries discarded on the coffee table. Suddenly self conscious under his intent gaze,  I reach a hand up to feel the tangled masses of my dark hair. I grimace when I realize what a mess it’s become. It will probably need to be dyed again as well.

“I play music. Mostly the piano. I write sometimes. And you?”

The admissions, however small, make my throat tight with anxiety. I haven’t told anyone anything true about myself in years, and I haven’t touched a piano in just as long. The feeling is nerve wracking, and I can’t help but feel exposed. My eyes follow the upward curve of his lips as he smiles at me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. 

 “I can see you playing piano. You have the hands for it.”

I blush at his statement, my gaze falling to my entirely ordinary hands. What does that even mean?

“I’m something of a homebody. If I’m not with my brothers, I’m probably here with a book. I train, I work, I come home."

That explains the mountains of novels all over his room. And the incredible body. He reaches over and runs a hand through my slightly curling hair, the hours I’d spent straightening it made useless. He curls one of the ringlets around his finger, giving it a slight tug, before he tucks it behind my ear. Every single nervous thought evaporates at his touch.

“I like your hair like this, especially since I’m the one who made it this messy.” 

He murmurs, a sudden heat in his eyes. I feel my body warm in response to that look, and I have to divert my gaze down at my lap to keep from jumping him right there. Again.

“You’re a shameless flirt, shadowsinger.” I mutter, playing with the silver ring of leaves on my finger, noticing that his thigh is now pressed against mine. When had he moved so close?

“Not usually, trust me. My brothers would be astonished.” He laughs, running a hand through his own messy hair. 

“Not usually?” I trace a finger along the back of his hand, fascinated by the combination of scarring and complex veins. 

He shivers slightly, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s not the only one who can play that game. 

“I make exceptions for my mate.” He whispers, taking my hand from his and pressing a kiss to my palm, lips soft and warm. 

“I was supposed to have drinks with my brothers. They must think I decided to stay in.”  He laughs against my skin, kissing his way to the pulse point of my wrist.

“Little do they know, huh?” I gasp, made breathless by his ministrations and the thought of exactly why he’d ditched his brothers tonight.

“Little do they know. When you’re ready, I - uh. I know they’d love to meet you.” He looks up at me, cheeks filling with color as he straightens. 

My stomach drops, and a bit of reality comes crashing down. A mate is one thing, but letting his family into my life? They’d be two more people to lie to, two more people in danger because of me. I avoid any straight answers, and decide to divert his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me about them?” I drink from my mug, using it as an excuse to break eye contact. I can’t shake the feeling that he can see down to the very truth of me when our gazes meet. 

“Their names are Cassian and Rhys. Complete idiots. But those two have saved my life in so many ways.” His eyes glow with a warm, far away look, a goofy smile on his face. 

“It sounds like you love them very much.” I speak softly, not wanting that radiant look to ever leave his face.

“I do. Do you have any siblings?” His eyes flicker back to me, the distance clearing from them. 

“An older brother. Micah.” I try not to let my voice break on his name, the longing slamming into my chest like a horse at a full sprint. 

I curse myself for using my brother's real name, a slip up I wouldn’t have made with anyone else. Azriel’s mere presence is enough to disarm me, and it's a struggle to focus with him this close. I haven’t seen Micah since the day our mother was murdered by my fathers sentries, and we both fled for our lives. In opposite directions. The day that started my life on the run. 

“Are you two close?” Azriel’s shadows curl around me as he squeezes my hand in silent support, like he already knows the answer. 

“We used to be, when we were young. Not so much anymore.” 

I tense, hoping that he doesn’t push the subject. I can’t exactly tell him the truth of our forced estrangement. At least not yet.

“Where are you from?” 

 His tone is light, and I am endlessly grateful for the change in conversation. He doesn’t seem to miss a thing when it comes to me. The thought is a constant inkling of worry in the back of my head. 

“Not Velaris.” I reply quickly.

It technically isn’t a lie, but the evasion feels even worse.

“I could’ve guessed that, love. I’ve lived here for hundreds of years, if you lived in Velaris I would’ve found you sooner. Are you from the Night Court?” 

He chuckles, taking up another strand of my hair to play with. For a moment, I forget that he’s waiting on a response. 

“No, Summer Court. Adriata. Did you grow up in Illyria?” 

 I attempt to change the subject, the subterfuge like spoiled milk in my stomach. I wish I could tell him all about my little cottage on the outskirts of the Autumn Court, about my mothers smile, and Micah’s penchant for getting me into trouble. Instead, I have to wriggle my way out of letting him get to know me. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

“Unfortunately, I did.” Shadows rise from deep within his eyes, blotting out almost all the light in them. 

I’ve heard many stories about the brutality of Illyria. Their perilous winters and sprawling mountains, the discipline that they ingrain into their children, how they throw themselves into the path of war. I wonder who put the scars on his hands, his wings, and I feel sick for an entirely different reason.

I search his eyes for answers, glimpsing an age old sadness there. I feel him trying to shove it down deep, but he can’t hide from me anymore than I can from him. A burning rage seethes in my chest at that sadness. It makes me want to grow claws and rip and tear, scorch those responsible with my flames.

He closes his eyes and rests his head where my shoulder and collarbone meet, a deep sigh leaving him. From the tension in his body, I know he wants me to let the topic drop. So instead of asking the questions on the tip of my tongue, I kiss the top of his head and stroke his back softly. He practically purrs, pressing closer, telling me to continue. I smile softly, trailing my fingers down his spine in slow circles. His back is deliciously firm, and rippling with muscles from his often used wings. Heat scorches across my face as I remember how I brought him over the edge just by kissing them, the absolute unleashing of it. 

“I- I didn’t realize. That, well um- your wings. That they were so-“ I stutter pitifully, the blush spreading down my neck. 

Azriel leans back to meet my eyes, a slight smile beginning on his face, previous troubles forgotten. 

“You didn’t know?” He asks, disbelief in his tone and a glint of amusement in his eye. 

“No, they just looked very kissable.”

He throws his head back and gives a loud, full belly laugh. I beam at the musical sound, satisfaction flowing through me. I want to make him laugh like that again and again.

“An Illyrian males wings are the most sensitive part of their body. If touched in the perfect spot, we can finish from that alone. As you saw. But they are also our greatest weapon, and we protect them accordingly. For that reason, I usually keep them far away from any - partners.” He explains after sobering from his laughter, voice soft and a slight blush painting his elegant cheekbones.

“But you make exceptions for your mate?” I ask, eyes downcast as I play with the cuff of his long sleeve shirt.

“I do. Only for you.” He takes my hands from his sleeve, and presses them to his lips once again.

I glance up at him, to find his eyes already on me. The warmth and tenderness I find there has my heart flying in my chest, and tears pricking my eyes. I blink them away hurriedly, looking to his wings instead of the intense emotion he’s showing me. For some reason, the adoration I see there has a small burst of fear running through me. 

“I’m glad you let me touch them. They’re beautiful.” I whisper reverently as l behold the incredible expanse of his wings. 

Vibrant plum and lavender, veined with maroon and the silver of scar tissue. I can’t even think of these beautiful, majestic wings being mutilated like that. My hands ache to touch them again, feel their silky warmth. 

“You definitely showed your appreciation for them.” He leans closer, his breath fanning across my cheek as he whispers in my ear. 

It sends shivers deep into my core, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and hope he doesn’t catch my scent. The confident, seductive Azriel of earlier tonight is back. 

“Not yet I haven’t.” I murmur, emboldened by my renewed need for him. 

The need comes quickly, overwhelmingly. Especially now that I know what being with him is like. Entirely world shattering. He may have ruined every other male for me. Again, not that I’m complaining. A low rumble comes from deep in his chest, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap with ease. 

“Is that so?” There’s a sultry promise in his voice, and I feel him stir against my thigh. 

The room is filled with our mingled arousal as he inhales against my neck. 

“I still can’t believe I found you.” He groans, pressing kisses against my throat. 

I let my eyes fall closed, shocked anew at how easily he reduces me to a gasping mess. His hands begin to roam over my hips and waist, his touch worshipping and disbelieving. When I begin to slowly move myself over his growing arousal, I feel a shift in him. His hands halt their exploration, and he tenses beneath me. I open my eyes to find his face veiled with worry, his brow creasing. 

“You don’t have to, Sabine.” He cups my face in his hands, dark eyes gleaming with concern. 

I try not to flinch at the false name, and I wonder what his voice would sound like saying the name my mother gave me.  

Shoving those thoughts away, I shake my head, a small grin forming on my lips. Does he not see how infatuated I am already? Of course I don’t have to, but I want to. 

“Az, you idiot.”

And with that, I plant my lips on his. He doesn’t need further convincing. His body responds to mine eagerly, a low growl building in his chest. My back meets the leather couch as Azriel maneuvers himself above me, his hands sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. He is somehow gentle and commanding all at once, his skin burning hot against mine. I sigh into the kiss as I give myself to him, entirely content to do so this time. 

“You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He whispers against my lips, that reverent tone back in full force. My eyes prick as my chest fills with equal parts warmth and fear. I can see how easy it would be to love my mate. To fall fast and completely. And the part of me that’s been running scared from those I once loved is terrified.  

“I’m scared.” I murmur back, surprised at my own honesty.

I feel his frown against my lips, and he only holds me tighter. 

“I’m scared too, love. But I won’t ever hurt you. You’re - You are everything.” His eyes, soft and dark and endlessly kind, convince me. 

I smile sheepishly at him, holding out my left pinky. 

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, he wraps his finger around mine. 

“I promise.” 

The next morning, sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows wakes me. A sleepy contentment keeps me drowsy and warm, and I stretch like a cat after a particularly restful nap. 

“Good morning.” 

Cauldron, his morning voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

I blink my eyes open, the blurry image of a very amused Azriel coming into focus. His black hair is tousled and falling onto his forehead, and pillow marks color his cheeks. 

Delicious.

I cuddle closer to him instead of replying, not ready to start the day yet. He wraps both arms around me as I bury my head in his very bare chest. Memories of last night rise to the surface, and I feel my cheeks warm. After his pinky promise, Azriel made love to me. That's the only way to describe the beautiful, tender way he touched me. He made sure every ounce of doubt was replaced with complete trust. It was the most intimate I had ever been with anyone in my entire life. 

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” He asks, a teasing grin curling his full lips.

I can’t help but remember those lips on my body in the living room. And the bedroom. And the bathtub. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep until dawn.

“W-What did I say?” I can only imagine the mortifying things my sleep self has to say to this male.

“Just my name. Over and over again.” His voice deepens, eyes darkening.

“Shut up! I did not!” I hiss, giving his shoulder a shove. 

He only chuckles and waggles a brow at me, before placing a kiss to my forehead. He smells even better in the morning, his cedar scent more potent. How is that even possible?

“How did you sleep?” 

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, peppering even more kisses across my collarbone. I shiver under his attention, my eyes falling closed again.

“Better than I have in a long time.” I admit, my voice still raspy with sleep. 

“So did I.” 

He runs gentle hands through my hair, our legs still entwined intimately. I haven’t felt this safe and content in someone’s arms since I was a girl, when my mom would hold me after I woke from nightmares about monsters under my bed. Azriel already feels like home, and the thought doesn’t scare me as badly as it did last night. Thoughts of my father seem distant and insignificant now, chased away by the bright morning light and warmth of my mate’s presence. 

“I wish I could stay here with you all day, baby.” He groans, a deep sigh leaving him. I can feel his reluctance in how firmly he presses me to him, strong arms locking me against his chest. 

“Then stay.” I grumble moodily, a frown curling my lips downwards. I know we can’t stay sequestered in his apartment forever, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. 

“I have to do some work for my brother today, but you’re more than welcome to stay in my bed. In fact, I hope you do.” Azriel chuckles, untangling his limbs from mine and kneeling before me. He drops a tender, lingering kiss on my lips  before standing.

My cheeks warm as my blood sings in my veins, and my breath catches in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way his touch affects me. I hope I never do. 

“Oh? What kind of work do you do for him? Does he have his own shop or something?” I yawn my way through the question, cuddling myself into his vacated warm spot. 

Azriel smiles over his shoulder at me, while sliding into Illyrian fighting leathers. My mouth goes dry at how the skin tight garment outlines his muscular thighs and powerful chest, accentuating the golden tones of his skin. Hubba Hubba.

“Actually, Rhysand is High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his Spymaster. I have spying to do.” His lips twitch as if he’s trying to not let the easy smile fall from his face as he continues dressing. He watches for my reaction intently.

The blood in my veins turns to ice, freezing my heart in place as my eyes shoot open in shock. 

Azriel’s brother Rhys is... Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. All sleep leaves my body, and I have to fight to stay still. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, run far and fast. 

Because Rhysand knows my father, seeing as he’s High Lord of the Autumn Court.

In fact, I know Beron has met Rhysand many times. He often spoke about the half breed bastard who challenged his authority at meetings.

I met Rhysand at Beron’s court once, when I was barely fifteen. It's been decades, but he could easily recognize me as Beron’s bastard daughter. And he could tell my father where I am, maybe even deliver me to him. 

Even if he doesn’t recognize me, grown and changed as I am, Rhysand is a Daemati. He could rip the truth from my own mind with hardly a thought. And the High Lord of the Night Court has a reputation for finding pleasure in that sort of thing. The thought has me shivering despite the warm blankets tucked around me. 

“Oh. You didn’t mention that last night.” I rasp, trying not to look like I’m about to throw up. My stomach roils, and my palms dampen with cold sweat. 

“I forget that he's High Lord sometimes. He’s just Rhys to me.” Azriel shrugs, with his back now turned to me as he readies himself for the day. I thank the Cauldron for it. 

I can only imagine the stark horror in my expression, and I take a few extra moments to reign my emotions in. Gods, no wonder Azriel can read me so effortlessly. It's not only because of the bond, he’s a spymaster. Reading people is his job. A job he performs for a mind stealing, murdering monster of a High Lord. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel my heart crack in my chest. 

Azriel is not who I thought he was. The trustworthy, gentle male I spent the night with could just be another mask he wears. A tremble begins deep within me.

“When will you be back?” I try to sound eager, like I can’t wait for his return. 

In reality, I’m trying to find out how far away I can get before he even realizes I’m gone. 

“Tonight. I just need to visit some - colleagues in another court.” He says, while lacing his sturdy looking boots into place. 

What court is he ‘visiting’? Will he be spying on other High Lords for Rhysand? Despite the new revelations about his dangerous brother, I feel a stab of fear for my mate. Any High Lord would slaughter him in a moment if they caught him spying on the Daemati’s behalf. 

“Will you be safe?” I hear the worry in my own voice, and Azriel either hears it as well or can feel it from me. Damn mate bond. 

The male perches on the bed next to me, a reassuring smile on his striking face. The two versions of him that exist in my head clash terribly; the vulnerable, kind Azriel of last night and the formidable Spymaster I’ve heard grave stories about. My gaze falls to the dark dagger strapped to his leg. Truth Teller. I try not to shiver as the light glints lethally off its razored edge. I wonder how many truths he’s tortured out of his enemies using it. 

“Of course. Always, but especially now.” Azriel strokes stray curls out of my face, his eyes brimming with unabashed tenderness. He kisses me soundly, a promise to return. 

My stomach flips and suddenly my heart is no longer racing out of fear. For a moment, I almost forget the hidden lethalness and only see Az. But that’s foolish. I can’t shiver at the sight of his famed blade and crave his touch at the same time. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” I ask, mentally calculating how long I have to leave Velaris. I go through the well rehearsed steps of my escape plan, focusing on mundane details to keep the fear and longing from rendering me completely useless.

“Of course.” Shadows of worry cloud his eyes, and I can almost see the sharp, spy's mind calculating behind them.

Azriel kisses me once more, his lips hesitant for the very first time.

His mouth tastes like sorrow, and I feel a flicker of something down the bond. It's gone too quickly for me to decipher it. I curse internally, hoping he only thinks I’m intimidated by his brother’s position. Between the bond and his spymaster abilities, who knows what he can decipher from my reaction alone.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He stands, tucking his wings in close and letting his shoulders droop slightly. 

He searches my face, lips slightly turned down at the corners, brow furrowed. 

“I’ll be here.” The lie burns my throat like acid, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Instead, I pretend to settle deeper into the bed, closing my eyes as I bring the blankets up to my chin. I don’t want to see the confusion and worry in his gaze. And I can’t watch him leave, knowing that I may never see him again. Azriel squeezes my thigh softly, whispering another farewell as he leaves the room with a sigh. 

I wait until I no longer feel the thrumming current that is Azriel’s presence,  when I know he’s well and truly gone. Then I spring into action. I burst from the bed, and head straight for Azriel’s dresser. I yank a pair of sweats from the drawer and pull them on hurriedly, shaking so hard it takes me three tries to get my legs through the correct hole.  I practically run through the living room, propelled forwards by thoughts of obliterated minds and the dank cells beneath the Autumn Court. 

I glimpse the forgotten mugs and pastry box from last night on the coffee table. Tears prick my eyes at the memory of the hope I felt during that meal. I told Azriel, my mate, more than I’ve shared with anyone in years. He let me see some of the anguish he carries with him, buried so deep it's become a part of him. I gave my body to him. And he felt like home. Can I really run from that?

Yes, I can. I have to. I was a fool to think that I could ever be outside my father’s reach.

On impulse, I hunt down a pen from the kitchen cabinets and scrawl a quick, cowardly note on a scrap of paper. Shame coats my tongue so thoroughly I think I may choke on it.

I’m sorry. - S 

  With the note finished, I raise the hood to conceal my face and tear down the stairs, avoiding the elevator Azriel first kissed me in. Soon enough, my bare feet are slapping against the rain slick pavement, my heart cracking with every step. I don’t stop to notice the people that watch me fly by, or the sun shining over the Sidra. I let the fear cloud every guilty thought, until all I know is adrenaline. 

Once I reach my apartment, I change into clothes more appropriate for an escape attempt, and collect my emergency bag from beneath some loose floorboards. Not the most creative hiding spot, but it’s better than my underwear drawer. 

Less than an hour later, I’m standing on the rickety, wooden deck of a foreign boat, sailing away from Velaris. Tradesmen man their vessel, hardly paying attention to me as I stare out over the water from their starboard side. I can imagine the mystery I pose. A lone, cloaked female, begging to stow away on their watercraft.

The money I slipped to their captain keeps the curious glances to a minimum, and I hope it keeps their mouths shut in the future. Either way, I won’t be settling where I first disembark. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go yet, but maybe that’s for the best. If I’m entirely impulsive, my actions will be harder to predict.

I’ve run scared so many times over the years that I’ve lost count, but I’ve never been so conflicted. Every mile I put between me and the shore of the Sidra is another knife shoved up under my ribs, and it becomes harder and harder to breath. Eventually, the vibrant colors of the Rainbow fade from view and the citrus scent of the river becomes the salty brine of the ocean. Hot tears sting my eyes, and I let them fall. The hood of my cloak covers my face anyway. 

“Goodbye, Az.” 

[professormembranexreader]

Mad Scientist!Membrane x Frankenstein! Male!Reader pt. 2 (H&C)

RECAP

—————————————————

So Membrane made (Y/N) from other people and after he was restrained, just told (Y/N) his name.

Lab Report 5

One month has passed since the subject was created. Motor skills are exceeding our expectations. Speech still scattered. Restraints are occasionally needed. More tests need to be run.

Scheduled: Blood, Vitamin Deficiencies, Mental Illness, Mental Disabilities, IQ, Motor Function, Hand-Eye Coordination, Reaction Time

End of Report

Membrane stared at the paper in front of him. (Y/N) was yielding good results so far.  Sad, though, that they hadn't done any tests yet. However that is to be expected. He put his hands together, elbows on the table, as he lowered his head. What if this didn't work? Several people would have been torn apart for nothing.

But there is success. He had effectively crossed the line between having superhuman intelligence and playing God. He was giddy, actually. He had done something no one had ever thought of before. It was heinous, true, but the success of (Y/N) meant that full limb transplants were possible. Trained surgeons could effectively use parts of someone's brain to improve another's. It was an astonishing achievement for humanity.

He smiled. This would prove most satisfactory.

——————————————————

Lab Report 11

Two months have now passed. Motor skills continue to improve. Restraining the subject has proved increasingly difficult. Curiosity has grown tremendously since last week. Stronger, more durable restraints needed.

Reports indicate emotional development as well. Subject shows anger and confusion, but seems cordial towards scientists he remembers... which are few and far between. Has shown improvement with speech. It is suspected that he can understand almost all languages and now speaks in mainly Spanish, French, and German. Translators are being gathered and briefed.

Scheduled: Mental Illness, Mental Disabilities, IQ, Reaction Time, Strength, Memory, Language Therapy

End of Report

Membrane groaned. They finally told him about some tests, but they didn't even know what they should be doing—monitoring his conscience.

He sighed, and stood up from his chair. It felt as though he was going to have to run these tests himself.

He walked down to the "observation room" his team had put (Y/N) in. It was, in all seriousness, more like a jail cell with a one-way mirror. It was a long way from his office so he had a lot of time to think about absolutely anything.

He was scared. He didn't want to admit it at first—he literally watched someone assemble a person like a build-a-bear—but there was no other explanation for the way he hesitated to head down the long, spiraling staircase that lead to (Y/N)'s cell. It was well lit and there was a handrail so he wouldn't fall. The steps were wide enough for his (fucking gigantic) feet. There was literally no reason he should be so sweaty other than a rush of adrenaline. A rush of adrenaline that wanted him to run and turn his back upon his creation. It had to be fear.

But why was he scared? The last time Membrane had seen (Y/N), he was restrained. What if he hated him? (Y/N) has reported memory problems, so he might not remember him. But he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if (Y/N) did remember.

He continued down the staircase until he finally reached (Y/N)'s cell. Scientists scurried out of the way as Membrane pushed through.

"This is Professor Miguel Membrane, and I will be conducting tests three through nine." He looked over to his team, making sure they were ready. Pens were poised over paper. Two translators, German and French, were sitting next to them on opposite sides.

Everything was ready to go.

Membrane took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside. The room was a dull beige, only color was the faded red from the operation. The walls peeled near the corners. 'I'll have to fix that' he thought. The room itself was almost a prison room. A hard bed with thin sheets in the corner, a toilet, sink, and a shower all in the opposite side of the room. A desk sat by the bed; it had two drawers and looked as though it was made out of several types of wood.

"How fitting," the man chuckled.

He continued looking around the room they kept (Y/N) in, not knowing something was watching. He lurked up behind the scientist, breathing on his back. Membrane whipped around.

"Ahh, (Y/N), please, have a seat." He guided him over to his bed. (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed, but complied.

"Now, I will be conducting a series of tests on you. These will not require you to speak unless you desire to. Do this for 'yes'," he made a thumbs up, "do this for 'no'," he made a fist. "For multiple choice, point. If you want to skip, do this-" he put his hand horizontally- "and if you don't know shrug your shoulders. Do you understand all of that?" (Y/N) made a thumbs up with both hands.

"Quickly run through everything for me in the order I said it." (Y/N) made a thumbs up, a fist, pointed at something, laid his hand flat, then shrugged his shoulders.

Membrane made a hum of approval before flipping through the stack of papers he prepared. "Now, I'm going to give you an IQ test. Simply point at the one you think belongs in the missing space, okay?" Thumbs up.

After going through several sheets of paper, they finished. "Well done, (Y/N), you have an IQ of 128 (changelater)" He wrote that down as (Y/N) smiled. This one didn't push him or shove him around. He was gentle and calm. It wasn't too rushed, but it wasn't too slow. He had no clue what the IQ thing meant, but if he got to spend time with the nice man, he would answer anything.

"This concludes the IQ test. How do you feel (Y/N)?"

(Y/N) smiled. Yes.

Membrane laughed. "That's close enough to an answer. I'm going to ask you a series of yes or no questions. Answer honestly, okay? You can skip if it's too personal." Thumbs up.

"Do you want to hurt people?" No

"Do you want to hurt yourself?" No.

"Do you feel superior to anyone?" No.

"Do you feel less powerful?" No.

"Do you have episodes where you can't remember what happened?" Yes.

"Would you like to tell me about that?" He made both symbols on different hands as he shrugged his shoulders (what the cinnamon toast fuck did that mean). Membrane assumed that was a not yet.

He continued with the questions, concluding that (Y/N) suffered from mild depression and anxiety, and that could be chalked up to the new situation.

Membrane rechecked (Y/N)'s memory, albeit in a different way.

"I'm going to show you a series of pictures. You need to point to them in the order I point to them, okay?" Yes.

Membrane pointed to pictures of a bat, a frog, a cat, the frog again, the cat again, then finally a dog.

(Y/N) pointed at the bat, the frog, the cat, then hesitated a bit.

"Do you need help?" (Y/N) frowned. No. (Y/N) quickly pointed at the frog, cat, and dog, in quick succession.

Membrane laughed and nodded. "This concludes the memory test."

Several more tests followed, eventually adding up to (Y/N) had higher strength and reaction time than most humans. It wasn't surprising, as he was made up of all the best parts of people.

"That's about everything, (Y/N). Do you have any questions?" Membrane asked in a calm voice. This was shattered when (Y/N) said something.

"¿Cómo estoy?" (Y/N) asked in a raspy voice. Membrane jumped before quickly shaking his head to clear it.

He cleared his throat before saying, "Pues, haz una mirada." He guided (Y/N) to a mirror behind a locked cabinet.

(Y/N)'s face fell. "J'ai l'air... horrible." Membrane didn't know French, but it wasn't that hard to guess.

"No, estás muy hermoso."

"Was?" Oh no. He said that out loud. He said that last part out loud. And (Y/N) understood it.

The flustered scientist cleared his throat. "Dije... dije estás muy hermoso." He couldn't look (Y/N) in the eyes. How could he? Wait. Is this why he was scared? Was it because he...? His face was a rosy pink as he came to the realization he had fallen for his creation.

(Y/N) was just as shocked. His mouth hung open as his several skin tones all became red. The only thing he could think of doing surprised them both.

(Y/N) reached up and embraced Membrane, squeezing him tightly.

"Merci.”

Translations:

•¿Cómo estoy? — what do I look like?

(I'm choosing the version I got taught in eighth grade not translate hahA)

• Pues — well

• Haz una mirada — have a look

• J'ai l'air... horrible. — I look... horrible

• Estás muy hermoso. — you're very beautiful

• Was? — What?

• Dije — I said

• Merci — Thank you

[only-here-for-jatp]

Build-a-Band pt 1&2

Inspired from a tumblr post that I have lost track of. (If you see it lmk)

The boys go to Build-a-Bear. 

Each chapter is told from the POV of a different person. Reggie is first up!

I tried to reference actual build a bears, but the accessories are whatever I wish into existence so there.

Can read on Ao3 here

And also below! ~1900 words

Everything had been normal since the Orpheum. Well as normal as life can be when you live with three teenage boy ghosts from the 90s and you’re in a rock band that played one of the most well-known clubs in LA. The boys still got into their crazy antics that Julie inevitably had to fix and there was still something going on between her and Luke, whatever that was. She didn’t have time to worry about it so much these days.

Ever since the Orpheum they could touch and every now and again they could become visible to Flynn or Carlos. It still hadn’t happened in front of Ray yet, much to Reggie’s disappointment but he kept trying. Ray had taken news that the boys were ghosts surprisingly well with the addition of a few extra rules. He eyed the empty space where one ghost in particular was supposed to be when he told them although if the object of Ray’s focus noticed he sure didn’t show it.

Time was passing by rather quickly these days, and soon it was the start of summer. Julie’s dad had been nudging her to get a summer job and she couldn’t help but think it might be a good idea. The band was playing regular gigs now, but they weren’t making much money. If they were going to keep going, they needed another source of income. The boys of course couldn’t be of much help with this since you know, dead, so it was mostly up to Julie.

The boys, especially Luke, were a little grumbly about her taking time away from their music. Once she explained that this was to make money for the band, they’d felt a little better about it. They still weren’t over the moon, but the pouting had definitely decreased.

This is how Julie found herself with a job that she knew really wasn’t that awful but was exhausting none-the-less.

Build-a-Bear.

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

The boys were really enjoying the fact that summer meant more time with Julie, even if she did have her new job at the mall. Reggie in particular loved having the extra people around. There was always something going on with Carlos and he’d made numerous trips to baseball practice, or to the park, or whatever was going on.

Today though, after much begging and pleading with Julie, she’d finally relented to let him tag along to her job. For the most part she’d forbidden them from visiting, saying that her job was chaotic enough without throwing three teenage ghost boys into the mix, but Reggie had just been so intrigued.

Build a Bear was apparently a place for kids where they came and made stuffed animals and you could add hearts and costumes and name them. To him that sounded like possibly the best place in the world.

When he was younger, he’d had a small chocolate brown teddy bear that he carried around with him anywhere. It came with him for the first day of kindergarten, and most days after until he found Luke. Then Sir Reginald, as the teddy bear was known as, would stay in his backpack, just in case. It’d been his support during all of the fighting, and he’d hold tight every time he hid in his closet trying to drown out the noise.

In truth, he’d never really grown out of his teddy bear but it was early middle school when Luke discovered there was a way to climb in through Reggie’s window and soon it was Luke sitting with him in the closet or pulling him out of the house to the studio to play music and wander the beach.

How exactly did one make a stuffed animal he thought? It seemed like it would take a long time sewing all of the pieces together and stuffing it? That’s a lot of work, do kids really enjoy it?? So he was very curious about this Build a Bear, especially when Julie exclaimed that they sold more than just bears! He could Build a Dog or a Turtle or maybe A DRAGON. He had no idea what he was going to find, but he was so excited to find out.

Reggie poofed into the store sometime that afternoon and immediately felt his eyes widen. This. Was. The. Best. Stuffed animals lined the walls of all shapes and kinds and colors. He stood in a sea of kids all running and screaming in sheer joy and he got it. If Julie hadn’t already spotted him, he would absolutely be doing laps right now. But he promised and he really wanted to try and keep the promise that he would be on his best behavior.

He took in the plastered on smile that edged just a little bit toward frantic, her tense posture, and the kids that were lightly tugging on her arms and knew he really couldn’t- “OH MY GOD JULIE IS THAT A STAR WARS BEAR.” He shrieked upon seeing what was clearly a teddy bear but it LOOOKED LIKE DARTH VADER and before he knew it he was poofing over to Julie, tugging on her arm much like the children while speaking so fast it sounded like a blur even to him “JulieJulieJulieJulieJulieJuliePrettyPleaseJulieCanIHaveTheBearJulieIt’sStarWarsITSSTARWARSJULIE.”

All of a sudden Julie was laughing and he stepped back to give her a curious look. Had he broken her? He hadn’t meant to break her. OH NO what was Luke going to say if he broke Julie? And Alex? Oh god please let her not be broken.

But soon he saw the soft smile playing on her lips, a genuine one this time. He smiled back at her and he watched her give him a small nod in a different direction. His eyes followed where she was indicating, and he felt his mouth drop open. There was a soft tan bear with kind of curly fur and its feet had this soft pink material on it. And he couldn’t say what about the bear it was, but it felt like he was looking at Alex.

Reggie quickly glanced at the name, “Timeless Bear” and he smiled. That was all of them exactly. Julie had come to stand next to him, and whispered softly “we can make that one, deal?” Reggie nodded, joy spreading through him quickly and he couldn’t stop his excitement from making him bounce.

Julie had a horde of kids following behind her and Reggie joined them, fitting right in if he wasn’t taller than them. And a ghost. Julie had picked up what looked like a deflated version of the bear and understanding was slowly started to dawn on how this whole process worked. But he still couldn’t figure out how they were going to all stuff and sew it.

Julie led them to this small open space and he watched all the children sit down, so Reggie followed along. In front of them was this huge machine and Reggie stared at it in awe. Was that? Was it filled with stuffing??? This was so cool! He was almost too distracted to miss Julie’s speech. Something about waiting your turn and choosing the softness levels and adding the heart.

Wait. The heart? Reggie tuned back in.

“Alright everyone, you will all need to pick a heart for your new friend.” Reggie’s eye grew wide. The shuffling of kids drew him to the little boxes filled with soft satin hearts. They were all in shades of red and pink and checkered. Julie was there talking with the kids to help him decide when he spotted a heart that was the exact same shade as Alex’s favorite sweatshirt. He pointed with a small voice and said that one. Julie picked it up as they all headed back to the big machine.

“Of course we can’t just put a heart inside our new friend. We’ve got to get it going with some magic first.” Reggie’s eyes widened, watching as Julie charmed the kids into believing with her. “First, we’ve got to rub the heart between our hands to make it warm.” All of the kids followed suit, and even though he knew Julie had the heart for his new friend between her hands he still followed suit. “Next, let’s add a little excitement! We can jump up and down for this one. Gotta have a spring in our step after all.”

“Now, give it a big hug so your new friend knows you’ll always be there for him.” Julie was making eye contact with him now and he could feel himself tearing up a little.

“Finally, make a wish and whisper it into your heart.” Reggie whispered into his hands “I wish I could stay with my brothers forever.” He didn’t know what Julie whispered to his heart, but he trusted her.

The kids bounced around in excitement, not feeling the gravity that was shifting around them. Julie stared for one long moment at Reggie before turning back to them with a smile and beginning the process of stuffing the bears. Reggie gasped so loud he made Julie whip her head around at him. THAT was how they did it. The machine did the stuffing and then it was just a quick close up! He watched the kids get their new stuffie one by one and then take them over to the “grooming” stations where you could brush them and “bathe” them before finding outfits. Reggie wandered over to the clothing section and admired all the selections. There were fancy dresses and Halloween costumes and pajamas and sports outfits and fanny packs.

WAIT. He shrieked with joy and immediately started clapping and jumping around. There in the accessories was a little black fanny pack. He started searching more thoroughly now. There wasn’t a pink sweatshirt but oooh! Was that a pink shirt! And and a baseball cap. YES.

He turned around to find Julie only to discover she was on the last kid. He walked over to her and stood patiently by as she heaved a sigh of relief. Waving them off. “Ready Reggie?” He nodded and shook in excitement. “Here!” She handed him the little pink heart and for a second he could only stare at it. But then he held it tightly in his hands and whispered in his mind.

You will be Alexander. You are the greatest drummer and one of the greatest friends a guy could have. You will be there for every heartache, panic attack, and moment of joy. You are sarcastic, but there for us anyway. Just wait until you meet the real Alex.

Julie nudged him, ready for the heart and watched as the limp piece of fabric became almost real. He didn’t give Julie much time after she finished before dragging her to his clothing selections. She giggled the whole time though, he knew that although she might act exasperated she was having as much as him. She approved of all the clothing choices, and offered one additional thing.

A small rainbow flag that had a band so it looked like the bear was holding it.

Reggie watched it all come together. He took one look at the dressed up bear and exclaimed- “It’s ALEX!!! I have to go show him!!! Thanks Julie” He gave her a quick hug and poofed away before anybody could wonder why that bear was floating.

[percabeth4life]

The Prince of the Sea

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || AO3

Triton heard the rumors from the fish. The whispers of a child controlling the water in the river. A child that smelled strangely mortal and yet a layer of the sea clung stubbornly to them.

Triton eventually went to see this child, perhaps a child of a minor god was learning how to use their powers?

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The child was so much more than a child of a minor sea god.

Triton watched him manipulate the water better than half the students of Atlantis’s elite academy. He watched him freeze it.

The amount of skill that took was ridiculous. Ice does not come easy to those of the mid seas. The northern most and southern most were skilled in it, but this child was definitely not of those.

The eye’s gave him away.

They were the same eye’s Triton had. The same eye’s that every child of Poseidon ever had.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He watched his half-brother for a time.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing at the start, but it seemed he was cleaning the river?

Did he lose something in it?

Triton watched though, he watched as the boy learned to raise the water, learned to make waves, spoke with the fish, studied some of the harder magics of the sea, seemingly without even realizing.

He spoke with an eel named Elli a lot.

Triton did not understand this spawn of his father’s. How was his scent so weak when he obviously knows his heritage? His presence only felt faintly of immortal power. It was strange.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

His name was Percy.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He knows nothing of his heritage.

He has no idea of the gods and no idea who Triton is.

Triton was… confused.

He called his control of the water, waterbending. Triton would allow it for now.

Triton studied him more though, he was cleaning in the middle of winter. That was a dangerous time for mortals even today. He was young, he shouldn’t be risking his health like that.

Triton wasn’t sure he approved of a foolishly reckless half-brother, even if it was to help the river.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

His half-brother asked if he was named after… himself. Triton had to hold back a laugh.

His brother was powerful yet ignorant, a dangerous combination. But right now, one that kept him hidden. Triton would not destroy that protection yet, he was not needlessly cruel.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton hid his knowledge of Percy from his father. He was good at keeping a straight face.

Triton also didn’t tell his mother though, she may not be vengeful but she would be rightfully angry with Poseidon. And that would give it away.

Poseidon didn’t seem to check on Percy often, perhaps because he didn’t want Amphitrite or Triton to know about him.

Jokes on him, Triton was already interacting with Percy.

He was careful not to visit him on days that Poseidon wasn’t busy though, no need to make it easy for him to find out about their meetings.

He wondered if his father had noticed Percy training his Hydrokinesis? (Or Triton supposed it was actually his Thermomancy, seeing how he wasn’t only controlling water. Ice control was extremely difficult for his heritage, perhaps he was able to do it so easily because he was emulating this water bending he spoke of.)

He doubted Father had noticed yet, his father cared but he would be too afraid to check often. It would not just be to keep Triton and Amphitrite from knowing but also to prevent any other immortal from noticing him checking on someone so often and investigating.

That would reveal Percy quicker than anything else.

It didn’t matter though, right now it worked in Triton’s favor.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton told off those two river god’s who’d been spying on his half-brother so much.

They had better things to do, maybe they could clean their own damn rivers instead of letting a child do it.

Truly shames to water immortals.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton decided that his half-brother should learn to use a trident.

It was the weapon of their family, and he would dishonor them to not learn it.

Percy was determined to prove himself more skilled than Triton expected. He made a trident out of ice. He wasn’t even trying to show off, but it was impressive.

Sure, it was brittle, but he could make actual shapes now, and they held for a short time.

He would be strong one day.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton could not believe his half-brother got expelled for doing as he was told.

So, what if they got dropped in a shark tank? Sharks weren’t dangerous anyways. They were absolute sweethearts as long as you didn’t try to hurt them. He’d had a dozen pet sharks over the years!

Honestly that guide should get fired.

Perhaps he should introduce them to a true dangerous sea creature…

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton decided he’d let Percy play around long enough, plus there were some incidents in the sea that were taking more of his attention.

If he’d been raised in the sea, he would already know the basics of sea law and culture. He could not remain ignorant there, not if he was to be a prince of the sea.

Thankfully, Triton didn’t need to worry about that weakening the protections around his interesting half-brother. Percy was convinced there was an underwater society. Triton could work with that.

He gave him books, just a few. It would be a good base for future lessons.

He also had to give him a dictionary for the Halmaheran language apparently, he didn’t know it. What did land dwellers teach anyways?

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton was not pleased that he’d had to go away, sure he’d expected to be busier with the incidents happening, but this was far worse than he’d expected.

There was a massive oil spill.

It required all hands-on-deck to try and save as many lives as possible, and to try and relocate all the coral.

It was a massive undertaking with a lot of merfolk and sea beings involved.

Triton was working overtime both in his duties as a prince to reassure the people and work with the rescue crews to show that he was willing to help, and also in his duties as a messenger and ruler of the tides.

He barely had time to breathe for over two months.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He finally had the time to check on Percy again.

He needed to be sure he’d been doing his reading and practicing the Halmaheran language.

He only spoke to Percy in Halmaheran, make sure he could get used to it. Percy actually did pretty good.

The river seemed dirtier than the last time he was there though.

His eyes narrowed, that was suspicious.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

His half-brother just called him a great friend.

Were they friends?

Triton hadn’t had a real friend in a long time.

His last few… they hadn’t made it to the current day.

And then there was Athena.

He supposed he would accept his half-brother calling him a friend.

It certainly meant nothing to Triton, he was an immortal, he was not attached to his mortal brother.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He couldn’t believe the little brat didn’t tell him about his birthday!

Birthday’s were extremely important for children!

This would not stand.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He gave Percy his presents, and almost turned to hunt down this mortal ‘Smelly Gabe’ who apparently wouldn’t allow his brother to properly celebrate his birthday.

How dare he.

He held his anger in though, watching Percy find the sand dollars he’d spent a week carefully compressing and shaping, along with the bracelet that he’d made for Percy.

The coral conch shell charm on it would keep him updated to Percy’s health.

He had a feeling he’d want that in the future.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I don’t get my brother’s obsession with going beyond in his thermomancy.

It’s a powerful magic, but he’s doing well so far. He should focus on using weapons now as well. He was able to make a solid trident that didn’t break so easily now, why did he need to work on drawing water from plants at his age?

Thermomancy was a dangerous magic, he was doing excellent at it but going too far to harm his source of power, the power he inherited from father. I tried to distract him from it.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

So apparently, Percy learned how to draw water from plants.

Well, if his brother wanted to work so much on that then Triton supposed he could humor him, at least then he would know when his brother was practicing.

Triton assigned him homework on drawing moisture from other sources, ones that shouldn’t be too hard with his base of skill.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton was touched by the gift Percy had gotten him.

It was clearly hand-made, it still radiated Percy’s power.

The bracelet fit his color theme, and the charm was a sparkling version of his trident. It was very well made.

He wasn’t sure his trident charm in return was as good, but Percy seemed happy, so Triton simply decided to get better presents for him in the future.

This one was practical, and something Poseidon should’ve done if he wasn’t off pretending Percy didn’t exist.

Maybe Triton was a little bitter on Percy’s behalf.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton added assignments for Percy to do.

Things that he should’ve been raised learning, Triton would fix his father’s failings.

He made sure to quiz Percy often, making sure that he was up to date on current events and knew about the different forms of magic he may face.

He made sure he knew the territories to avoid and how to identify them.

He made sure his brother could be the perfect prince when needed.

Triton would make sure he knew his heritage.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton couldn’t help being impressed.

He’d guessed already which magics Percy would probably be best at.

Thermomancy for one, but that was common in children of the sea (or at least Hydrokinesis was). Though Percy seemed to have a special knack for it.

He had the potential for Siren’s song, but that would have to be trained. It had some instinctual parts yes, but to really unlock it’s power you had to focus it. Percy would require a lot of time before he was truly skilled at it.

But what Percy had shown a subconscious skill for was Purification.

It wasn’t considered a dangerous magic at all, but it is powerful. And it was extremely useful these day’s with all the pollution around.

Percy had a clear talent for it, cleansing the water around him even without meaning to.

It seemed he’d started practicing some of it, though being him, he’d immediately jumped to one of the more advanced forms.

Sand dollars are extremely valuable when made by a Purifier (someone skilled in Purification). Triton could make some of course, and he was rather good at purification magic out of necessity, but Percy had an instinctive knack for it that was rare.

Triton needed to encourage that.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Of course, another of his brother’s schools were run by complete imbeciles.

Expelling him because an exhibit collapsed, how idiotic. He was not pleased.

But he gave Percy more work, distracting him from the expulsion.

He gave him more history to study, he decided to work with him with other weapons. A sword would be a good weapon for now. Perhaps knives next.

He still worked with him on the trident though, that was the weapon of the sea and the one he must know.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Those filthy idiotic immortal pieces of trash told Percy that he was a demigod.

How dare they, they ruined all the work Triton had put into keeping Percy untouched from the immortal world.

Percy had questions, Triton would have to be careful about answering them, less he reveal too much and completely destroy his little brother’s protections.

But first, he paid a visit to those minor river gods.

No one would miss them.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He played along in court, he needed to see Percy, but his father had requested his presence. So, he went to his father.

Playing the prince was tiring right now, he just wanted to talk to Percy about what he’d learned.

His only reassurance was the conch shell pin that was connected to Percy’s charm. It showed that Percy was safe.

He should give Percy a way to escape from danger.

Just in case.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Explaining the history to his little brother was… difficult.

He had to be careful, he couldn’t tell him about certain things, things that may lead to him understanding and accepting the immortal world around him.

Him accepting the sea was one thing, that didn’t damage his protection, but for him to accept the immortal world as his… that couldn’t be allowed. Not yet.

So, Triton made sure to explain it, made sure to tell him he would be in danger, because he would not allow his brother to be harmed.

Percy is his brother.

The sea protects its own.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy was getting better at purification magic. Triton was glad.

Percy’s gift was impressive, he kept it in his room.

The purifying stone probably wouldn’t work long. But it would last a few weeks probably. Triton liked it regardless.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton made sure his brother had an escape route now. The pearl would bring him straight to Triton if he was in danger.

Hopefully he would never need it.

He also gave him a book on the Siren’s Song.

It was one of the most basic though, just describing it in detail and explaining some of the most basic exercises to train it.

It wouldn’t help him much yet, not without an instrument to practice putting his power through first.

Using your voice was both the easiest and the hardest way, it was the most powerful, but the hardest to control once you’d unlocked it. It was always best to start with an instrument.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy was attracting monsters now.

He was very lucky it was a young, weak, empousai, the younger ones tend to reform slowly. He should be safe for a while from other monsters hearing about it.

He needs to get better at fighting with water though if it’s going to be his go to. Exploding the pipes was extreme, but if he was going to turn to the ocean first, then he would need to improve on controlling it in a fight.

Triton started drilling him in it.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton couldn’t help but be pleased, Percy had a large interest in the sea magics.

He seemed to have a strong affinity for some of them.

That usually came with drawbacks in other areas though.

Percy was young now, so it was hard to tell. Perhaps his mortal half would balance it?

Nonetheless, he was more than willing to help Percy learn more.

Even if it meant he had to go learn more, he’d never paid a huge amount of attention in those classes. His skills lay more in other areas.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton spent a lot of time studying sea magics, so he could teach Percy more.

His father was pleased that Triton was showing an interest at last.

Ugh.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

So maybe Triton assigned a Cyclops to watch over Percy this year.

It didn’t do any good it seems.

He was not pleased that the school was just as idiotic as the last five.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton got Percy a Rainbow stone.

Making them is ridiculously hard, but he was able to convince (read: bribe) Natia, one of the strongest in enchantments that he knew, to make it.

He added the protections himself though, he didn’t trust her to not try to tap into it.

The Rainbow stone’s were almost shaped like gems, made of a pale white stone that seemed flecked with rainbow glitter. Channeling a little power into it would make a rainbow form.

He also made sure his brothers had drachmas to pay for it if he needed to.

He was touched by the hair pin his brother made for him. He quite liked it, it matched his trident well.

The sand dollars though, those were very impressive. He was already matching the skills of mer’s Triton knew that had practiced for many years.

Percy may be skilled in his Thermomancy, but his purification was where he truly shined.

Father was confused as to where he was getting the small presents.

Triton didn’t tell him.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton was annoyed that his little brother’s school didn’t accommodate his differences. He was of the sea not the land, yet they expected him to learn through land methods?

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The Cyclops didn’t succeed in keeping Percy out of trouble, despite literally being an alibi, somehow they failed to get Percy out of trouble.

How troublesome.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

There was a small event coming up, between some of the younger high-ranking merfolk.

Normally he wouldn’t attend those, but it would be a good introduction for Percy.

He could make up a backstory for him and did.

They wouldn’t suspect much, Triton had helped do introductions before, usually because he was ordered to or as a favor, but they didn’t know that.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Making the stone to give Percy the tails he would have if he were changed to a merman was amusing.

His little brother was delighted by it.

It was… adorable.

He was determined to keep his little brother out of the mess that the prophecy would cause. He wouldn’t let this one go. Percy was his brother, he would protect him at all costs.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He was extremely pleased with how Percy handled the little event.

He showed he was strong, he showed he was polite, and he showed that he knew how to stand up for himself too.

Triton of course took over when the one brat thought that they could speak out of turn in his presence, but otherwise he let Percy learn.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton took Percy to a few events after that. He wanted to be sure that Percy could handle the politics that come with being high ranking in the sea.

He was doing well and had made some friends.

He found it every so amusing that Percy didn’t quite understand yet that the brighter and more visible you were in the sea, the more dangerous you generally were.

Percy’s tail glittered, even in the dark of the sea depths. It’s blues of many shades shone, the flowy additions almost glowing in the dark.

Percy was befriending quite dangerous merfolk to match.

Samoa was all white, though that wasn’t natural, she’d created a magic dye that lasted for a few years. Her hair was naturally a brown. She just wanted to seem scarier. She was very good at making sand dollars though. Her and Percy were bonding over that.

She was probably the least dangerous of his friends.

Elei was dangerous, but not in magic. She was the daughter of one of the generals of father’s army. She was trained as such too. Though she was young, and thus had little experience, she was still a good sparring partner for Percy. She usually won. Her hair and tail was a deep red, though it seemed green in the dark of the ocean. Her tail was also one of the sleekest he’d seen, a sign that she had zero skill in magic.

Masina was a rising expert in controlling the ocean currents. They could weave them in ways that most trained for years couldn’t even begin to imagine. And they were only a little older than Percy. Their tail was a blend of blues and yellows, some dashes of pinks mixed in as well. It was bright and very flowy, like Percy’s. They tried teaching Percy how to use the currents, but he definitely did not have an affinity for the currents.

He said he felt he would lose himself to them. That’s alright, it was a sign that the current’s just weren’t for him.

Triton couldn’t help but find it amusing.

Fetu and Lagi were twins, both were skilled in different magics.

Fetu had an unnatural talent for the Siren’s song, and many were wary of him for it. Lagi was one of the best healers around. Both were rarer talents, but their parents had been powerful themselves, so it made sense. Their tails were matching yellows, bits of orange shining through them, and they were flowy, though not quite as much as Percy’s. Their hair was obnoxiously bright yellow, a real sign of the danger they posed.

Triton was glad Percy was making such powerful friends, they would be great help to him should he need it.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The summer solstice was nice.

Percy had given him a box made of ice.

Percy seemed to like ice a lot. The runes were carved well, he was pleased with it.

He also liked the sand dollars. They were very well made.

Percy had clearly improved a lot, they now drew in power like they were supposed to. They weren’t quite perfect, drawing in the power far slower than a proper sand dollar, but he was improving.

He gave Percy a hair pin that he’d had made for him.

His hair was getting long after all, he needed it out of his face for battles.

Also, it may or may not be enchanted to keep him safe from poisons. Not many would be able to affect him with his Purification skills, but better safe than sorry.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Getting an enchanted waterskin for Percy’s birthday required a bit of work.

He could make one, but that would clearly have his signature on it. That wasn’t something easy to hide.

He ended up managing to get one when they had to go to a… dinner…. With Oceanus. His grandfather.

His mother didn’t want them to fight too much, but father was always very tense when they interacted with him.

The important thing was that Oceanus let him take one of his old waterskins (the proper name for this one was Oceanskin, but Percy probably wouldn’t care).

They were useful when on land, but Oceanus hadn’t left the sea in ages. It was one of the few that just felt like the sea in general, not a specific signature.

Percy was delighted with it, so it was worth the curious gleam in Oceanus’s eye when he left.

Hopefully Oceanus didn’t try to investigate.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy was back at school, and apparently had gained a sense for curses.

It wasn’t that surprising, he probably had the ability sooner, just hadn’t been around anything cursed.

It was a useful skill to have, very valuable. Father always had a skilled Purifier to check over any gifts given to those at the courts.

Nonetheless, Triton got him more books on Purification. He supposed it was time for Percy to branch out more.

Curse breaking was where purifiers really shone. Though none were skilled enough to break the great curses, perhaps one day.

He was curious how quickly Percy would get the hang of it.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy got him a variety of foods for the fall equinox.

Really that wasn’t good, Triton liked them a lot, and Percy had infected him with a matching love of blue food.

It was hard to explain to father.

He wondered how father didn’t know about Triton interacting with Percy yet.

He wasn’t exactly hiding it anymore.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton had worked hard to get Percy some clothes fit for a prince for the winter solstice.

It was hard because he’d never needed to buy them. Everyone was confused and interested in his sudden interest.

Father made a comment about him finding a lover.

Disgusting, as if any land dwellers were worth his interest except for Percy.

Honestly merfolk were so nosy.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy’s teacher was annoying. Triton didn’t like them at all.

He suggested Percy use school to practice his “princely” skills. Might as well, it would be good practice when away from the sea.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The stone horse Percy had enchanted was impressive. They were obviously done by a novice, but he could see the work his little brother put into it, he approved.

He kept it in his room, it made it feel just a little safer.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He loved the equinox, Percy got him a sunflower preserved in ice, they were really pretty flowers.

Poseidon had finally noticed that something was up, as had Amphitrite.

Apparently the three years of disappearing a lot to talk with Percy, and the last few months of literally bringing Percy down here didn’t give them a hint. But him bringing home a sunflower did.

Go figure.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton got Percy a star stone. They were one of his favorite things when he was a child. To see the stars underwater, he thought his little brother would appreciate it.

It was after all, something his father had failed to give Percy.

The stone could project the stars around, but otherwise it was almost like those snowglobes Percy had told him about, except with stars.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

So perhaps Percy’s latest school flooding had been his fault. But the school deserved it.

That pathetic excuse of a teacher expelling Percy just because he had been kicked out of schools in the past.

She was trash.

On another note, he got Percy more books on purification magic. It made sense that he failed to fully release the curse when Triton finally met this “Guinea pig”, though now it was a fish.

Circe was too powerful for Percy’s current level. His attempt to release the curse simply morphed it, changing it to more sea based instead.

It was a pretty good first attempt though.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton got Percy more new clothes. He needed to be sure Percy had a full wardrobe by the time he went to camp. That would be when Poseidon would notice.

Triton was perhaps being a little petty, but he wanted to rub it in his fathers face a little that he had been the one to raise Percy, he had been the one to teach him of his heritage.

Poseidon had done nothing for Percy, it had all been Triton.

He also got Percy an Ocarina, it was a good starting instrument for Siren’s Song. It would help Percy improve his curse breaking to mix Purification and Siren’s Song.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Triton liked the geode snow globe Percy made him. It was sparkly and rather unique.

It also matched his tail.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He thought it was hilarious that Percy’s mom didn’t approve of the hair dye. The hair dye was brilliant. It was made by Samoa after all, and her dye wouldn’t come out or let any of the original color show even at the roots for a long time. It was magic dye after all.

Those of the sea rarely had plain colored hair, there’s a reason Samoa created the dye.

Father was one of the few to have straight black hair, even Triton’s own was simply a very dark blue.

He quite liked Percy’s hair.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

He decided that Percy needed something to keep his belongings safe now.

He was growing older and would likely be going to camp soon.

Triton gave him a bag made by the Cyclops’s. It wouldn’t let anyone, but Percy, take things out of the bag, and would protect the contents from outside forces.

Percy seemed delighted, he was glad. His little brother needed more people looking out for him. He just hoped his gifts were enough to help.

 OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Percy was going to a boarding school.

Triton was a lot less pleased than he let on.

Percy would be away, harder to reach, harder to talk to.

He was glad he’d given him the rainbow stone because otherwise he might have to influence Percy’s mom away from that school.

And that would be hard to explain.

Still though, he worried, Percy would be alone for the year.

But surely Percy would be alright for the year, it’s not like he’d be going back.

Nothing too horrible could happen in the space of one year.

Right?

[joumiwrites]

Three early horsemen

The three horsemen appeared in front of the house with a sound of slashed reality. A dog stopped barking, then started again at full force.

“Strange beasts,” the dark one said. “Maybe we should call back the horses.”

The fiery one stepped forward, already taking a human form, height, shape and colors changing fast.

“They'll be fine.”

“We won't need them here,” the white one said.

They looked around, searching for the ashen one. They could feel an essence like their own somewhere nearby, but there were only humans walking along the street, their bodies dark silhouettes without light.

Death was already looking at them through one of the front windows. She knew who they were, even if she had never met them. She checked the calendar on the wall, looking at the rows of numbers that divided that day from the one circled in red.

She straightened her back and went to open the door.

“Ashen one,” they greeted her, every trace of uncertainty gone from their faces.

Their human forms were hidden by the light that emanated from each one: red, black, white.

“It's too early,” she said. “It's supposed to start in a month.”

“We know,” the fiery one answered, almost cutting her off.

“We wanted to meet you,” the dark one added.

“We want to see what you can do,” the white one concluded.

Death nodded, not knowing what to say. They had witnessed the first war of the angels and the eternity after that, while she only knew what was contained in the universe she'd been born with.

“I'm the essence of chaos,” the fiery one said.

“You must find Earth pretty boring, then,” Death observed.

“No. I know it will get better in a few days.”

Death couldn't smile back at that, so she looked at the dark one.

“My essence is lack and emptiness.”

“Mine is hatred and desperation,” the white one declared with superiority. “And yours, ashen one?”

“I'm Death,” she said, “I bring endings.”

They waited in silence for an explanation. She stepped back.

“Please, come in.”

“Death?” the fiery one repeated as they entered.

She closed the door.

“This is how humans call me. Thousands of versions of this name.”

“They have seen you?” the white one asked.

“No. It's the name they gave to my essence, and I thought it was fitting.”

They stood in the living room. There was a single wooden chair against a wall, while the rest of the space was occupied by marble pedestals, each supporting an object from past eras: a statue of a roman general; a bag of sand from a sea that only dinosaurs had seen; clocks of any shapes from every century of human history, because she had a sense of humor.

The fiery one started to wander from one pedestal to the next, picking up the objects to examine them, only to put them down in a different position. The white one walked straight towards the chair and sat on it, legs crossed and hands folded on top of the knee. The dark one stood at the center of the room, arms abandoned at the sides and eyes fixed on the empty ceiling.

Death propped her back against a wall.

“What do you do in Hell?”

The white one looked at her.

“You don't know?”

“No. An angel comes here once every millennia to give me instructions. The only thing they told me was that you existed and lived in Hell.”

The white one nodded and looked away, as if forgetting her question.

“We are a punishment,” the dark one said slowly, as if every word was dripping from a place miles above the room. “For the angels who were defeated. I make them crave divine light, so that they'll always remember what they lost.”

“I make them hate each other,” the white one said. “So that they'll always be alone, at their core. They can never find comfort in each other's company, and when they do, they live in fear of an inevitable betrayal.”

“And I change the rules of their world.” The fiery one smiled. “So that they'll never be able to organize themselves enough to attack again.”

“And you?” the white one spoke again. “What do you do here?”

Death thought about it. Was she a punishment too?

“My duty is easier than yours. I just need to exist, and everything around me will eventually come to an end.”

“You said that your name is 'Death' because of what you do to humans,” the dark one said. “What is that, exactly?”

“It's just an ending like the others. They cease to exist. They disappear from this world.”

“And then?” the white one asked.

“Then nothing.”

The white one's brow furrowed.

“Now that we are here, will we end too?”

Death focused on the strings, the tendrils of power that connected her to everything in that world that could end forever. The strings were always moving and changing, some were created, some disappeared. But she was sure none of them were connected to the other three horsemen.

“No,” she said. “You're not from this world.”

“I want to see it” the fiery one said, letting one of the vases fall to the ground.

It shattered, and the thin tendril of power that connected it to Death dissolved. The other two didn't pay it any attention, and Death didn't either. She'd felt the object's ending approach as its string became thinner.

“What do you want to see?” she asked.

“What you do to humans. The thing called death.”

“You want to see people die.”

The fiery one looked at her, light moving behind the eyes, and nodded.

“Follow me,” she said, and left her physical form for the instant necessary to travel to the other side of the planet, following a group of strings that were changing faster than the rest.

An explosion showered her with chunks of dirt.

“I saw it,” the fiery one screamed in excitement at her side.

Death looked at the man's corpse. A million more strings had dissolved with him, small things that had lived in the ground.

She stood behind with the other two horsemen while the fiery one walked through the projectiles, straining the human neck to look around. The red essence shined stronger at every explosion, at every soldier screaming or dying, and when a building collapsed it looked like the fiery one was about to explode too.

“This is glorious.”

A tank fired. The fiery one raised a hand, and the projectile deviated. Death felt the strings of the soldiers in the new trajectory become even thinner. She grabbed the tendrils with both hands and pulled them closer.

The men were all badly injured, but they didn't die right there. Some of them would have survived.

Death released the strings. Humans could kill each other, if they chose to. But she wouldn't have let anyone interfere with that, not before the final day. It felt wrong to do otherwise.

The fiery one shined while the explosion hit, looked around for a while longer, then walked back towards the other horsemen.

“I want to see this in Hell. Tell me how you did it, I want to know everything.”

Death hadn't done anything, so she didn't answer.

“Is death always like this?” the white one asked with a hint of disgust.

“It's loud,” the dark one added. “And the suffering doesn't last much.”

“It's just war,” Death said. “There are many other ways to die.”

“I've seen war,” the fiery one said as an explosion hit close. “It was quick and orderly. The angels above won immediately.”

“It's different here,” Death said.

“How do humans call it?”

Death listed the word in all the languages people had spoken across the millennia.

“I like how it sounds,” the fiery one said. “I want to be called War.”

War turned to look at the people screaming and shooting.

“It's a pity I won't be able to see this anymore, after the final day.”

Death raised her head, following a sudden thought.

“What will be you task once Apocalypse ends?”

“We'll keep punishing the devils,” the white one said.

“I'll also get to keep the matter of this world in chaos, once everything is destroyed,” the fiery one added. “Like I did before it was created.”

“Now the earth was formless and empty,” Death said.

They gave her confused looks.

“It's from the Bible. A book humans wrote.”

“A book?” the white one asked.

“They knew a lot about how this world was created, and what comes next. They knew about us.”

She crossed the space back to her own house, and they followed, War an instant slower than the others. Death guided them towards her garden, this time. She cared too much about her clocks.

“What about you?” the dark one asked. “What are you going to do after the last day?”

Death recalled the words of the angel during their last visit.

“I'll be a guardian between Heaven and Hell. No one will be able to get closer to the divine without crossing my path.”

She didn't talk about the tendrils. Of how the power seemed to flow from the people, the creatures, and the objects to her, and not vice versa. How humans had described the world after the Apocalypse as an endless one, and they were always right about these things. She'd been born with that world, she'd have died with it.

“If I knew war was so magnificent here, I'd have visited sooner,” War said. “I don't want this world to end so soon.”

“It's the reason we're here,” the white one said.

“I know.”

Death looked at them as they spoke. She didn't want to disappear. She was scared of her own essence, after all.

“We could wait some time,” she said. “And visit more wars.”

“More wars?” War asked, shining of red.

“No,” the dark one said.

“We'll see what you'll show us until the final day,” the white one added. “Then we'll destroy this world, as we were sent to do.”

Death lowered her eyes and nodded.

They stood in silence for a long instant.

“So, what next?” War asked.

Death focused on the strings. She found two more conflicts that War would have appreciated, but even if they both wanted to delay the Apocalypse, she knew they couldn't prevent the other horsemen from destroying the Earth alone.

She focused on the dark one; the essence of lacking, emptiness. There was a place in the world that was full of that.

“Follow me,” she said, and moved.

They were in the dark, but they didn't need eyes to perceive the walls of the cave and the group of humans scattered inside it.

“Please,” one of them screamed. “Somebody help.”

“Stop wasting your breath,” another answered, while most of the others just shushed him.

War looked around with a bored expression and kicked a rock. The sound startled two of the men, but they didn't have the energy to get up, so they just stared at the dark until they seemed to forget what they were looking for.

“A lot of suffering,” the white one observed, hands clasped behind the back.

Death ignored both of them, focusing on the dark one. The dark essence was flowing outside the contours of the human shape.

“They crave,” the voice was deeper than usual, without a trace of boredom, “so many things.”

The dark one walked in circle along the walls and round corners of the cave.

“Food,” Death said, following the trail of darkness, “Water.”

“Safety,” the dark one continued, “Light. Freedom. Love.”

They completed the circle and stopped between a man who was sleeping and one who cried quietly, clutching the image of a woman as if he could see her despite the dark.

“How did you do this?” the dark one asked.

“Every human needs these things. They can't reach them in this place, and that makes them suffer.”

“The devils only need one thing, divine light. And they're already trapped in a place where they can't reach it.”

“That should make your task easier.”

“It does,” the dark one said, and this time the words oozed boredom like another dark essence escaping its bounds.

“There are many more ways to cause this,” Death whispered, gesturing at the cave. “War is one of them. So are earthquakes, wild fires, floods. Or you could try to take away just one thing, like food, and see how everything else starts to crumble.”

The dark one's eyes moved around the room, as if they could see the things she was talking about.

“I've seen this world from above. There's food growing in the fields, everywhere.”

“And with your power, you could destroy it all. Bring the greatest famine the world has ever seen.”

The words felt wrong, but it was the only thing she could offer.

“Famine?” the dark one repeated. “I like this name.”

“Then it can be yours, like all the rest. There's nobody here to stop you.”

Famine turned to look at the white one before focusing on her again.

“If you want to delay the Apocalypse, I'm with you.”

Death nodded. She thought about it as they jumped back to her house. They were three against one, they could decide what to do. But even if they won, with Famine and War loose on the planet, the Apocalypse wouldn't have been delayed by much. She needed someone who could reason with them on her side.

“The final day is near,” the white one said, sitting on the chair. “What will you show us now?”

Death consulted the strings, looking for hate and desperation. The world was full of it and, she imagined, Hell too. She needed to find a place that was different enough to capture the white one's interest.

“Come,” she said, and moved towards a group of strings full of life that were clashing against each other, next to another one that was slowly disappearing.

The house they were in had a high ceiling and white walls that reflected the light of the sun. There was a group of people inside, clearly divided in two sides even if they were standing in a circle, screaming at each other. Some of them looked angry, some miserable.

“Finally some chaos,” War said.

The white one stepped forward and watched the scene with a bit of interest. Death waited for a reaction, eyes going from the horseman to the people in front of her and back. But the white one didn't move for a long time.

“Do you like it?” Death asked.

“I know what you're trying to do. It won't work with me. There's nothing you can offer better than what I already have.”

Death hesitated.

“Their hate for each other is intense.”

“I can feel it. But intensity isn't as important as vastness. There are fights between devils that have lasted for centuries, and still have consequences to this day. A pyramid of relationships made of hatred for common enemies and distrust of temporary allies. Even if I could do that with humans, they'll eventually die, and all that work would be lost.”

“The angel told me there are ten thousands devils in Hell. Humans are seven billions. You could cover the world with these pyramids, if it's vastness that you want.”

“They would crumble in a century or less. It's pointless.”

“What about desperation? Humans can feel it deeply.”

“You won't convince me. Stop trying.”

“I'm not trying to convince you.”

“Then you're wasting our time. I wanted to see death, but I don't see it here.”

Death lowered her head and stepped in the direction of a big door.

“This way.”

The white one followed her, while War and Famine stood behind, talking in low voices.

The only bed in the room was surrounded by glass walls and a glass door. A faint string passed through them, ending on the forehead of the old man inside the bed.

Death stopped in front of the glass, while the white one crossed the barrier to look at the dying man.

“Desperation, yes.”

Death observed as the interest slowly faded from the white one's face. She didn't say anything. Pushing for a discussion would have been as useless as talking about the weather with an angel.

The white one frowned.

“I can't find the reason for this death. The other ones were more easy to understand.”

“It's an illness. Something that destroys human bodies.”

“Why? What does it do?”

Death looked at the old man.

“I don't know. There are so many illnesses I can't remember them all. They damage different things.”

The white one nodded, then turned as if to leave, and seemed to notice the glass barriers just then.

“Why these walls?”

“I don't know for sure. My guess is that the illness is contagious, so nobody can get near him except to bring him cures.”

“What would happen if they did get close?”

“They would get the same illness.”

The white one turned again to look at the man in the bed.

“Could he get up? Escape?”

“I don't think he's strong enough. And the others would try to put him back in.”

“His enemies?”

“His family and friends.”

The white one's essence trembled.

“How is that possible?”

“They don't want to be infected. And they want him to continue the cure, so that he'll live longer.”

The white one seemed to reflect for a bit.

“Tell me how these illnesses work.”

And Death told him of the plague, leprosy, the Spanish flu. Of how people who got it were isolated and sometimes outright rejected. How entire groups of people were hated because others thought they were the cause of the disease. She talked about the fear of who was healthy, and the desperation of who was ill.

“This word, 'illness'... it feels weak,” the white one said.

“I've heard them using the term 'pestilence'.”

“Then I'll take that name too.”

The white essence flickered like a candle.

“But it doesn't mean you won. I want to see the things you have talked about, and cause a pestilence myself. If it won't satisfy me, I'Il start the Apocalypse alone. And believe me: I'm strong enough to see it through.”

Death nodded. She followed Pestilence back to the other room, then jumped to her home with the other horsemen.

A light rain was washing the garden. Pestilence was talking with War and Famine, in a low voice. Death stepped forward and stared at the roses, thinking about her future. It would have been short, if all of them used their powers on the world at the same time, Apocalypse or not.

“We have decided to stay,” Pestilence announced. “But we won't destroy the world, yet.”

“Where is the biggest war?” War asked. “I want to see it.”

Famine looked at the sky.

“We should ask for permission, first. I don't think we can delay the Apocalypse without the Divine's approval.”

They all looked up.

After an instant of confusion, Death did the same. Humans who glanced over the fence would have seen four people looking straight up at the rain, eyes wide open.

“Luminous one,” Pestilence called. “We ask for your permission to stay here and experience this world. We'll start the Apocalypse when we are ready.”

Death lowered her eyes to glance at the three horsemen: they were looking at the sky with full certainty they'd receive an answer. War's essence was pulsing, at different intervals and intensities; Famine's extended its smoky tendrils in the air; Pestilence's swayed and flickered like a flame.

And her own, Death knew without even looking at it, was gray and calm like a lake in a cloudy morning. The strings flowed into her through every corner of the planet.

They looked at her. War kicked the ground, sending pebbles and fragments of soil flying around.

“Let's go, then. I want to see war. I want to create explosions. You have to teach me how to start them.”

Death stared at War for a moment.

“Teach you?”

“And me,” Famine said. “I know how to use my powers, but I don't know much about this world.”

“I want to know too,” Pestilence added. “So that I can judge properly the worth of what you have offered me. If we're to cause death properly, we should know how it works.”

Death looked at them, and then at the sky, to gain some more time. She could tell them she didn't do or know anything, and lose any kind of power she had over them. Or pretend she could teach them, rein them in, and become the direct cause of all the destruction they would bring to the world.

“It's not easy,” she started. “Death needs to be balanced with all the rest if you want it to work. Just throwing explosions around, destroying food everywhere, cover the world with illnesses will destroy this balance, and then your powers won't have effect anymore.”

Because everyone would be dead, she thought, but didn't say it. They wouldn't have considered it relevant.

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Pestilence asked.

Death pulled a string, the only one who wasn't dissipating at all.

“Call your horses and follow me. I'll show you everything you need to know about this world, and tell you when you can use your powers without destroying the balance.”

The string she'd pulled got shorter and shorter, until the gray horse was at her side. A part of her essence that had taken shape.

“I'll follow you as long as it suits me,” Pestilence said, as a white horse appeared at the end of the garden.

Death nodded, then looked at Famine.

“As long as we keep moving. I don't want to stay in one place.”

“We won't stop for a while.”

A black horse turned the corner of the house.

“I want to see war,” War said, as a red horse jumped over the fence.

“We'll start with that, then,” Death answered, mounting on her steed.

She went north, cities and forests flowing around her every time the horse's hooves left the ground. She could move faster alone, but it didn't feel half as good, and she wanted the other horsemen to look around, experience the reality around them as much as possible, like she had done during her first centuries. They were the younger ones, now.

She looked over her shoulder at the three of them, riding one next to the other. She had to balance their impulses carefully. Distracting the other two while one of them tortured a piece of the planet, let the world rest as long as possible before starting again.

She didn't like the idea of them interfering. But at least the strings would have kept tangling into each other, like they'd been doing since the universe was born, as she guarded over them for the rest of her existence.