#better than trying to go through and manually change every post

[pekoeboo]

- Primordial SMP is now titled Home Is Where You Are -

@cookieg122 and I finally decided on a name for this story we've been working on together for a few years now!! it had started out as a simple recounting of events that took place within two separate Minecraft servers a few years back, but since then we've come up with a lot of our own content, and we figured it was best to call it by an original title to try to separate that original content from its MC ties so it can stand alone as its own thing, too.

Hence why we're dropping the SMP (i.e., "survival multiplayer") title and giving it a wholly new one!

I'm planning on reorganizing my blog (and other related sites like deviantART and AO3) to accurately reflect this change, so it might take a while until everything is fully sorted out. I'll hopefully make a new post chronicling the different tags that I'll be using to organize everything (since I'm planning on splitting it into three distinct Acts), as well as maybe give an overview of the story itself and its contents/characters if possible, so it'll be less confusing going forward :'0

Really excited about this change, though. it's been a long time coming, for sure ;o;

[judilyart]

Can you make a post about how you choose colors plz ? I'm really curious about your process

this is such a difficult question to answer bc really the way i approach colors is mostly reliant on what I find interesting and I do struggle with them, but i'll try my best to answer!

before I even start working on my piece, I like to gather a bunch of refs and think about the vibe I want to achieve since colors and values change the piece drastically. personally, I like to play around with purple a lot so usually I start with a light purple for the undertone/sky background color and I find that it helps a lot to work above that rather than the white of the canvas, it also helps me bring purple back into the shadows! I think my "secret" to why my paintings are so colorful is that I start by blocking in as many colors/shapes as I can using a brush with the color dynamics setting on, I find that it creates a good base fast without having to manually pick every single hue by hand. It's also important to try many different palettes and not be scared of scrapping something and repainting from scratch bc that's how you're able to tell what works and what doesn't! it also creates many ugly stages lol but here's a few screenshots from my process video of Under The Peach Tree as an example of how many times I repainted it

I like to keep in mind what the highlight color will be, for example in this painting I went for a skintone that's closer to the colors of the peaches and the little blanket bc that will tie everything together and make the character feel like they belong in the environment. it's similar in other cases too, for example if the grass is more cool toned then I'd go for some red pink flowers. there's a tool in photoshop that's called selective color which I use a lot as well as curves or color balance, they're all used to adjust the colors that you already have like if I feel that the yellow is not quite right then I try to change it up through those tools and see what's better. it's really a lot of trial and error and just trying things out and seeing what you end up liking, it also ofc comes with practice and learning compositional values.

I hope this helps 💗 I do upload my process on my patreon, and I've been planning a video specifically on how I paint skin since it's an interesting topic!

[andmaybegayer]

can you actually talk about bitwarden / password managers, or direct me to a post about them? Idk my (completely uneducated) instinct says that trusting one application with all your passwords is about as bad as having the same password for everything, but clearly that isn’t the case.

So it is true that online password managers present a big juicy target, and if you have very stringent security requirements you'd be better off with an offline password manager that is not exposed to attack.

However, for most people the alternative is "reusing the same password/closely related password patterns for everything", the risk that one random site gets compromised is much higher than the risk that a highly security focussed password provider gets compromised.

Which is not to say it can't happen, LastPass gets hacked alarmingly often, but most online password managers do their due diligence. I am more willing to stash my passwords with 1Password or Bitwarden or Dashlane than I am to go through the rigamarole of self-managing an array of unique passwords across multiple devices.

Bitwarden and other password managers try to store only an encrypted copy of your password vault, and they take steps to ensure you never ever send them your decryption key. When you want a password, you ask them for your vault, you decrypt it with your key, and now you have a local decrypted copy without ever sending your key to anyone. If you make changes, you make them locally and send back an encrypted updated vault.

As a result, someone who hacks Bitwarden should in the absolute worst case get a pile of encrypted vaults, but without each individuals' decryption key those vaults are useless. They'd still have to go around decrypting each vault one by one. Combining a good encryption algorithm, robust salting, and a decent key, you can easily get a vault to "taking the full lifetime of the universe" levels on security against modern cryptographic attacks.

Now there can be issues with this. Auto-fill can be attacked if you go onto a malicious website, poorly coded managers can leak information or accidentally include logging of passwords when they shouldn't, and obviously you don't know that 1Password isn't backdoored by the CIA/Mossad/Vatican. If these are concerns then you shouldn't trust online password managers, and you should use something where you remain in control of your vault and only ever manually handle your password.

Bitwarden is open source and fairly regularly audited, so you can be somewhat assured that they're not compromised. If you are worried about that, you can use something like KeePassXC/GNU Pass/Himitsu/ (which all hand you the vault file and it's your job to keep track of it and keep it safe) or use clever cryptographic methods (like instead of storing a password you use a secret key to encrypt and hash a reproducible code and use that as your password, e.g. my netflix password could be hash(crypt("netflixkalium", MySecretKey)), I know a few people who use that method.

Now with any luck because Apple is pushing for passkeys (which is just a nice name for a family of cryptographic verification systems that includes FIDO2/Webauthn) we can slowly move away from the nightmare that is passwords altogether with some kind of user friendly public key based verification, but it'll be a few years before that takes off. Seriously the real issue with a password is that with normal implementations every time you want to use it you have to send your ultra secret password over the internet to the verifying party.

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Bitch Fight Ch.18 (Multi; JeLa) - Lita

Welcome to the world of Femme Fatale Wrestling. The future is female, and we’re here to prove it.

A/N: Heyyyyy….So, I’m still alive. Sorry about the nearly-a-year posting break, I changed jobs irl, got side tracked with an original fiction project, and have been generally super busy - but both I and this fic are very much still alive. I’m aware that it’s been a minute, so if anyone needs a refresher, the fic in its entirety can be found here. 

Anyway - this is the long-awaited Jinkx Chapter™ and the point at which the story (imo) reeeaaalllyyyy starts to get good. So I hope you all enjoy, and to those of you who are still here and sat through the nine month hiatus: Thank you <3

______

CHAPTER 18: YOU’VE STILL GOT IT

Dela had already left the house before Jinkx woke up. That was weird. Usually she didn’t leave to do anything without pestering her to get out of bed first. That did drive her a little insane - not that she’d ever say that out loud. Dela was trying. The fact that Jinkx hadn’t come with some kind of post-injury instruction manual made things difficult for the pair of them - she felt guilty about it. But acting on that guilt required effort that she didn’t have the capacity for. 

She’s been bizarrely cagey and quiet since the show on Saturday, honestly - reluctant to talk about work, distant, inside her own head. Jinkx wants to help, but the part of her that knows how to is miles away; trapped behind some impenetrable wall held in place by surgical screws. 

Regardless, Dela is god-knows-where, and Jinkx is alone, which she doesn’t deal well with. Being awake when she’s by herself is unpleasant - seconds drag on forever into minutes, and she feels agonizingly conscious of the time that she’s wasting. She’d set up camp in the living room, and more than likely wasn’t going to move until it was an acceptable time to go back to bed - coffee on the table, and Macho sitting on the couch a few feet away from her, stirring from his nap every few minutes to claw at the couch or glare at her like he wants her dead. The TV is on, but she isn’t exactly watching it. She scrolls through her texts, blankly waiting for Dela to respond to her and tell her what exactly she was doing, and trying her best to ignore the litany of unread messages from Bill. She’d deal with him later. 

‘Later’ was becoming an increasingly nebulous concept. She missed him, in a way - it was like he’d stopped caring when she got hurt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him face-to-face, and the text correspondence she got from him to report back from the events of shows tended to be curt and impersonal - a couple of words, nothing more. Well, he was busy. And he was serving his purpose, she guessed. She hoped. In all honesty, she wasn’t really sure. She felt guilty about that too. 

She feels like her body is constantly heavy; doing anything is difficult, in a way that she struggles to justify. On the days where she’s physically in pain, it makes sense at least. Or when she’s depressed - when something’s happened, when she’s actually struggling. She hates feeling like this - like a shell of a person, but without an excuse. On paper, she should be okay. 

She’s spent the bulk of the last year mentally torturing herself like this. Being angry with herself when she feels like shit, and equally angry when she doesn’t and yet still can’t bring herself to function. The promotion had become a real point of shame. A few months of absence felt understandable - but a fucking year? She knew that she was letting people down, and in some way or another she’s lulled herself into thinking that maybe they’re  better off without her. She didn’t have much faith left in her abilities as a promoter, or a booker - and if she couldn’t wrestle, then what was the point in her? She’d fucked up before. 

She didn’t know how she felt about Manila being back, even if it was just for a night. Her gut said she didn’t like it. 

That night barely held a coherent shape in Jinkx’s memory - the blood pooling on the mat, Raja’s seizure in the hallway, the unblinking terror on Manila’s face. Jinkx had gotten home from the emergency room at four in the morning, after spending all night picking up the pieces as best she could. She’d sat staring at the living room wall until the sun came up - still in her ring gear, blood that wasn’t hers drying in her cuticles, feeling like the walls were closing in around her. She recalled this horrible sense of foreboding overtaking her, like she knew that this was only the shitty start of something that was about to get much, much worse. 

Her last exchange with Manila had been awful - Manila had been angry with her, and she had every right to be. She’d been on her way out the door regardless, but that didn’t change how terrible Jinkx felt about the way it ended. The situation with Magnolia was an embarrassing, shitty mess. Going off-script like she had was a problem on its own, even without the state she’d left Raja in. And yet a month down the line, she’d still been under contract. 

Moreover, Magnolia had been holding the title - a position that Manila was furious about. She had made an absolute point of refusing to listen to any excuses Jinkx tried to give. They’d been flimsy at best - maybe it was a good thing that she’d been unable to get a word in edgeways. Anything she could have said would have been far too easy to poke holes in. 

Jinkx has been put in a shitty position; being strongarmed by her talent, apparently incapable of growing a backbone and doing the right thing. She didn’t have any concrete proof that what Magnolia had done to Raja was deliberate, and Magnolia had made it crystal fucking clear that if Jinkx fired her, pulled a screwjob, or interfered in any other way, she’d go straight to every dirt-sheet that would listen to her and drag both her and the promotion’s names through the mud. That had terrified Jinkx to her core. 

About five years ago, someone had put it together that the Jinkx Monsoon who now had tits and ran an all-women’s promotion was the same one who’d appeared as an acne-ridden sixteen-year old boy in an ancient TLC documentary about pro wrestling bootcamps. Maybe using the same ring name since she was a teenager had been a bad idea after all. There’d been a minor shitstorm on R/SquaredCircle - apparently it had been a slow news week, because then Pro Wrestling Insider ran a story about her. That had sent a few assholes in her direction but equally gave the promotion some free publicity. Then WWE had fired Jim Ross two days later, and everybody moved the fuck on. 

It hadn’t been a big deal - she couldn’t exactly be outed if she’d never been in the closet in the first place. Her being trans had always been something of an open secret. For fuck’s sake - she’d used ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ as entrance music for years, she’d never exactly been subtle. 

And then some mid-tier ex-WCW guy had started a Twitter rumor that she was lying about her gender identity, and she’d only founded FFW to enable her to perv on women. The allegation effectively ruined three months of her life. Some of the things she’d read about herself were downright fucking vile - they’d been forced to cancel two shows; she’d had to shut down all of her social media, and even then found herself getting death threats sent to her business email. Femme Fatale had been in its infancy, up and running for a little under three years, and it had nearly killed the entire promotion. 

She’d had an awful, terrifying gut feeling that it would only have taken one bit of crappy press to reignite that level of public hatred, towards both the promotion and her personally - crappy press that Magnolia was clearly more than happy to provide. If it came straight from the mouth of someone who’d worked with her, rather than unsubstantiated crap from some bastard she’d never met with too much time on his hands, then Jinkx would have been definitively screwed. She’d learned the hard way how fragile her standing was. The threat had gotten to her, in a really fucking horrible way. She wasn’t sure if that had been Magnolia’s intention, but it had definitely worked. 

So, she’d spent weeks handling the situation with kid gloves and waiting to see if a solution jumped out. It didn’t - and in the end, she’d fired her anyway, and lived to tell the tale. 

Not that there hadn’t been consequences. Bianca, Morgan, and Detox - the three people originally tasked with trying to get the belt off of her before Courtney eventually succeeded - had all threatened to quit; her relationship with Manila had been irrevocably damaged. Raja’s career was over, and Jinkx hadn’t been able to look Courtney in the eye for weeks after that fucking massacre of a match. She couldn’t unsee the blood trickling from her nose, or the missing front tooth. It only twisted the knife in further. 

Not to mention the guilt over feeling relieved that Magnolia had been stupid enough to shoot on someone twice. Maybe on some subliminal level, that had been her intention in letting the whole mess fester for as long as she did. Jinkx had known it would only be a matter of time before she tried it again. Firing someone over a botch wasn’t the done thing; deliberately injuring an opponent was entirely different. It was an easy out; one that didn’t put her neck on the line. 

But it was her failure that had gotten them there in the first place, and her price to pay to fix it - not anyone else’s. It should have been Jinkx in that match instead of Court. It should have been her blood on Magnolia’s hands - her tooth on the ring canvas. Her pound of flesh. 

Jinkx been reckless, and stupid. She’d endangered her talent by putting them in the ring with someone who had shown their capacity to be deliberately fucking evil, and for what? 

Every stupid mistake she’d made in that couple of months had been haunting her for the last two years. It was undeniable proof - she sucked at her job. She’d put people in harm’s way to save her own skin. And if that was how she’d been before everything had happened, she didn’t even want to think about all of the ways in which she’d probably fuck it up now. Back then, she wasn’t a miserable shell of her past self. She’d still had passion; she still cared. 

She glances over at the TV, trying her level best to fucking distract herself. UFC. The fight looks pretty bizarrely matched, a dark-haired beast of a woman with a shaved head getting the shit knocked out of her by some skinny kid with bright green hair. Buzzcut is bleeding all over the place; there’s barely a mark on Green Hair. Jinkx winces.  

MMA had never made a lick of sense to her; she’d been in her share of messy matches, but that damage was always superficial. Busting someone’s face open with your bare hands is a completely different ballgame, and it’s always made her feel a little bit sick to watch. Plus it just seemed boring - maybe that was the sports-entertainer in her. What’s the point of having a cage there if nobody is gonna jump off of it? Where the fuck was all of the pomp and circumstance? What she was getting here was glacially-paced punching and kicking - no flair, just blood-sport. 

Buzzcut takes a kick to the head and immediately hits the deck. Jinkx shuts the TV off. 

Legitimate knockouts scared the shit out of her. She hated watching them happen; hated thinking about what kind of state they left people’s brains in. Jinkx had suffered through two concussions in her career - one when she was a rookie; the second the night she broke her neck. Dela had had four. Every time it was terrifying, and thinking about it for too long kept her up at night. 

Watching Dela get hurt had been a kind of pain that Jinkx hadn’t been fully prepared for. Every time anything happened, she found herself wracked with a sense of sickening guilt for being the one that led her down this path in the first place. The night she’d come home after the hardcore match with Morgan - broken nose, swollen lips, tears cutting streaks through the dried blood all over her face - Jinkx had barely been able to look at her. 

Jinkx had been in the ring with Dela the night she broke her leg - she’d watched it happen, horribly aware of exactly how bad it was, but glued to the spot, unable to do anything. Everything about it - the sound of snapping bone; the twisted, terrified look on her face as Bill trying to cinch in that stupid fucking ankle-lock - had haunted her for weeks. The sound of her voice was what had cut her the deepest; the pain and the panic behind her words, thumping the mat with the palm of her hand, screaming ‘I quit, I quit’ over and over. 

Jinkx hadn’t spoken to Bill for almost a month after that. Dela had been the one to insist that they patched things up - she was okay, it had been an accident, he didn’t realize. Given that she’d been the one that had to go through three hours of surgery and six months of recovery because of his stupidity, she’d been the authority. Jinkx had been furious; after watching him treat Dela like an inconvenience at best and a personal affront to him at worst for as long as they’d been together, her patience for his shit had worn thin. 

Bill and Jinkx had turned up at the same run-down training school for the first time on the same night, and had been joined at the hip for about four years as perennially single high-schoolers. He was a little abrasive, and had a tendency to talk over her - but underneath it all, Jinkx had sensed a kind of insecurity in him, veiled by this performative, hypermasc bravado. He’d clung onto her from the moment that they met and refused to let go. She didn’t mind - he’d never cared about the fact that she was a little weird, and he didn’t make her feel like an outcast the same way that other guys did back then. 

He’d been the person responsible for the chip in her front tooth; a slightly overenthusiastic superkick during their first match in front of a crowd had taken a diagonal chunk out of it, which she’d then proceeded to accidentally swallow. She’d refused to get it fixed - in the first instance because she hadn’t had the money, then later because her response to Bill ribbing her for her fucked-up smile had always been to remind him that it was only like that because he was a shitty wrestler. It was a part of their personal history. 

Bill and Dela had never exactly gotten along. Well, Bill had never exactly gotten along with Dela, and had never tried to. He’d never really learned how to share Jinkx - he got jealous and clingy in the locker room when she tried to talk to other people for god’s sake. Dela gatecrashing their little bromance had seriously rubbed him the wrong way.

Dela hadn’t been a wrestler when they first met - a recent college graduate, she’d worked in the bar that Jinkx and the other guys frequented after shows, since the staff seldom kicked them out for being too rowdy. They’d both crushed on her for weeks, from afar - Jinkx had been the first one of the two of them to make a move, and it was like Bill resented Dela for picking the wrong guy. Not that he’d ever said that out loud; not that he’d even really tried to pursue her. She’d just been supposed to telepathically know that he’d wanted her too - he was the better man, or rather the only one that succeeded at being a man. It was like he hadn’t even viewed Jinkx as competition. 

Once he got to know her, besides thinking she was hot, he couldn’t stand her, or at least he claimed he couldn’t. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard; she was too fake, too immature. Before she became a wrestler herself, she didn’t understand ‘their’ world - he called her a ring-rat more often than he used her actual name - but when she started, she sucked at it and wasn’t trying hard enough. She was pretty much incapable of doing anything right. For fuck’s sake, he even hated the fact that she didn’t argue back when he tried to start shit with her. It had always driven Jinkx quietly insane, but Dela insisted that she didn’t mind. 

Jinkx feels bad for Dela more than anyone through all of this shit. She tried - she fucking tried, so hard. With everything; with him, with the promotion, with her. Jinkx still felt just as consumed by that incredible, overwhelming love for her as she had back when they first got together, and that made the guilt and the pain so much worse. Dela was suffering because of her - she could see it. Knowing how much of a horrific, draining burden she’s become on everyone she cares about disgusts her. 

Five-percent survival rate. That sentence had haunted her since she got injured. Why did she get to be one of that five percent? It doesn’t feel fair. Better people have fucking died because of the same shit, and the ones that lived didn’t waste the time they’d stolen by rotting away in their own misery and self-pity. 

Jinkx’s phone starts vibrating in her hand, jolting her back into the real world. The name on the caller ID makes her stomach drop. MANILA LUZON. 

 “Manila? What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Manila’s voice on the other end of the line is clipped and guarded. Jinkx feels uneasy. “Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase - Mateo got a developmental deal with WWE, so it’s looking pretty likely that we’re gonna be moving back sometime soon. I need somewhere to work, and I-“

“That’s kind of not my area anymore. Dela said you were at the show on Saturday, did you talk to Bill?” Jinkx says. Her voice feels like an answering machine; verbally shitting out the exact same thing she has to tell Dela, or any of the girls, when they try to come to her about shit, without any kind of conscious thought. Talk to him, I can’t deal with this right now

“No, I didn’t - why the fuck would I? I’m not asking a referee about a new contract deal. It’s your promotion,” Manila’s tone spikes. 

“It is, but-“

“Jinkx, come on.” Jinkx can practically hear Manila rolling her eyes. “I didn’t see you around once the other night. What the fuck is going on?” 

“What?” Jinkx says absently, barely paying attention. She doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Manila had always been spectacularly talented at being a bitch when the situation necessitated it, even before the whole horrific mess with Raja. That had just honed her ability to focus said talent in Jinkx’s direction. 

“You were at the show, right?”

“No,” Jinkx says flatly. 

“What the- why?” Manila sounds astonished. Did she really not know? How the fuck did she not know?  

“I’m retired, Manila,” Jinkx feels like she’s stating the obvious. Manila pauses for a second. Jinkx hears her swallow. 

“As of when?”

“I…Shit happened last year,” she doesn’t feel like explaining herself right now. Manila doesn’t respond, leaving a pause in the conversation that begs for an explanation. Jinkx grits her teeth. “Botched piledriver - I broke my neck, triple fusion surgery, whole career down the toilet in five minutes.” 

“And how is that stopping you from being backstage?” Manila asks pointedly, moving straight along from what Jinkx had just said without any kind of feeling. Jinkx feels like she’s smacking her head against a brick wall. She stays silent. “I’m serious, Jinkx. It’s a mess - how did you let things get this bad?”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I told you that you had a goddamn laundry list of issues to work out two years ago when I left. It’s bad enough that you let Magnolia stick around after what she did to Raja - it’s bad enough that you let her keep the belt. I’d thought things would have improved by now, and somehow they’re worse.”

“You’re still mad about that?” Jinkx groans, exasperated. She wasn’t about to give away the fact that she herself wasn’t even remotely over it yet - the only person who didn’t seem to be holding onto any resentment or guilt over the whole thing was Raja. Though that was probably because she didn’t remember most of it. 

“Raja nearly died, and you let the person responsible get away with it - I care about her, of course I’m still fucking mad. You can’t do that to somebody.” 

“How the hell are you guys still not fucking?” Jinkx mutters under her breath. She really hopes Manila hadn’t heard her - that would do less than nothing to help her case. 

“You know that Courtney went off-script on Bianca, and that Adore kid, right?” Manila asks, sharp and confrontational. 

“I- what?” Jinkx sits up - pretty certain that she’d misheard something. “What the fuck did she do?” 

“Ran in during their match - she hit Bea with a chair, slapped Adore around a bit, then demanded a title match. Dela and Bianca tried to convince me it was a work, but it was super obvious.”  

“Manila, I- look, are you sure? Like, this was definitely Courtney?” 

“I’m not stupid, Jinkx.”

“I never said you were, but Courtney’s the champ. Why would she need to-”

“Uh, no she’s not,” Manila says disbelievingly. She pauses for a second. “Jinkx, do you seriously not know who your world champion is?” 

“I thought I did - there was a bit of a hiccup a few weeks ago, Adore botched the finish and accidentally won the belt, but Courtney got it back.” Jinkx pauses. Someone isn’t telling her something. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m fucking serious. This is ridiculous, Jinkx. You’re in charge, and you can’t let any of this crap fly. You can’t let people run around shooting on each other, you can’t not pay attention to what’s going on in your own company.” 

Jinkx nods along with her. She’s fucking right, and she’s the only person around Jinkx right now who can’t see the ‘HANDLE WITH CARE’ sticker that’s been plastered on her forehead for the last year. Slowly, quietly, she feels that heavy lead ball of depression she’s been carrying around within her chest for the last year starting to crack.  

“You need to get your information from someone who wasn’t just there for a night. All I’m saying is I’m looking to re-sign, and I’m there if you want me - but not if something doesn’t change,” Manila sighs. “I know how much all of this means to you, and I don’t wanna see it fail, but this is not the promotion I left two years ago. Half of the locker room is gone - the audience is barely there. You need to fucking do something.”

“You’re right,” Jinkx says. She chews the new information over in her mind; still reeling from the well-timed sucker punch to the jaw that Manila had just landed on her from miles away. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m gonna get this shit in hand. Give me a call once you’re back home and we can talk about you re-signing. I mean, if you decide that things are up to your standards.”

There’s a little hint of the old bite in her voice. Hi, Jinkx Monsoon - nice to see you. It’s been a while. 

Manila gives a surprised little laugh. 

“Okay,” she sounds taken aback, before adopting that serious, stern mom-tone she’s been using for the rest of the conversation. “But seriously though, figure-“

“You’re laboring the point,” Jinkx says. “Thank you - clearly I needed someone to kick me up the ass.”  

Manila chuckles. 

“Look, I have to go - I’m in a fucking bathroom stall at Epcot, Mateo is with the kids, but I couldn’t stop thinking about everything, and I had to talk to you,” Manila says. “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry about everything that happened to you. It sounds like it sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Manila ends the call. Jinkx stares at her phone screen, a wry smile on her face. More cracks start to form. She’s not sure what this emotion is, whether it’s good or bad - but she’s gonna ride it out and see where it goes. That sea of unopened texts from Bill catches her attention. 

BILL SCARGILL:

UNREAD (14) 

Rematch sucked. One with the red hair keeping title. Courtney can’t fucking wrestle 

D throwing bitch fit about decision. Tell her to get her shit together. 

SERIOUSLY. Get your wife in check 

Jinkx??? 

Adore feuding with Bianca. Rest of show sucked - where tf did you find those jobbers?? Trinity Fame and the other blonde one can’t wrestle. Time to downsize?? 

Had to talk to Courtney about her attitude btw. Entitled as fuck. None of these girls have any respect for authority. 

Show was fine. Good crowd. Courtney no showed btw 

Courtney no showed again. 

Don’t know what’s going on with her and don’t care. Unreliable bs. No professionalism. 

If she doesn’t turn up tonight she’s fired. If you don’t answer this I’m assuming you don’t give a fuck. 

Call me ASAP 

Jinkx 

Jinkx?????

CALL ME 

That horrible, heavy ball in her chest explodes.  

She needs to talk to Bill. Wait, shit - no, she needs to talk to Dela. Find out what’s really going on, because the picture that this is painting from texts and Manila’s account alone isn’t fucking pretty. She can feel long-unused gears within her brain slowly, stiffly grinding into action again; powered primarily by the white-hot anger that’s sitting between her lungs where the bomb just detonated.  

Now that she truly thinks about it, Jinkx can’t say with absolute certainty how Bill ended up in the position of ludicrous roided-up power he’s currently in. Only that, when she eventually awoke from the walking coma of memory loss and painkillers her injury had sent her into, that was just the way of things. And then the depression had kicked in, and so too had her lack of desire to do anything. Dela had seemed to go along with it sans protest, but she’d been going along with his shit sans protest for years - that wasn’t an indicator that he was any fucking good at what he was doing. 

She pulls out her laptop, typing out a frenzied plan of action, trying to curate some of the mess in her head into something usable. Talk to Dela. Figure out what the fuck his problem is. And for how long it’s been a fucking problem. And then…

“Everything okay?” 

Dela’s voice breaks through the silence - she’s standing in the doorway in her gym gear, bag over her shoulder and stray hairs stuck to her brow with sweat. Her phone is in her hand, and she looks shaken. Macho barrels across the couch, using Jinkx’s chest as a launch-pad to greet his favorite mom at the door, mewing with his tail in the air until Dela picks him up.  

“I- uh…what?” Jinkx stumbles over her words after she gets done choking on the lungful of air that Macho had knocked out of her. She half-closes her laptop, putting it down on the coffee table. 

“I asked if you were okay,” Dela sits down on the couch by Jinkx’s side, putting a hand on her thigh as she cradles Macho like a baby. There’s a concerned little knot in between her eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” Jinkx nods solidly. Dela pulls a face that Jinkx can only describe as alarmed. “Are you?”

“Uh - not really, it’s a long story, I won’t bother you with-”“Please bother me with it.” Jinkx claps Dela’s hand in both of hers. Dela laughs nervously. 

“Well, I just narrowly avoided getting murdered by Bianca in the parking lot of the gym for one thing - I’ve never seen her that pissed, it was fucking terrifying. I’m…” she pauses. “Courtney got fired. Supposedly on your orders, which obviously isn’t true but it’s still…” Jinkx clenches her teeth. Dela sets Macho back down on the couch, turning to face Jinkx. “What is going on with you? You seem really…” Dela searches for a word, which Jinkx can only imagine is ‘insane’. She eventually settles on: “…Energised.”

“I, uh…I just got off the phone with Manila. Between everything she told me and now this, I need to take care of some business. The next show is this Saturday, right?”  

 There’s an unfamiliar kind of certainty to Jinkx’s voice. Dela looks at her with her eyes alight; her mouth hanging just open in surprise. 

And then, Jinkx is returning to Femme Fatale. 

Pride Challenge Points: 3589

[rev-feaw]

My Short Review of Honkai: Star Rail after ~2 Weeks

Hi!! This is gonna be my first post here.

If you’re a gacha games observer, Genshin/HI3 player or general Mihoyo enjoyer you are most likely already know that they just released a new game, that is Honkai: Star Rail. I prereg this game and made my account on the first day, and this is my loose review about the game so far. Please note other gacha games I’m currently play daily are Fate/Grand Order and Genshin Impact. I also tried Arknights for some months so maybe there will be comparison to them.

Combat: 7.5/10

I don’t like turn-based system for the God’s sake (looking at you, FGO) but the way they have AUTO really escalated the rate for me. The turn-based here honestly more fun than I thought!

Art: 8/10

OK. As expected

Music: 8/10

What should I critic from Hoyo-Mix

Exploration: 7/10

Please keep in mind this isn’t an exploration-focused game like Genshin. It does, however has funni descriptions about items, reminds me of 2D exploration games (something like Undertale).

Story: 7/10

I’ll be honest I play this just as a ‘gacha addict’ outlet and don’t really pay attention to the story, but imo this one’s harder to digest than Genshin, maybe HI3 player can understand better though.

Characters: 7/10

Not very much attachment too, heheh;; Unlike Genshin where I was very attached to Venti after 3 seconds in the game. But the MC is a menace of society, real rate is THE RULES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN/10.

Also they have “chatrooms”!! This is very cool, because I think they can keep any character relevant with this.

P. S. They REALLY need to add more battle voicelines. You’ll go crazy listen to “the rules--” everytime you turn up the volume.

Worldbuilding: 7/10

I’m not much a fan of their worldbuilding concept tbh, I think “planet” as a chapter’s setting is too massive, so many aspects about it left unpolished (one nation/planet isn’t very believable to me). But maybe I just don’t understand well.

Grinding: 9/10

AUTO mode is gamechanger. You also can change a relic’s main stat once/patch. Honestly this is the one that can make me linger around longer in this game. GI and FGO both aren’t this forgiving in time spent on farming :’D

Also unlike Arknights, u don’t need three stars or something to start AUTO your way out.

Endgame: 9/10

NGL, this game has better endgame content than Genshin. A LOT. It has something called “Stimulation Universe”. I think it’s similar to Arknights’ Annihilation that reset every week and earn rewards based on points. So rejoice if you’re strategy games enjoyer and like to play around with character builds, this game is good for you.

Gacha: 5/10

Why even bother. Just go with your starter characters.

UI/UX: 7/10

Dear Mihoyo: SKIP and LOG button WHEN??!!

Overall enjoyment: 7.8/10

Yeah weird numbers, but this is my overall, subjective rate. This won’t be my main game but since they’re not as grindy as my other games I think I can keep up by just playing casually. The minimal amount of grind also helped in increasing enjoyment in the overall strategy gameplay.

Unlike when u play Arknights where you have to massively build so many characters with so limited items and pretty hard stages (even for farming for early player) or Genshin with their chaotic artifacts farming..or FGO with their horrendous amount of doing the same 3-turns farming manually. If I had to go through things like that again here, I’ll drop the game immediately.

End Note (if still want to read, or just skip, lol)

If Star Rail was published before Genshin I doubt I’ll ever try it. Back then the only gacha game that can keep me for so long was only FGO (Since 2017, dear God) because I was soooo invested with their story and characters despite I have a massive hatred with their gameplay (lol). 

I often got HI3 ads on Youtube and I thought their visual is cool. But the game itself never interest me, because the playable characters are like 99% waifu so no, I prefer to have pretty balanced amount of dudes and chicks. Then in late 2020 Genshin was released, and I’m like... this is the one... the one I’ve been waiting for!!!!

I may write other long essays about why I was drawn to Genshin very much. And I was right, it was the only game that can pull me out from my FGO exclusivity, and made me realize that HI3 was not just a mere “waifu” game, and they give faith for me about HSR that was still in the beta back then.

Tl;dr Honkai: Star Rail is good. Don’t worry.

[moonfurthetemmie]

So i did the rest of the important people

by the way it's a tragedy that tumblr only has a handful of text colors because i can't pull this shit here

anyways. long post. And I did decide to have Antonio be deaf and Bea blind.

For most of them, I changed their body proportions at least a little from the saved AU versions I copied from (so i didn't have to completely create them from fucking scratch again). Bea became a little taller and skinnier. Antonio got taller and bulkier. Lodo may not have changed height but i think i gave them a little more weight. don't remember how i changed bella or sforza. Francisco got his posture fixed, and then I manually made him hunch over so even if you'd seen melon you wouldn't know HJKGDFSHJKG

Isabella ('Bella')

Waow…..scary lady….crazy scary lady even….

Is she better at pretending to be sane? Do Petruccio and Gonzalo care less about appearing sane? Who knows. If you ask they’ll all just laugh and change the subject. 

She appears to be equally close with Gonzalo and Petruccio, though at times it’s unclear if they’re friends or if it’s just the bosses and their most loyal minion. They’ll tell you they’re all friends

Girlfam still isn’t as excited about the theater bullshit as Gonzalo and Petruccio, but she is having fun. Her persona for missions is “a heavily scarred” storm-bringer. Since she can’t actually summon storms she can only go in-character where there are storms, but it’s. Not that hard to find somewhere having a thunderstorm. Especially when you have access to countless alternate universes. 

Her staff isn’t magic; she just conducts her own magic through it. Because its metal. 

All the Koroit alternates I’ve had a hand in making (except for Elphaba) have different colored hair tips. Bella’s is dark blue because Yes. Also Bella's hair is like...mid-back length? and a bit of it is pulled back into a braid but not ALL of it

Ironically she does have a lot of scars. It’s just that very few of them are on her face. Petruccio and Gonzalo did it (serious)

im not super thrilled with the costume but it's what i got right now. and since i had Elphaba's theme be based on the strings, I wanted Bella's theme be the lightning. i also thought that maybe she ought not to be all black clothes for both outfits. idk. just a thought.

The “enhancement” she was given was an expanded reservoir of magic. She can use a lot more magic, and for much longer, than normal Koroit can. If she’s not careful about it, though, she could be seriously injured because of this. It’s possible she could stop her own heart from channeling too much of her lightning magic. Her strings are also much stronger and more durable.

Antonio

“What would be an effective palette change to make it seem like it’s not the monochrome guy?” 

“RAINBOW”

As far as the outside world is concerned, he’s colorblind. He's not actually, but the colors were so jarring that I thought it'd be funny if he was like "I am NOT wearing that. Oh my god. I know I only wear black and white but jesus christ my fashion sense isn't THAT bad" and Gonzalo and/or Petruccio made a joke about thinking he was colorblind because he only wore black and white. and then he didn't get or make a better costume so he just started spreading a rumor that he was completely colorblind

You see that little tattoo poking out from under his hoodie sleeve? See how it’s also fully covered up by the rainbow costume? If you’re ever gonna go out and do something you might get in deep shit for cover up all scars and tattoos that can be used to identify you. Which is everything. Cover them up

Having said that you may note i forgot one of his face scars.

It’s more obvious on the chest piece, but every piece in the rainbow costume has a lil bit of that deep bloo

He is deaf. For the same reason that Bea is now blind. That being, Petruccio and Gonzalo wanted to try and make it easier for them to ‘hear’ Yighraru. Since it doesn’t speak the way the rest of them do, it does sort of work. He can sometimes hear it trying to whisper to him. The only problem is that Antonio, for reasons unknown, seems oddly resistant to its influence. It’s definitely helping that he’s avoiding those two (and bella) as often as he can, though.

Bella does not like being avoided and he doesn’t usually succeed with her

The “enhancement” he was given was mainly just increasing his physical strength beyond what a regular mortal should be capable of. Antonio doesn’t know the details of how they did it, and he doesn’t want to.

Beatrice ('Bea')

oh she’s SO !!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry the fox ninja thing is. It’s doing things to my heart

Come a little closer don’t worry about the wolverine claws ahahahah

The black + blue hair is part of the costume. A Wig

While she can no longer see, her hearing has greatly improved. Some of it is less ‘improvement’ and more ‘she has to rely on it more so she hears more things that she didn’t notice before’, but most of it is the hearing aids they gave her so “she could still be useful”. She didn’t deal with the loss of her sight well so she relied on the hearing aids a lot. They’re not that loud, but they are pretty sensitive. She has to turn them down some during missions, or take them out completely, but by now she’s gotten used to having them out and functioning without them. She still definitely prefers hearing more things though. As an added bonus no one can sneak up on her now

Why get white cane when simply wear metal-toed boots to keep from stubbing the shit out of your toes (she says, walking barefoot around the house 90% of the time for Minimum Noise From Self)

Tbf tho bare feet very good for feeling around. Having said that GIRL what about GLASS! This is like 50% of the reason Lodovico goes around with you everywhere girl!!!!!!!!! Your feet!!!!!! Are gonna get sliced!!!!! All to hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyways. Her entire Casual Outfit is meant to minimize the amount of noise she herself makes with the exception of Scarf and Hanging Belts. The scarf is sentimental value. The belts make just enough noise for her to know wear she is. Pretty much just echolocation on a human level. If she needs more noise she just does the click click click thing with her tongue. 

Also as a point of pure spite, any time Gonzalo or Petruccio say ‘look’ she makes That Face and goes “seriously? You’re asking me to look after what you did?”

They seem to be amused by this. She’s absolutely terrified of pissing them off, but it’s pretty hard to without hurting them or talking shit about one/both of them or Yighraru. 

She is unaware of the color change in her eyes, or the fact that the scars from what they did are glowing.

“Wait, how can she and Lodo communicate if Lodo can only use sign language and Bea’s blind?” do it in her hand. Seriously. They do the signs against Bea’s hands. I saw them do it on the tv (serious, but said jokingly because seeing something on a tv show doesn't mean it's accurate to real life). It might work a little differently than normal sign language but on god they’ll figure it out

Also the um. The tattoos. So like I have this AU with a whole ass pantheon of gods that I made up? And I made the mistake of being like ‘ok for this one specific story, Paraiba comes from that world and those are her gods’ and then it just. Permanently stuck. So those tattoos are meant to be symbolic of the god of darkness, trickery, and activity; who’s also the god of the moon. they’re not evil they’re just. Kind of chaotic. Look i saw moon tattoos and monkey brain went IDEA

The “enhancement” she was given was mainly speed. This is the biggest reason her persona ended up being a sneaky foxy thing. She can sneak around very quickly, and that means she’s very valuable for gathering information and sowing chaos through a crowd.

Lodovico ('Lodo')

Petruccio and Gonzalo decided to see if they could make it so Yighraru could speak through Lodo. They failed. But Lodo can feel Yighraru more than the others–save for Petruccio, Gonzalo, and Bella–can. No one’s ever said anything, but Lodo just. Knows. What limited use their vocal cords did have is now completely gone because of this “operation.”

As Petruccio and Gonzalo so very much wanted Yighraru to speak to them through a more corporeal form, they put much more effort into it than they did with the other three. As an unintended consequence of this, Lodo has quite a bit of their magic in them. A little like how normal Obsidian used his corruption to put a magic tracker on everyone, but they didn’t even know they could do that. After accidentally doing to Lodo, they decided to try it on everyone else. Lodo is the only one that has a visible mark on their skin from it, though. 

Their hair in the costume is their real hair, it’s just a spray-on hair dye. Also they took the cornrows out and fluffed their hair up to a full afro.

Her theme is “wasteland survivor”. Used to hardship, ruthless and lethal from years trying to get by even just one more day. She never speaks, and it’s left unclear whether she can or not. 

The team has worked out various signals for Bea and Lodo. Specifically how Lodo can signal the others without signing, and how they can all signal to Bea with some form of nonverbal noise. Bea and Lodo have a few specific ones between the two of them that the rest of the team hasn’t even fully figured out.

Note that they tried to cover up the markings from Petruccio and Gonzalo’s magic, but some of it is still peeking through.

the knife. in the first one. there's a vague thought of 'old keepsake' and 'They Are Considering Murder' but beyond that it's...it's mostly that I needed them to hold something and i thought it'd be cool to try and make it look like they were unsheathing it. I can! when her arms are higher up. it got wonky trying to lower them tho and i decided that proof of concept wasn't as important as having a non-awkward pose.

Originally she wasn’t going to get an enhancement, but after Bea taught her how to fight and the pair became best friends, Petruccio and Gonzalo decided Lodo should at least be able to keep up with Bea. The two spirits don’t realize that Bea and Lodo’s relationship is not anywhere near the same levels of toxic codependency as theirs. Lodo and Bea decide that complaining is probably a bad idea

Francisco

i. i made the most beautiful brown eyes i've ever seen in heroforge. oh my god. And hten i had to make them ORANGE

My boy is NOT having a good time. But honestly who would be

He’s probably the closest, aside from Sforza and Bella, to figuring out why, exactly, Petruccio and Gonzalo are doing all this shit to the team. Because they haven’t actually said anything to anyone. Bella pissed them off so she got a whole speech about it from them, and since she’s now 100% with them they tell her way, way more than they do anyone else. Sforza was plot-dumped on too. Also he can hear The Whispers so there’s that.

The only piece missing, for Francisco, is what the FUCK that blue shit is coming from. It’s not Petruccio and Gonzalo. The blue came after their wounds scarred over. Like, okay, he’s heard the crazy three talking about “Yighraru”, but that doesn’t mean shit to him. Is it a person? A group of people? Some kind of supernatural entity?? He has no idea. 

He’s been spared from Gonzalo and Petruccio’s little experiments, but they do try to mess with his head a lot. Usually he tells them to buzz off unless they want to unsettle him so bad he fucks up his job and someone dies, and usually it works.

Sortino

He didn’t get any enhancements, but they did consider it. They just couldn’t think of anything that’d actually be useful; for them or for him. Beyond stretchy limbs so he can get to high-up places for cleaning without a ladder or something, which they didn’t (and still don’t) think they could do.

Much like with Icarus, Sortino comes down regularly to bring Sforza food. Gonzalo and Petruccio don’t want him to starve before they can make him Yighraru’s vessel <33

Sortino knows that Sforza’s being prepared for some kind of ritual, but beyond that knows nothing. He stays with him while he eats, just to give him some company and talk to him. He’s the only reason Sforza stayed sane for as long as he has.

He’s told even less about shit that even Francisco is, but he doesn’t want to know. He’d rather keep his head down, do his job, and get their attention off of him. Maybe he can find a way to get himself and Sforza out of here

Sforza

While they are committing inhumane atrocities on him, Petruccio and Gonzalo think Sforza at least deserves some clothes, so he got a nice robe and pants and even some shoes

Some of the glowing things on his body are scars. Some are either tattoos or paint. All of the ones that are glowing (the only set not glowing is unseen, but it’s top surgery scars) were made by Gonzalo and/or Petruccio. 

He’s still with it, but his sanity is holding on by a fucking thread. Much more, and…

Sometimes, for seemingly no reason, he gets really freaked out and starts saying stuff that Sortino absolutely doesn’t understand. He understands “The whispers are back” but that’s about it. 

Also while they gave him clothes it’s. Literally just that one set. 

[pyreflydust]

Yeah I was specifically thinking about tags as they've declined in function over the years when reading this too. Starting with when we had to start manually typing /tagged/ into the address bar instead of just inputting the tag we wanted to go to in what is now the search bar. A great step in helping creators get found better would be to make tags easier to go into as well as making them function better.

Unlike a lot of people on the site, I'm not even against an algorithm. I am however against forcing it. Having the option to pick which version of your dash you want and being prompted to do so the first time with an option to change it later probably would be helpful to new users. Please remember not every new user is new new, some will be returning. Also plenty of people from elsewhere online do prefer to actually manually find content.

And I like the For You tab! I see a lot of people say no one wants it, but I do like it. As an option. As a way to find more stuff being suggested on top of the people I chose to follow. I've even found more people to follow through it. But if I were offered those things sprinkled into my dash more than just every now and then (I also have Based On Your Likes turned on but once a page or less is best for that) would be obnoxious. I followed the people I followed because I want to see their posts. I don't want to risk missing any or have my dash take longer to go through than I can handle without getting overwhelmed.

And honestly it feels weird to say that it's a problem only popular users are getting attention and then talk about algorithms as a solution. I've found so many great artists on this site specifically by going into tags and setting it to newest. People whose art wasn't getting much attention when I first saw it. Make doing that more accessible and maybe more new users will try it along with old users who don't bother going into tags because doing so isn't as easy or as intuitive as it used to be.

Tumblr’s Core Product Strategy

Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on reorganizing how we work in a bid to gain more users. A larger user base means a more sustainable company, and means we get to stick around and do this thing with you all a bit longer. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. The @labs group has published a bit already, but this is bigger. We’re publishing it publicly for the first time, in an effort to work more transparently with all of you in the Tumblr community. This strategy provides guidance amid limited resources, allowing our teams to focus on specific key areas to ensure Tumblr’s future.

The Diagnosis

In order for Tumblr to grow, we need to fix the core experience that makes Tumblr a useful place for users. The underlying problem is that Tumblr is not easy to use. Historically, we have expected users to curate their feeds and lean into curating their experience. But this expectation introduces friction to the user experience and only serves a small portion of our audience. 

Tumblr’s competitive advantage lies in its unique content and vibrant communities. As the forerunner of internet culture, Tumblr encompasses a wide range of interests, such as entertainment, art, gaming, fandom, fashion, and music. People come to Tumblr to immerse themselves in this culture, making it essential for us to ensure a seamless connection between people and content. 

To guarantee Tumblr’s continued success, we’ve got to prioritize fostering that seamless connection between people and content. This involves attracting and retaining new users and creators, nurturing their growth, and encouraging frequent engagement with the platform.

Our Guiding Principles

To enhance Tumblr’s usability, we must address these core guiding principles.

Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Retain and grow our creator base.

Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Improve the platform’s performance, stability, and quality.

Below is a deep dive into each of these principles.

Principle 1: Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Tumblr has a “top of the funnel” issue in converting non-users into engaged logged-in users. We also have not invested in industry standard SEO practices to ensure a robust top of the funnel. The referral traffic that we do get from external sources is dispersed across different pages with inconsistent user experiences, which results in a missed opportunity to convert these users into regular Tumblr users. For example, users from search engines often land on pages within the blog network and blog view—where there isn’t much of a reason to sign up. 

We need to experiment with logged-out tumblr.com to ensure we are capturing the highest potential conversion rate for visitors into sign-ups and log-ins. We might want to explore showing the potential future user the full breadth of content that Tumblr has to offer on our logged-out pages. We want people to be able to easily understand the potential behind Tumblr without having to navigate multiple tabs and pages to figure it out. Our current logged-out explore page does very little to help users understand “what is Tumblr.” which is a missed opportunity to get people excited about joining the site.

Actions & Next Steps

Improving Tumblr’s search engine optimization (SEO) practices to be in line with industry standards.

Experiment with logged out tumblr.com to achieve the highest conversion rate for sign-ups and log-ins, explore ways for visitors to “get” Tumblr and entice them to sign up.

Principle 2: Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

We need to ensure the highest quality user experience by presenting fresh and relevant content tailored to the user’s diverse interests during each session. If the user has a bad content experience, the fault lies with the product.

The default position should always be that the user does not know how to navigate the application. Additionally, we need to ensure that when people search for content related to their interests, it is easily accessible without any confusing limitations or unexpected roadblocks in their journey.

Being a 15-year-old brand is tough because the brand carries the baggage of a person’s preconceived impressions of Tumblr. On average, a user only sees 25 posts per session, so the first 25 posts have to convey the value of Tumblr: it is a vibrant community with lots of untapped potential. We never want to leave the user believing that Tumblr is a place that is stale and not relevant. 

Actions & Next Steps

Deliver great content each time the app is opened.

Make it easier for users to understand where the vibrant communities on Tumblr are. 

Improve our algorithmic ranking capabilities across all feeds. 

Principle 3: Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Part of Tumblr’s charm lies in its capacity to showcase the evolution of conversations and the clever remarks found within reblog chains and replies. Engaging in these discussions should be enjoyable and effortless.

Unfortunately, the current way that conversations work on Tumblr across replies and reblogs is confusing for new users. The limitations around engaging with individual reblogs, replies only applying to the original post, and the inability to easily follow threaded conversations make it difficult for users to join the conversation.

Actions & Next Steps

Address the confusion within replies and reblogs.

Improve the conversational posting features around replies and reblogs. 

Allow engagements on individual replies and reblogs.

Make it easier for users to follow the various conversation paths within a reblog thread. 

Remove clutter in the conversation by collapsing reblog threads. 

Explore the feasibility of removing duplicate reblogs within a user’s Following feed. 

Principle 4: Retain and grow our creator base.

Creators are essential to the Tumblr community. However, we haven’t always had a consistent and coordinated effort around retaining, nurturing, and growing our creator base.  

Being a new creator on Tumblr can be intimidating, with a high likelihood of leaving or disappointment upon sharing creations without receiving engagement or feedback. We need to ensure that we have the expected creator tools and foster the rewarding feedback loops that keep creators around and enable them to thrive.

The lack of feedback stems from the outdated decision to only show content from followed blogs on the main dashboard feed (“Following”), perpetuating a cycle where popular blogs continue to gain more visibility at the expense of helping new creators. To address this, we need to prioritize supporting and nurturing the growth of new creators on the platform.

It is also imperative that creators, like everyone on Tumblr, feel safe and in control of their experience. Whether it be an ask from the community or engagement on a post, being successful on Tumblr should never feel like a punishing experience.

Actions & Next Steps

Get creators’ new content in front of people who are interested in it. 

Improve the feedback loop for creators, incentivizing them to continue posting.

Build mechanisms to protect creators from being spammed by notifications when they go viral.

Expand ways to co-create content, such as by adding the capability to embed Tumblr links in posts.

Principle 5: Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Push notifications and emails are essential tools to increase user engagement, improve user retention, and facilitate content discovery. Our strategy of reaching out to you, the user, should be well-coordinated across product, commercial, and marketing teams.

Our messaging strategy needs to be personalized and adapt to a user’s shifting interests. Our messages should keep users in the know on the latest activity in their community, as well as keeping Tumblr top of mind as the place to go for witty takes and remixes of the latest shows and real-life events.  

Most importantly, our messages should be thoughtful and should never come across as spammy.  

Actions & Next Steps

Conduct an audit of our messaging strategy.

Address the issue of notifications getting too noisy; throttle, collapse or mute notifications where necessary.  

Identify opportunities for personalization within our email messages. 

Test what the right daily push notification limit is. 

Send emails when a user has push notifications switched off.

Principle 6: Performance, stability and quality.

The stability and performance of our mobile apps have declined. There is a large backlog of production issues, with more bugs created than resolved over the last 300 days. If this continues, roughly one new unresolved production issue will be created every two days. Apps and backend systems that work well and don't crash are the foundation of a great Tumblr experience. Improving performance, stability, and quality will help us achieve sustainable operations for Tumblr.

Improve performance and stability: deliver crash-free, responsive, and fast-loading apps on Android, iOS, and web.

Improve quality: deliver the highest quality Tumblr experience to our users. 

Move faster: provide APIs and services to unblock core product initiatives and launch new features coming out of Labs.

Conclusion

Our mission has always been to empower the world’s creators. We are wholly committed to ensuring Tumblr evolves in a way that supports our current users while improving areas that attract new creators, artists, and users. You deserve a digital home that works for you. You deserve the best tools and features to connect with your communities on a platform that prioritizes the easy discoverability of high-quality content. This is an invigorating time for Tumblr, and we couldn’t be more excited about our current strategy.

[uncwfst]

Blog post 4

This is the last blog post for this internship. I recently got to do the home camera for the baseball game. This camera is important because it is a default camera that gives a whole viewpoint of the entire field. I enjoyed working with this camera because I got to zoom in on where the ball would go and see the catches. It was a little difficult to see where the ball was going through the camera when it would get lost in the sun and sky. Once it got darker out, I was able to see the ball better and got a lot more confident with zooming in and getting a good shot of the catch. I also was able to observe a coworker do the graphics portion of broadcasting. There is a lot more that goes into it than I had originally thought and seems a little daunting. You have to manually change every detail like the score, the ball pitched, the color of the team, the commercials that get played, the strikes, the innings and more. I definitely prefer working on camera the best. I think it is what I am best at and most interested in. I haven't gotten to do any social media yet for the baseball or softball games unfortunately but maybe I will soon before the year is over. I forgot to take pictures but will try to add some later.  

[budgetbeastie]

A Guide to Creating a Personal Budget (3/3)

Tips, Tricks, and Tools

sometimes, we make a budget and it just doesn't seem to work for us. here are some common struggles we have when budgeting:

not keeping up with transactions as they happen

part of the budgeting process is upkeep - it's tedious and pretty unpleasant if you're using a software that requires you to manually copy and paste transaction info by keeping up with your transactions, you'll have a better understanding of what's going on when you're spending! i like to add transactions to my budget about every 3 days, or when I notice a bill should have come out money is scary, knowing that you're not quite making enough or that your payments are high is an intimidating experience. the point of the budget is to make room for yourself within your finances, and give you more freedom to make decisions that won't negatively impact you later

estimating using outliers

some months are more expensive than others, some are less expensive maybe in january you had to buy more food than usual, so you spent an additional $150. if you used this month to create your food budget, it wouldn't be an accurate reflection of what you need for food costs on a regular monthly basis it can be the opposite as well; maybe you only had to fill your gas tank once during november, and you usually fill it 2 or even 3 times. if you used this month to create your gas budget, you'd feel stranded after reaching your limit within the first two weeks!

not making changes when it doesn't work

because of the previous point, sometimes our estimations just don't work. if you're noticing that you're reaching some limits faster than others, adjust them as you go while trying to maintain as close to the same total expenses as possible. in our example, we had $2,400 worth of necessary expenses, with $130 going to cat food and $120 going to gas/transportation. halfway through the month, we notice that we've spent $80 on cat food so far (62%) but only 50$ on gas (42%) with a third of a tank left still. because we're keeping up with our transactions and tracking our budget, we know we can afford to add $20 to the cat food fund from the gas fund. now, instead of having used 62% of our cat food budget, we've used 53% and instead of having used 42% of our gas budget, we've used 50% these two percentages are much more reasonable for where we're at in the month!

budgeting software comes in all shapes and sizes

a popular way to budget is to use a spreadsheet, and there are a tonne of templates to choose from! (i'm currently working on a Google Sheets template that i'll post at some point)

if you're looking for something more app-like:

Rocket Money has both paid and free versions, i tried it and it's alright, but i definitely prefer my spreadsheet lol

YNAB is a paid app, so it's not really my style. i've heard it be compared to Mint (owned by Intuit/Credit Karma and is now shut down), but I haven't tried it... if you have, please let me know in the comments!!

EveryDollar is an app created by Dave Ramsey's company, who's become quite popular from his podcast.

at the end of the day, a budget isn't going to change anything in your life all by itself

but, if you give it time and some energy, get into the dirty parts of your finances, and set goals, you'll have a lot of success using one!

also u should show me your budget templates or tell me abt it in the comments!! thank you!!!

[skywindssolutions]

Determining the Best Framework for Your Project: Examining Angular vs React

Are you trying to settle on the ideal framework for your project - Angular or React? It's a hard decision, but with the correct data, you'll be able to pick accurately. In this blog post, we will examine both frameworks’ benefits and drawbacks and how they contrast in terms of project selection. We will also give some understanding into which framework would be most suitable for your specific project. So, keep reading and get ready to make the right call between Angular vs React Framework!

Introduction to Angular vs React

When it comes to selecting a JavaScript framework for your project, Angular and React are the two top contenders. It can be tricky to decide which is most suitable for your particular task. To help you come to an informed decision, let's delve deeper into the differences between these two frameworks. Google created Angular in 2010 as an open-source web app frame with HTML templates, Typescript language and CSS styling. An advantage of using this platform is that developers have access to a comprehensive set of tools enabling them to construct complex websites rapidly and easily. Furthermore, Google offers complete support along with a huge community of committed developers who regularly upgrade its characteristics and functions. Facebook introduced React in 2013 as an efficient way of creating user interfaces through JavaScript. Instead of relying on HTML templates like its competitor does, this tool uses components which are then displayed in DOM (Document Object Model). This allows coders to build dynamic UIs without having to write lengthy codes or manually revise DOM each time something changes on screen. Moreover, React’s component-based architecture makes it simpler for teams of programmers working together since every part can be developed separately from one another. Both solutions offer advantages depending on what kind of venture you're tackling; yet there are some important distinctions between them that should be considered when making up your mind about the best fit: performance capability, scalability and maintainability

Benefits of Choosing the Right Framework for Your Project

When selecting the right framework for your project, there are various aspects to consider. The principal thing is to pick the one that best fits your needs and objectives. Angular and React are two of the most popular options out there, both providing different advantages depending on what kind of project you're working on. Angular is a TypeScript-based open-source web application platform mainly maintained by Google, with comprehensive features such as components, data binding, routing support etc., making it suitable for large projects requiring complex logic or extensive codebase maintenance. On the other hand, React created by Facebook in 2013 allows developers to create interactive UIs without needing much coding unlike other frameworks like VueJS or Angular; its focus being more on UI than anything else - so perfect if you want something visually appealing but don't need too much complexity (like custom content management systems). As a result: if you’re looking for an advanced solution that provides robust capabilities then go with Angular whereas if creating UIs with minimal difficulty is paramount then select React instead! Ultimately however they each have their own special benefits so thoroughly consider which one would work better before settling on any final decisions!

Pros & Cons of Working with Angular and React

When it comes to web application development, two of the most popular frameworks are Angular and React. Each has its own benefits and drawbacks, so it is essential to understand which one is suitable for your project.

Angular, a TypeScript-based open-source framework maintained by Google, has been present since 2010 in the world of web dev. Its component-based architecture simplifies complex projects as well as offering an array of tools and libraries that developers can use. Furthermore, its two-way data binding cuts out extra coding due to changes made in the model being updated quickly in the view without further action from the developer.

On the other hand, React is an open source JavaScript library created by Facebook for building user interfaces (UI). This library utilizes components but focuses mainly on UI aspects such as buttons more than full applications like Angular does. Additionally, React makes use of a virtual DOM which allows faster rendering since only certain parts need updating rather than redrawing everything at each update process. Reusing code with this library also helps reduce time taken in development stages .

Both frameworks offer similar performance yet when considering features such as scalability, maintainability , testing capability or documentation availability then each brings different merits to table . For example if you're looking into scalability then react provides better options given its component based structure whereas angular offers higher maintainability thanks to its two way data binding system . When examining testing capabilities react gives superior coverage because of its virtual DOM while angular stands out with plenty tutorials available online due to having been around for years now . Ultimately both provide great solutions depending on what your project requires!

Determining Which Framework is Best for Your Project

Figuring out which framework is optimal for your task can be quite a tricky decision between Angular and React. Both of these JavaScript frameworks have been around for some time and each has its own particular benefits and drawbacks. In order to make an informed judgement, it's important to understand the different features that both offer and how they will affect your project.

Angular has been existing since 2009 as a Model-View-Controller (MVC) system specifically designed for single page applications (SPAs). It comes with two-way data binding, making it easier to sync the model layer with the view layer. Plus, there are powerful templating options available too; plus built in testing support using Karma or Jasmine frameworks.

Conversely, React was first released by Facebook in 2013 as an open source library specialising in user interfaces (UIs). Unlike Angular though, React does not use MVC architecture - instead it uses a virtual DOM representation of all components rendered. This allows developers to build ultra-efficient UIs without compromising performance or maintainability standards; plus JSX syntax support makes coding simpler than other structures like Vue or EmberJS do .

When deciding which one of these two frameworks you should use for your next endeavour there are multiple points you must take into account such as scalability needs of your application; ease of employment; existing libraries accessible; cost involved when implementing them; learning curve etcetera. Ultimately determining which one is suitable according to your specific requirements depends on yourself, taking into consideration both short term ambitions alongside long term goals.

Conclusion: Making the Right Choice for Your Project

Selecting the correct option for your project can be an intimidating task. With so many frameworks available, it can be hard to work out which will suit your specific requirements best. In this blog post, we looked at two of the most popular JavaScript frameworks - Angular and React - and discussed their advantages and disadvantages in terms of scalability, performance, flexibility, maintainability etc. After considering all these factors, it's obvious that both systems have their own strengths and weaknesses.

When determining between Angular or React for a given project you should take into account not only its size but also its longevity; if you're creating a large scale enterprise application which needs long-term maintenance then possibly Angular is the better choice due to its powerful feature set as well as capability to easily expand while sustaining code consistency. On the other hand if you are aiming to develop something quickly with minimal maintenance then perhaps React is more suitable due to its lighter weight characteristics plus fast development cycle.

It is worth noting that there are additional JavaScript frameworks such as Vue or Svelte which may fit your needs even better than either Angular or React depending on what exactly it is that you intend to achieve with your project. Ultimately though personal preference comes into play since no one framework stands out perfect for each situation – make sure you think through every alternative before making a decision!

Conclusion

In the end, there is no universal answer to the question of which framework is best for a given project. While Angular and React, each come with their own advantages and drawbacks, it's important to look closely at your specific needs before making a decision. Considering all possible options and assessing what fits your goals and technical requirements will allow you to make an informed choice about which framework is right for you.

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[cyle]

i appreciate the obvious passion and care here, but for the sake of the transparency i do believe i'm capable of providing unofficially, i'd like to clarify a few points put forth here.

Changes like the Twitter UI will be 'experimental and we're not saying they're permanent' for as long as possible because it would be too unpopular to definitively announce that these visually awkward, space-wasting, and headache-inducing changes are now simply the reality of the website.

no, we call them "experimental and not permanent" because we're literally running an experiment, an A/B test, through a framework called PlanOut. we aren't going to say it's permanent until it's permanent; you should expect us to say as much (whether it stays or goes) on @changes or @staff when the time comes. i'm not going to officially announce that decision when there's a marketing and communications side of tumblr whose job it is to do so for big changes like this.

That way, when users say that the changes have been bad, the website management and staff can reject negative feedback as nostalgia and emotion-based complaints by a minority of people who just cannot be happy with change. Obviously the changes aren't that bad if you keep using the site, right?

yes, and no, to an extent. the truth is in between. the whole reason we conduct quantitative A/B tests and solicit qualitative feedback is to try to get to that balance: what pieces are "nostalgia" and knee-jerk reaction to change, and what pieces of feedback are accessibility issues and usability issues that we messed up. it's not one or the other, it's always a mix.

We stop visiting the website, stop using the app, stop giving Tumblr traffic. But this makes us decade-long users just as invisible as someone who hasn't yet moseyed up to the website and registered an account. If we dip out while the website is in flux, we are just as non-existent as a user who simply isn't a user yet.

(emphasis mine.) this is untrue; we track "account age" as a dimension of tumblr usage. we can see dropoffs of usage based on whether you're brand new to the site or you've been here since the beginning. it does make a difference.

[Staff] may use Tumblr casually, yes, but you simply are not having the same experience that I've had on the site for the last 13 years, or the same experience as someone who relies on the site to post their art in an effort to sell commissions, nor are you having the same experience that a new user is having if they just signed up today.

actually, a lot of us on staff are having that experience. i've been on tumblr since 2009, i've worked at tumblr since 2015. i've been on both sides of this. we have people working at tumblr who join the site the day they get the job, and their experiences of the platform as a brand new user are just as important, if not more important, than mine, having been on here, using it every day, for more than 14 years. and many members of staff, when i joined, were recruited from the premium theme developer community on tumblr, having relied on the site to make money. and trying to make "selling art on tumblr" work better for people is exactly why we invested time in features like Post+ and Tipping and Blaze.

While I could utilize the manual to do what the end-user does, I will literally always know more about the product, the manual, the possible errors, and the process that resulted in those instructions than the end-user ever will.

and this is why we have a quality engineering team and designers whose job it is to do exactly this: utilize the manual that we give you, the people using tumblr and signing up for tumblr, to make sure it all makes as much sense as we can get it to. part of the reason why we're trying out more radical changes around here is because tumblr does not make sense to most people. it doesn't matter whether they have a manual or not.

if anything, especially for people like me who've been on tumblr forever, we have too much survivorship bias, and it clouds our judgement about what does and doesn't "make sense" anymore.

We are taking your words at face value—either you don't have the authority to flatly explain to us why these changes are happening without an opt-out, how permanent they are, the end goal of the changes, etc., or you are walking steadfastly beside management's decision to push Tumblr in the same direction as other "everything app" socmed outlets, as it appears is happening.

i'll end with this: my opinions on my blog are my own, and i try to be as transparent as possible about what i know something about, but i do not always agree with some of the decisions being made about tumblr. if you worked at tumblr, you'd get to hear a lot of those opinions, they'd probably sound familiar to you and others who raise criticism about our decisions. but i don't always win these arguments, and for good reason. i'm trusting the people i work with every day to make the best decisions we can together, with the information we have. i think we're doing the best we can be doing, given the circumstances of being a company that's unfortunately still burning a lot of money.

I don't want Tumblr to die, but staff's response to calls for review bombing being "please don't do that please :(" instead of looking into *why* users have turned to that instead of leaving feedback through official channels is depressing. Instructionals on how to leave feedback have circulated heavily after the dash experiment began, I can imagine users sent wip plenty of asks about changing course, and I don't think there's a single post on changes that doesn't have the list of grievances in the notes, but someone had to go all the way to the CEO just to get an answer for permanently snoozing live(and it wasn't even a solid yes or no!). Active, engaging users who can't tell if their feedback is being heard never seeing Tumblr address their concerns are of course going to switch to louder methods. More transparency is a must.

i think we're pretty well aware of the "why", for what it's worth. i think we aren't doing a good enough job being transparent about that, or the reasons why we do end up making certain changes despite the visible negative feedback, i agree. but the solution to someone doing something you don't like isn't to punch them harder, in my opinion.

while i agree that we need to be more transparent, transparency itself isn't a magic wand here. the times when we have tried to be more transparent are still met with vitriol and misunderstanding. that doesn't mean we're going to give up trying, we have some newer ideas in the pipeline for opening up communication venues between users and staff, but it's not like transparency is a silver bullet. trust has to go both ways. i hope we can do a better job earning it.

[ftpverse]

FtPverse Daily Signup Sheet

interested in having aproximately 2000 words of my KH fic FtPverse delivered to your email inbox every other day or so, so you can book club it along with me and a handful of other people??

- - > sign up here!! < - -

starting: February 1st, 2023!

~more info below~

what even is ftpverse??

FtPvese is my KH fic that’s primarily about Repliku getting a second chance at life and learning how to be loved, but also about a lot of other things; traumatized teens learning how to heal, kh’s clone narative turned to the max, replicas, and a totally unique clone of Sora coping with wanting to be his own person. you know, normal kingdom hearts stuff.

you can read the whole promo post I made about it here

.

logistics notes

- we’re doing a manual email list because it’s the best option for getting the actual prose in your email exactly like dracula daily did, rather than having to click on links

- this will probably take about 2 years to do, becuase 1million words is... a lot of words... I could only manage it in one year if I sent out an email Every Single Day, and I had enough people tell me that’s too frequent for them that I’m not gonna do it! we’re doing every other day instead, and maybe even take holidays off.

- 3000 words might be a more accurate average, but very rarely are there chapters over 5000 words, and most 3000 word emails are going to be because i combined two 1.5k chapters into one email (trying to get this done in 2 years, not 4!). chapters do get progressively longer over time.

- I’ll probably be sending out short little intro thoughts on each email (like, three sentences, max,) just for ~connection~ (and bc I like babbling) instead of me just. tossing you the prose uncommentated. author’s notes....

- because of this, I think I’ll probably be sending a copy of each email to ftpverse.dreamwidth.org as well for archival purposes.... so if you really really don’t want to give me your email, you can just subscribe to this journal. (I might not actually do this, but if I change my mind, i WILL tell you!)

- since ftpverse.dreamwidth.org is ALSO a community, it’s open to members joining and posting entries about current events as of [wherever we are in the ftpdaily posting] . like, AO3 comments are a perfectly valid place to have disccusions as well, but. fun bonus option.....

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ftpverse general content warnings

> ftpverse is a story about abuse / trauma recovery. physical and emotional abuse are both shown in flashback, and repliku is regularly put in situations that trigger him. (sexual abuse does not happen anywhere, so it is free of that.)

> three of the main characters are suicidal; they work through it and come out better at the end, but dead inside is a rough one until that point.

> there is an attempted suicide on screen; the character lives, but the details are spoilers. it and another spoilery content warning will be linked below.

> several characters struggle with depression / a lack of self worth. they get better, but dead inside is a rough one, because there isn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for most of those characters until all that remains.

> nothing’s fair is a terminal illness analogue; this is the other one that i have spoiler elaboration for

> becuase i thought i was cishet when i started writing it, it’s a little heteronormative at the start. it’ll get better.

> i started writing ftpverse in 2010, when i was 13, and finished it 8 years later. do with that information what you will, but mostly i’m saying the technical writing quality WILL improve, you just have to give it time.

> spoiler content warnings are here

[foxymoxynoona]

foxy i have a very serious questions … how can you possibly keep your laptop organized with the million & one stories you’re writing/have written/just randomly occurred to you!! I have so much less than you on my laptop but I’m still constantly losing documents so I can’t imagine how you do it 😭

Ok this is SUPER NERDY but here you go:

So many nested folders!! I have this on google drive and mirrored on my laptop and an external harddrive; I mostly work in google docs but every few weeks do a manual backup of everything onto my laptop and an external harddrive.

Ok let me see how to illustrate this in a way that won't be confusing. There are definitely other ways I could configure this (I'm even thinking things as I type this up haha) but this current set up is what lets me jump around most easily between the files I am actively writing, editing, and posting from, usually multiple different stories on any given day. I have to strike the balance between very organized and not having too many annoying click throughs.

World/Theme/Type of writing (that A Catch All Writing is my BTS writing) are the top level folders. Like this:

All the writing I don't post yet or abandoned or just never got far on is here, either as individual files or as its own folder if there's an obvious grouping (hybrid stories, for instance, or a single folder for multi-chapter stories). I probably should go through here and organize things better but since this is all abandoned stuff, I don't spend much time here. The important folder is that Posting folder ('A Catch All Writing' is my BTS folder):

The Posting folder is where all the stories I am actively writing and/or posting live. It looks like this right now:

The DONE folder has all my long stories that are completed UNLESS they are part of an ongoing series (Birdtan, Sasha, Lowlander) and then they live in their own nested folder under the series folder so I can share reference files and easily access if I need to look something up. My DONE folder:

compared to Birdtan folder with a done story in it:

You'll notice most of the short stories I've posted aren't there though. All the short stories I write live in that Short Stories folder higher up--they get moved to a subfolder within there once they are posted/done so they're only one click away. If they turn into a multi-chapter story or need additional notes/inspiration/whatever docs, I pull them out to the higher level so they can have their own folder (like Tell Me What Changed.)

There's defintiely some messines with what's in the Short Stories folder and what's in that further back high level "everything" folder --both have docs where I throw down notes or outlines or start ideas. I try to keep the Short Stories folder focused on things I am actively or in the near term writing but files do get moved between those a lot as my inspiration changes.

Short stories also have their own DONE folder so it's quick and easy to drag things into there, and because sometimes the posting doc (+ a pdf version for patreon) are just a portion of another file, like with amended shorts, sugar fairy shorts, etc.

Within any story I'm writing, I organize its folder pretty much the same way too:

An outline file

Reference docs, photos, spreadsheets --characters, timelines, dates, etc.

raw Writing files

and Editing/Posting files I copy and paste the content from the Writing file into the Posting file and that's where I edit and format. This way I still have stuff that gets cut during editing, so I can always go back if I change my mind later or feel like I messed something up during editing or I just want to reuse stuff from the cutting room floor for a different story.

I keep about 100 pages of writing per file. I've learned previously that the docs start to chug once they get over 1000 pages, and this also makes it a little big easier for me to jump around and find things if need be. I used to include a key reference in the title to make it easier to "find myself" in time in the story if I'm looking for a particular event. I haven't been doing this lately but I should, it's really useful. Example:

The Z in the title is just so it got moved to the bottom of the file folder, so visually everythign I'm actively working on is at the top and the things I'm "done" with are at the bottom. That's really only important to me in stories like the Sasha stuff where there are literally over a hundred docs.

Let's see what else... for brainstorming, I have a single excel sheet I dump ideas into unless I have enough to start putting together a few paragraphs or an outline, and then it gets promoted to its own word doc.

And then for archiving old stuff, I sort by year of the last time I worked on something. So say I decide I'm all done writing BTS stories, I'd just drag the whole folder into a 2022 folder into my Writing Archive folder, for the last year I worked on things in that space. That helps me find things later, if I'm like oooh what about that idea I was working on in high school...

This is what's in my google drive, but most of my archived stuff isn't there, it's on my laptop and my harddrive. They have files going back to the last century 😁

Unfortunately I've lost a lot of my oldest stuff, largely because technology and data systems have changed so much since I started writing by hand in journals. I'm stil in the process of typing up old things from journals, and unfortuantely not everythign survived my floppy discs (YEAH THAT WAS TECHNOLOGY BACK THEN).

So this is my system! :) Sorry I nerded out, it was actually really fun to take stock of it. I'm in these files literally every day, so organization is really important! Now I'm going to go do some reorganizing looool.

[dresshistorynerd]

So I saw this illustration recently floating around here and it’s so riddled with bullshit I decided to go through it with meticulous detail. Also it’s whole point is bullshit, but we’ll circle back to it. I have to note I’m not dress historian and don’t know all the nuances related to history of undergarments, and wouldn’t have even room for that in this post. And the illustration is completely devoid of them anyway.

So strap in and jump into the rabbit hole with me! Let’s start with the accuracy of the figures illustrating the undergarments. I don’t know why the 18th century stays (corsets come later) look like that? They are so wrong in so many ways. This is what 18th century stays looked like.

They did not flatten the bust at all. On the contrary, they pushed the bust up. It makes the stomach flat, but bust very much not. The boning was made from whale bone, reeds or slim wood bents most often, which are all very bendable and soft materials. Which means it was firm but not hard or restrictive. They mostly just smoothed the torso and supported bust. Also none of these illustrations have shift or chemise under their corset/stays, which was extremely important part of the undergarment (they protected the skin from corset/stays and it from oils of skin).

Now I’m questioning weather the makers of this info graph have seen Regency dresses. Firstly they claim that the ideal figure was “natural waist” when you can see that the waist can’t even be seen under the dress. There’s literally no waist. I would rather say the ideal figure was long tube body and boobs (emphasis on boobs). They also say the “corset” (still stays) stops bellow the bust line, but if you have seen a Regency dress, you know the bust is basically on the chin. (There were some stays that actually stopped under breasts, but the ones with cups where much more common as they were better at getting the fashionable silhouette.)

You don’t achieve this look without some heavy lifting done by the undergarments.

Here’s what they looked like. (Picture is from Abigail Polston’s blog.) They were basically push up bras. They didn’t have boning at all or sometimes a couple bones, but were usually made at least partly of stiffened fabrics. Between the breasts there’s a wooden slab that keeps the boobs separate and the stays from crinkling. They only smoothed out the rest of the torso and their only real purpose was support the bust and lift the hell out of it.

The next figure has so so many things wrong about it. In 1830s the stays were basically same as Regency stays. In 1840s the stays started to have a little more of the Victorian hourglass shape, but their construction was still similar. Though at the same time corsets started to live along side stays, till in the 1850s they took over the undergarment business. Here’s an example of 1890s corset.

Victorian corset is result of very complicated engineering. The shape is achieved with very ingenious patterning and strategically placed bones. Maximal shape with minimal boning. When you go back to look at the 18th century stays, which are covered in bones and then check out bow little there’s bones in the Victorian corset. The shape subtly changed thorough the rest of the century, but the basic construction and hourglass figure stayed the same.

Now the description says tight lacing became popular and it’s not entirely wrong. Tight lacing became a thing. In the previous centuries it wasn’t really even possible in same sense, because the materials used were too soft. Well some rich fashionable women still did it in 18th century (with regency stays it just wasn’t possible), but because of the materials, they couldn’t restrict bodily functions like breathing (looking at you PotC). Victorian corsets however usually had couple of iron bones, the rest being the soft whale bone, giving them more ability to shape the body. Tight lacing however was not common. Some rich, young and fashionable ladies would do that, but it was seen broadly negatively at the time. People talked about the health consequences and perhaps more than that, saw it as very vain. Tight lacing every day for a long time had negative health consequences, but vast majority of women didn’t do that and they were nothing nearly as dramatic ass people claim. Corset’s magic wasn’t it’s ability to reduce waist, but rather accentuate bust and hips. It was all about the illusion. Padding was added too on top of the corset. All women used corsets and it didn’t restrict them from doing all kinds of stuff, like working in a factory, or climbing a mountain.

I don’t really have anything to complain about the 1900s, 1910s and 1920s. They have at least the right shapes and don’t have weird claims. Now, I’m not very knowledgeable in any decade after 1920s, but I know at least that bullet bra were already a thing in the 40s? You can see it in 40s dress silhouettes too.

After all this wildly inaccurate info, the whole point of the info graph is that lingerie is going backwards and apparently it’s a bad thing. It gives the impression that undergarments were bad in the ye olden times, then they got good and apparently they are bad again. I think the funniest part is when it says in the 80s bit that “lingerie no longer a way to control the body but to empower women”. Empower how? How were 80s bras more empowering that previous or following bras? Also it says that the ideal figure was “any”. Now, I’m not that familiar with 80s, but if you look at the fashion then, you definitely notice a common silhouette: broad shoulders and natural waist.

After that apparently shaping bras are used to make the bust look bigger, which is bad I guess. Worse than padding on shoulders for some reason?

It is not outright said that the undergarments of earlier periods were used to control women’s bodies, but it’s implied. That’s a really common misconception, but not really true. In the 17th century women didn’t wear stays, but the bodice was heavily structured and boned. When mantua (loose robe draped on body, think of robe á la francaise) entered the western fashion (around 1680s), women jumped on it. Stays became very quickly very popular, to give the fashionable silhouette even without the rigid bodice. Stays and mantua combo was more comfortable and more adjustable to changes in body so it took completely over the fashion during the 18th century. And when corsets became a thing in the Victorian era, most corset makers were women. Women invented a lot of the engineering that went into patterning corsets.

Corsets and stays were not some torture devices. They were flexible, constructed with the right measurements and their purpose wasn’t to reduce the measurements of the body, but rather create optical illusions and support the bust and the back. Many people who have used recreations of historical corsets say they are in many ways more comfortable than modern bras, which shift all the weight of the bust on shoulders. Corsets and stays distributed it on hips instead. Perhaps the biggest actual health concern with a regular use of corset especially (excluding tight lacing and stays didn’t to my knowledge have this problem at least to the same extend) is it supporting the back too much, making the wearer’s deep muscles wither. So in a way, they were too comfortable. Victorians were aware of that, and upper class women, who didn’t do manual labour, were encouraged to excercise to keep their torso in good shape.

Now at some point when making this post, I started to wonder who made this illustration and why. It does seem, if not well researched, at least professional. After googling the label in the bottom left corner, I found this.

The poster is saying it’s terrible when fashion tries to shape your body with clothing and it has the solution for you. Shape your body literally with the serum they are selling. They even say in the 2000s section that big bust is the desired shape, which now looks a lot like marketing. Though it doesn’t seem like they are selling it anymore. Their website is down and I couldn’t find any info on them. The whole product seems a little suspicious. It’s apparently a cream containing estrogen you put on your breasts and it should make your breast grow. Now I’m no expert, but that’s not how estrogen works. Any cream that claims it has some hormones that will change your body or skin? They don’t work. Don’t buy them.

I think this illustrates very well why I disagree so much with the idea that shaping your silhouette with clothing was so terrible and it’s good that we moved away from it. Fashion always has a silhouette, it’s part of the overall look. When the silhouette was still achieved with undergarments, your body shape and size didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the size, it was about proportion and you could create that with corsets/stays, padding and illusions. Nowadays you see sometimes thin celebrities praised for being fashionable when they wear boring clothes which show their stomach, and people have started to question if they actually have style or are they just thin. And often bigger people are ridiculed for wearing the exact same thing. Now it’s the body which is fashionable, not the clothing. And it leads to companies like these trying to push people to change their bodies.

Now, I don’t think any strict fashion or beauty standard is ever good, even if it could be achieved with clothing alone. But I think there’s something to be learned from past, to maybe not reserve fashion and style only for a specific type of body. I don’t think it’s ever helpful or healthy for a body type to be trendy. There’s always all types of bodies and they all deserve to enjoy style, if they wish.

TL;DR: Add tried to sell their boob cream by spewing inaccuracies about historical undergarments.

[kindahoping4forever]

When The Sun Came Up, You Were Looking At Me (Part Two) // Ashton Irwin

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this series so far - @cal-puddies​​ and I are having such a blast reading all of your comments and tags! Keep ‘em coming! (I’m especially curious to see the reaction to this installment. That’s all I’ll say for now.)

If you missed any previous chapters, you can find them all on the series masterlist linked below. And don’t forget we’re alternating posting duties so the story concludes tomorrow over on Cass’s blog! 

Warnings: Tension, teasing, tenderness. Alcohol, angst, arguments as foreplay. Scenes including female masturbation, rough, unprotected sex, bondage, spanking, manual stimulation of a female, male oral sex, hints of cum play and some general dom!Ash vibes.

Word Count: 7705

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist  // Series Masterlist

Let  us  know  what  you  think!

Ashton lets out a deep sigh as his alarm goes off. He tossed and turned all night and during the fleeting moments where he did sleep, the sounds he heard you making through his bedroom door last night invaded each and every one of his dreams.

He groans at the realization he’s so hard he can barely think straight. He doesn’t know how to process any of this without coffee so he meditates for a bit, attempting to will his body to calm down enough for him to head to the kitchen. He enters the room and rolls his eyes; the sight of you once again wearing that absurdly thin nightgown certainly doesn’t do his situation any favors.

You busy yourself at the counter as he approaches, not ready to deal with what happened last night. You were up all night thinking about it. Does he know you heard him? Did he hear you? As you move around each other, you avoid his eyes, afraid he’ll somehow detect the depraved things you dreamt about still lingering in your mind.

He reaches for the bag of coffee and doesn’t even realize he’s pressed himself against you until he hears the half gasp, half moan that falls from your lips. You drop the fork you’re holding and grip the counter, breathing heavy. Without thinking about it too much, he presses his lips to the spot below your ear, letting out a low groan as you jut your ass out to grind against him. You turn around to look him in the eye and there’s a silent agreement before he helps you hop up on the counter.

He reaches to pull your panties off and smirks when he realizes you aren’t wearing any. He tugs his shorts down and doesn’t even wait a beat before he pushes into you.

“Fuck, Irwin,” you moan, wrapping your arm around him, pulling him in so you can suck on his neck. His hands grip your thighs tight as he starts to pound into you, with little regard for whether or not you're ready. You love it, this was one of your favorite ways to be had by him: hard, fast and with no conversation.

Ashton's hands move around to your ass, pulling you closer, driving his hips harder against yours. He’s quiet, seemingly focused on getting off as quickly as possible, while your whines start pouring out quickly and loudly. He’s stretching you just the way you like, hitting the exact spot you need. It’s rough, it’s dirty, it’s Ash. You don’t ask for more because you don’t have to.

His soft grunts egg you on, quickly bringing you closer to climax. Your fingers dig into his skin as you whimper and squeeze around him. He lets you finish, waits for your grip to relax on his body before he pulls out.

He works his hand briskly over his cock and you rush to pull your nightgown over your head, not wanting to get cum on it; he aims for your stomach and chest as he finishes with a groan. He grips the counter on either side of you, boxing you in again, letting the hotness of his breath fan across your skin. He lets his cock soften up before he puts it away and when you reach for a paper towel to clean yourself up with, he leaves the kitchen without a word.

“Fuck… he didn’t make coffee,” you murmur to yourself. You decide you need to get out of the house before you do anything else you might regret; you take your breakfast upstairs and quickly eat while you get dressed.

You head into town, finding a coffee shop and some nearby stores to wander around. You try your best to clear your mind of his sounds from the night before, to not think about the way he just knew how to primally fuck you a few hours ago. But you can still practically feel him against you, his hands wrapped around your thighs.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you return to discover Ash finally left for his run; you make a drink to have while you relax by the pool, where you’ll likely spend the rest of your day.

When he gets back a while later, he passes the kitchen and watches you puttering around, getting ready to make another drink, noticing the way your bikini rides up to show off your ass. It takes everything in him to not walk over and smack it. Instead he changes clothes and heads outside, jumping into the pool.

By the time you’re settling back in your chair, he’s done swimming laps. He gets out in front of you, shaking out his curls, sending water flying everywhere, including on you.

“Ash!” You squeal, covering your glass with your hand.

He shrugs and drags his chair into the sun, collapsing in it to rest. “How many is that?” He asks, gesturing at your drink.

You scowl. “Sorry, I forgot where it was your business how much I drink.”

“Just wanna make sure you don’t drown… can’t have that on my conscience.”

You roll your eyes and carry on ignoring him until finally the sun gets too hot and you have to get in the water. You abandoned your latest drink to appease him but he's still watching you like a hawk.

You grumble as he jumps in the pool after you. “What’s your deal?”

“It’s hot, that’s all,” he replies before splashing you. “Relax, grump. How could you be upset? It’s a beautiful day, you got to cum this morning, you’re at this great house with a nice pool and an even nicer guy…”

“You know ‘nice’ isn’t my chosen descriptor of you,” you tease, splashing him back.

“Oh right… you prefer ‘asshole’,” he grins, swimming over to where you are.

“Well, your self awareness has certainly improved since we split.”

“So has your ability to handle your alcohol,” he bites back, playfully.

“Just trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Sierra said to be nice.”

“Literally the only time in your adult life you’ve ever done something that was asked of you.” He swims closer and you retreat back against the pool wall.

“That’s not true. I used to do what you asked in bed all the time,” you smirk, thinking you bested him.

Ashton licks his lips while looking at yours, arms settling on the wall above you. “In your own way, sometimes, you’d do as you were asked, but let’s not get carried away with ‘all the time’.”

“What can I say, I have a mind of my own,” you lilt, watching his tongue dart out to wet his pink lips.

Suddenly you can’t stop yourself. You pull him in and press your lips to his. He scoops one arm behind your back, pulling you flush against him, deepening the kiss. His tongue is exploring your mouth and he’s nibbling on your lip when you finally realize what’s happening and push him away, giving yourself space to breathe. Both of your chests are heaving as you stare at each other for a minute before you turn and lift yourself out of the pool.

You wrap the towel around your body and grab your things. You turn to look at him again, still stunned in the pool, and you quickly run to your room. You can’t believe you were stupid enough to kiss Ash, can’t believe it still drives you wild. Your head is spinning and you’re not sure if it’s from his tongue or from the alcohol; either way, you decide it’s best to sleep it off. You change out of your swimsuit and curl up on the bed.

You wake up a while later, your mind still clouded by Ashton. You decide to shower and wash the day off; the last 24 hours were filled with him and hopefully it'll rinse him away too. You undress in front of the mirror and notice bruises his fingers left on you this morning, reminding you just how untouched you’ve been since the breakup. You stand underneath the shower head and try to focus on cleaning yourself, or literally anything other than how you used to shower with Ashton, but it’s not working.

You think about his large hands rubbing soap over your body, paying extra attention to your tits, the way he’d press himself against you when first getting in with you. The way he’d make you laugh while kissing on your neck or massaging your head when he’d wash your hair.

Your mind betrays you further as you remember the times he’d push your chest against the wall and take you from behind, holding you there until he had pumped you full of cum. Afterwards, he’d help you clean up, watching in fascination as his cum ran down your legs and towards the drain.

Before you know it, your fingers are on your clit, your other hand working over your tits, tugging your nipples. But the orgasm doesn’t come. You get close but your mind keeps reminding you that Ashton is in the house and he can do it so much better if you let him.

“Fuck,” you groan, hitting the wall. You get out of the shower and toss a robe over your shoulders, loosely tying it as you practically fly across the house to Ashton’s room. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with the door open and notices you immediately. You quickly close the distance, straddling him and pulling him into a kiss.

He pulls away and tries to ask a question but you hold your finger to his lips. “I was in the shower and I couldn’t stop thinking about you… your hands on my skin, the way you’d have me against the wall. Why take care of something myself when I could very easily have you do it?”

You go back in, kissing his neck. His fingers tighten on your hips and you feel him start to get hard. You slot your lips back with his, deepening the kiss until he’s grinding your hips down on him. Without hesitation, you ask with heavy breath, “Quick question: what were you thinking about last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were getting off last night?” You ask, pressing kisses to his jaw.

“Oh, you mean when you were listening and also getting off?” He lets out a filthy laugh. “Tying your ass to the bed and having my way with you like I used to.”

“Please, Ash,” you breathe in his ear.

“My cock in your throat, you choking on it,” he continues and feels you shudder, a slight moan rumbling in your throat. “I don’t have the patience for that right now and judging by the way you’re soaking through my shorts, you don’t either. So… guess I’ll just tie you up.”

He hungrily kisses you before grabbing your hips and lifting you off of him; he goes to the closet and pulls some bed ties out of his backpack. He struts back over to you and you lick your lips while staring at his hard on.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” he warns. He pulls the tie on your robe to reveal your naked body and then gets you settled on the bed. He grabs your wrists and ties them together before securing them to the bed. He grins down at you and runs his fingers over your exposed skin.

When he starts to move on, you clear your throat, “You’re not going to finish this?” You ask, kicking your legs.

“Thought you’d behave since you want it so bad,” Ash mocks, sliding his fingers through your wetness. “But if you insist.”

You grin while he does it, enjoying the feeling of his hands all over you. He pulls his shorts off and kneels on the bed between your thighs. “To have you like this again… just a fuckin’ wet mess for me, huh?” He murmurs, rubbing soft circles over your clit with both thumbs.

“Yeah… yes.” You toss your head back at the feeling.

“Yes what?” He asks, smacking his hand over your pussy.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, you haven’t forgotten.”

He sinks his cock all the way into you and before you can fully enjoy it, he pulls his hips back and snaps them roughly into you again. Once he sets his brutal pace, his hands are everywhere: your thighs, your nipples, your throat, touching and teasing you the way you love, the way only he can. He grabs a handful of hair, pulling your head back; his teeth trace along your skin until his lips are at your ear. “Such a dirty fuckin’ Princess, aren’t you?” He asks, thrusting particularly hard. “So good for me though... pussy fits me so perfectly.”

Ashton pushes himself back up, taking full advantage of having you tied up for him: groping you, holding your hips as he pounds into you, smacking your thighs, leaving handprints on you. Every little thing he does works to push you towards the edge.

He feels you getting close and he smirks down at you darkly. “Already, Princess?” He teases, thrusting harder than you can ever remember him doing before, knocking your head into the headboard.

“Ash... Ash… sir… fuck fuck fuck.” You moan, pulsing around him, finally getting the release you wanted.

“Feel good, Princess?” He asks, slowing down. He feels your legs squeeze, trying to push him away a little but he continues even slower, giving you long strokes.

“Ash… fuckin’ hell…” you whine.

“You’re OK, Princess, you’ve taken more,” he soothes. “I’m almost there.”

“Cum for me… cum in me.” You pant, desperately. “I need it.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think so, Princess.” He pulls out and starts handling his cock, quickly sliding his hand over the shaft, letting out a loud groan as he sprays your torso with cum for a second time today.

He sits back on his heels a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you before untying your hands and gently rubbing your wrists. He does the same to your ankles and disappears into the bathroom.

He comes back with a washcloth and kneels over you to clean his cum off your body; you eye him, trying to get a read on the tone of the room. “I said cum in instead of on me because I just took a shower, asshole,” you comment with a twinkle in your eye, taking your chances that he’ll know you’re teasing.

Ashton has no problem catching your tone and matches it with a smirk. “Funny how I remember you saying you needed it,” he responds smugly, tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand and pulling on his shorts.

“Probably couldn’t hear me over the sound of the headboard obliterating that wall.” You sit up to tie your robe tight around your body, feeling unusually exposed now that the moment has passed.

He shrugs, laughing. “This is all on our friends’ dime, let them worry about the damages.”

Ash sits next to you on the bed and the two of you joke back and forth about the destructive sexcapades you could engage in just to rack up the cost of the rental as punishment for your friends’ meddling; your laughter mixes with his in a way it hasn’t in a long time and things feel calm for the first time today.

You absentmindedly rub your fingers over the slight indentation grooves on your wrist from the ties and he notices, grabbing your arm to inspect. “Oh, that’s nothing compared to the marks your hands left on me this morning,” you insist, pulling your arm back gently. You recognize genuine concern on his face instead of the arrogance you expected, so you backtrack a little. “I’m fine, Ash, relax… Why’d you have those things with you for a ‘writing session’ anyways? Planned on finally sealing the deal with Cal?” You joke, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

Ash snorts. “Last time the band stayed here, the night life wasn’t too bad,” he shrugs.

It takes a beat for it to click what he’s implying. “Oh… so… you’re upset about us enough that you need to come out here to write through our anniversary but not too upset to tie up some townies while you’re here?” You accuse, voice dripping with what you hope is enough judgement to mask your hurt.

He sighs loudly, running his hands through his hair. “Because it’s so much healthier for us to just emotionlessly fuck each other this week.”

“Good, glad we can both agree that this means nothing,” you snap, launching yourself off the bed and slamming the door behind you.

Ashton stares at the closed door, head spinning from how fast that went south. Part of him wishes he hadn’t been honest with you, said he’d forgotten those ties were in his backpack, spared your feelings, maybe even asked you to stay the night. But part of him wonders why he even cares about your feelings at all anymore.

He lays back on the bed, contemplating things. You’ve made it obvious day after day that you’re not interested in addressing what went wrong between you and up until he heard you moaning outside his door last night, he was convinced you didn’t want anything to do with him at all. If sex is all you want this week... well, he’s not going to deny he’s interested but he’s not sure if he can set aside how much he misses you. All of you.

The more he thinks about the situation, the more exasperated he gets; before he has the chance to talk himself out of it, he grabs his phone and dials Sierra. Her cautious “Hello?” is barely finished when he starts going in. “I know you think you’re doing us a favor here but you really crossed a goddamn line with this one,” he snarls.

She exhales loudly. “What are you talking about, Ashton?”

“This was none of your business! This was not your job to fix this and even if it was, this was a piss poor way of going about it,” he rants. She starts to interject but he cuts her off. “This isn’t a prank, this isn’t a social experiment, this isn’t even a cute story that gets told at weddings, this is real people who have real emotions being toyed with by a so-called friend.”

“I am your friend, Ash,” she says quietly.

“Friends don’t play god like this, Sierra.”

She sighs, used to Ash’s valid complaints being muddied by his self-righteousness. “Listen, I understand you’re upset and believe it or not, I didn’t love having to lie to get you two in the same place so I am sorry for that. But think about it from our perspective for a second? Notice I’m saying our because we were all in on it,” she points out. “We have the advantage - the heartbreaking, annoying advantage - of seeing this from both sides. We wouldn’t have done this if we thought you guys would get hurt, if we didn’t think good would come of it.”

In an unusually small voice, Ashton says pitifully, “She hates me, S.”

“You know how she is, she’s afraid if she lets you know how much she cares, she’ll get taken advantage of. You used to be the same way, dude.”

Quietly, he thinks out loud, “But if I’ve changed and she hasn’t… maybe we’re not compatible anymore.”

“I mean… that seems like a conversation you should have with her, Ash,” Sierra offers gently. “You just need to find a way to get through to our ice princess. But trust me, without giving up privileged information, I can tell you that what each of you are going through is really not that different.”

“Tell Luke he’s a rat for giving you intel,” he jokes, wanting to change the subject because he knows she’s right.

“Well at least that takes some of the heat off me,” she laughs. “And Ash? I love you guys but I’m blocking you both for the rest of the week - you have got to talk to each other and stop using me as a sounding board.”

He hangs his head in defeat. “That’s fair,” he admits.

“And everyone else knows to do the same,” she continues.

“Got it.”

The line beeps and Sierra cackles loudly. “Well. I guess I’m about to give an encore of this speech because guess who’s sent me 5 texts and is now calling me?”

Ashton laughs in bitter amusement. “Whatever she says I did, she did it first,” he says half-joking.

“See you when you get back, buddy. It’s gonna be alright,” she reassures him and then with a click, she’s gone.

You wake up once again feeling remorseful for how you acted the night before; you don’t regret going to Ash’s room specifically for sex - you could find dozens of reasons to justify that in your mind - but you know you shouldn’t have blown up at him afterwards like you did.

You hadn’t been with anyone since the breakup and Luke had let it slip weeks ago that Ash hadn’t either. So what if he had planned on blowing off steam with randoms when he thought he’d be here with the guys? Just because you’re taking it slow doesn’t mean he has to as well. You had no right to be hurt by this information because he’s not yours anymore; after months of reminding yourself that, you’d think you would’ve gotten used to the idea by now.

You figure he’s probably not ready to talk to you yet so you decide to show you’re sorry in smaller ways; you can tell he hasn’t been in the kitchen so you make coffee to the best of your ability and cut up some fruit for yourself, making up a small bowl for him, figuring he can either eat it or throw it into the juicer again.

You don’t want to drive yourself crazy waiting for him to come out of his room and you don’t want him to find you in the pool and misinterpret it as thirst trapping again so you go out for a light jog. It’s a good way to pass the time and although the quiet gives your mind a few too many opportunities to consider how Ash’s hands felt on you last night, you ultimately feel better when you return to the house.

You stop by the kitchen to refill your water bottle and while you can tell he’s definitely been in there, both the coffee and fruit you left for him are untouched. You shrug and peek outside where you see him reading by the pool, with a cup of coffee and breakfast sandwich he’d clearly had delivered. You roll your eyes a bit but resolve to be a good sport and poke your head out the door, tapping quietly on it to get his attention, and wave kindly. He looks you up and down in your sports bra and tiny running shorts and gives you the minimal greeting of a head nod before returning to his book. You feel like you can count that as a win under the circumstances.

Ashton watches you through the glass doors as you flutter around the living room before heading upstairs. He knows ordering in was bordering on petty but after his conversation with Sierra, he decided the best approach was to freeze you out until you decided if and when you wanted to come to him; things would be back on your terms and maybe you’d feel comfortable enough that progress could be made. He wishes these games weren’t necessary to get you to share your feelings but he respects the fundamental role they play in your relationship and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss them.

Your afternoon drags without any attention from Ash and you hate admitting how much you miss him. You busy yourself any way you can: showering, napping, you even answer a few work emails on your phone because you’re so bored. You hear him in the pool at one point and you sneak a few peeks out the window, just to see if he looks as good as you imagine.

Evening rolls around and you tell yourself you’re heading out to investigate your dinner options but really you’re hoping to see what Ash is up to. You find him shirtless on the couch, half paying attention to the TV, half paying attention to whatever is on his phone. You pass through to the kitchen as loudly as you can, hoping he’ll look up but he never does.

You slam every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen and he still seems unphased; you stand in the entryway of the living room and ask him if he’s hungry. You get a shrug in response and it both infuriates and excites you. If there’s anything you love more than being given his attention, it’s having to work for it.

You take a seat in the chair across from him and wait for him to acknowledge you; of course, he doesn’t. “Thinking about getting pizza, you interested?” You toss out, bracing for him to be irritated that you have a house full of groceries and still want to order in.

“Whatever you think,” he says flatly, eyes glued to his phone.

You read him the list of possible pizza toppings, trying to force even the smallest crack in his resolve; you only get a “Sure, whatever” and he turns up the TV.

You grit your teeth. “Do you want me to just let you starve since you’re mad at me?” You snipe. You see his jaw clench and for a second you’re almost sure he’s going to jab back at you. Your heart is beating so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if it was visible through the very tight, very thin shirt you intentionally put on before you came out here.

Instead of fighting back, he evenly says, “Not mad, just bored.”

The last 24 hours had been anything but boring so you’re not sure what to do with that statement. You try a different approach. “Well if you expect me to apologize for last night, you’re in for a long wait,” you say combatively.

Ashton’s eyes shift and for a second you think you may have finally won a glance from him but he’s now focused on the TV.  “I stopped expecting things from you even before we broke up,” he retorts.

That remark stings a little but at least you’re getting him to engage with you now, you can work with this. Once upon a time this banter was your foreplay and judging by the way he’s been absentmindedly licking his lips since you sat down, it still might be.

“So then you didn’t expect me to go to your room last night?”

He doesn’t even flinch at your question. “Did it surprise me that you were still needy even after I gave you my cock earlier in the day? No, you’ve always been like that.” His voice drips with disdain and you feel yourself involuntarily clench. “Didn’t expect you to be willing to admit it, though. Must’ve been pretty desperate.”

You get out of your chair and stand directly in front of him, blocking the TV, willing him to look at you. He remains nonplussed and goes back to his phone; a combination of desire to win this game and desire for him overwhelms your senses and you impulsively drop to your knees.

The way he’s manspread on the couch is annoying but convenient for the situation. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you slowly rub up and down his thighs a few times before running your hand over his crotch. His face continues to feign disinterest but his cock tells another story; he was clearly starting to get turned on from your bickering and you feel him hardening more as you stroke and squeeze him through his shorts.

You tug at his waistband and Ashton remains silent but lifts up to help you take his shorts down. Wasting no time, you push his half-hard cock up against his stomach with a plop and swirl your tongue around his balls before licking a stripe along the seam and continuing up the underside of his length. You run your tongue up and down, making sure you catch on every ridge, trace along every vein, enjoying the feeling of it growing firm underneath your tongue.

You kitten lick along the head for a bit, looking up at him to see his face wearing a blank expression, staring at the TV. “I don’t know, I’d say getting hard just from an argument seems pretty desperate to me,” you taunt.

Ash finally shifts his eyes to yours and victorious adrenaline shoots through your entire body; your celebration is short-lived, however, as he matter of factly states, “I’m not the one on my knees, Princess,” and immediately turns back to the TV.

You narrow your eyes, disappointed he’s refusing to play your game. Or is he actually playing it even better than you are? Either way, his attitude spurs you on and you wrap your lips around him, exaggeratedly sucking at his tip, taking your time before taking more of his length at a torturously slow pace. You make it about halfway down before you sloppily pull back up and start over, letting as much spit fall from your lips as you possibly can; you repeat this process a few times, hoping to make him impatient enough to say something to you.

Your plan works as you pull back up again and Ashton scoffs, “You plan on sucking that cock or just slobbering on it?”

You sit back, defiant. “Wasn’t sure you noticed I was down here,” you sneer. “Why put in effort if you’re not even going to appreciate it?”

He leans in close to you and the tone of his voice sends chills down your spine. “Please, you fuckin’ love that I couldn’t care less that you’ve got my cock in your mouth. You’ve been on your knees for less than 5 minutes and I’ll bet you’re already dripping,” he reads you in a smooth, low voice. “You’re so desperate for my attention? Try earning it, Princess.”

You breathe deep, willing yourself to ignore the urge to press a hand between your legs. His gaze is still fixed on you, challenging you with intensity. You reach for him and stick out your tongue, slapping his cock across the surface of it, trying to give him a show. He rolls his eyes and starts channel surfing.

Without missing a beat, you take him into your mouth and start bobbing again, only this time you brace yourself on his legs and try swallowing him into your throat; you’re out of practice so your first few attempts have you gagging around him. While it doesn’t feel great, when you pull off to catch your breath, you notice he’s muted the TV, presumably to better hear you choking on him.

You try again, taking him a little further before you have to pull off; you lick up and down his shaft and your eyes flutter up to see him actually watching you this time. When you take him again you reach for his hand and place it in your hair, hoping he’ll take the hint; he doesn’t have to be told twice and as you wiggle your head, trying to work him into your throat, you feel a soft but increasing pressure from above as he tries to help you down.

You pull up again, coughing, and Ashton dryly muses, “Feel like you used to be better at this.” You turn to glare at him but even through the tears in your eyes you can see the hint of a smirk on his face; he knows that comment is only going to make you work harder.

With no hesitation, you slide your mouth down his cock, bobbing rapidly, swallowing him further and further until you’ve reached your limit. You silently congratulate yourself when you hear a surprised groan above you; his hands come down to hold you on his cock and you stay there - sputtering, choking, and drooling but you stay. He lets go of your head and you take your time pulling off, hollowing out your cheeks, giving him some good suction before your next breath.

You raise back up, an obscene string of saliva leaving your lips connected to his cock. You move your hand briskly up and down his shaft as you look at him with self-satisfaction, “You were saying?”

He grins at your hoarse brag. “There’s my filthy Princess,” he praises, hoping you’re too caught up in the moment to catch his affectionately possessive slip-up. “So fuckin' needy, the second it's not all about you, you use it as an excuse to choke on my cock. Can never get enough of the feeling of me using your throat, can you?"

Ashton's harsh words serve as a delicious contrast to the tender way he's brushing his hand through your hair, smoothing out the knots his grip had caused; you close your eyes and bask in the intimate gesture. You try not to read into how much you're enjoying his care, as far as you're concerned this is just part of having won his attention.

The sound of his voice jars you out of your reverie. "Get up," he says sternly.

You do as he says and with his eyes now refusing to leave yours, he runs his hand up the leg of your shorts and over the front of your panties, which as he forecast, are soaked straight through.

He rubs your clit through the wet material. "Aww, Princess, what's got you so wet? Is it my cock? Me finally giving you even a fraction of my attention? Or is it because you have no way of knowing what's going to happen next? Maybe you'll get my fingers, maybe a thigh. You hope maybe I'll even let you sit on my face but you know there's a good chance the second you swallow my cum, I'm just gonna get up and lock myself in my room and you'll have to get yourself off, thinking about what I might've done to you. And that? That's somehow what turns you on the most, that's what has you feeling like you could cum for me right now but you wouldn't dare without my permission, isn't that right, Princess?"

You’re so turned on you don't think you're capable of giving him a coherent answer but it doesn't matter because suddenly his fingers dip inside your panties to give your clit a few rough, direct rubs before he pulls his hand from your shorts entirely; he wraps his hand around your wrist, yanking you onto the couch with him. You scramble to steady yourself, ending up on all fours next to his lap, head hovering above his dripping cock.

"Back to work," he growls, slowly but purposefully guiding your head back down. "Let's see how much of my attention you fuckin’ deserve after all this."

You feel one of his hands stroke down your back and settle just above your ass, his other hand on your head, gathering your hair between his fingers, getting ready to pull if need be. You take the hint and slip him between your lips, setting a slow pace to start with, curious how he’ll react.

You get your answer right away when you feel the sting of a sharp smack come down on your ass over your shorts; your jaw drops as you cry out in surprise, his cock falling out of your mouth.

“Teasing is a bold move at this point, even for a brat like you,” he remarks, spanking you once again, in the exact same spot so the sting never stops, just like you used to ask for.

You get your mouth back on him and feel him tug your shorts down as you work; his fingers trace over the skin of your inner thighs - just out of reach from where you want him but close enough it has you trembling.

Ash slowly moves between your legs as you try to deep throat him again; wanting some friction, you rock your hips but he puts an end to that almost instantly with a harsh spank that takes you by surprise, jolting you forward, shoving his cock into your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

You pull off, coughing forcefully. “Jesus, Ash,” you complain, glaring at him, breathless and annoyed.

He sweetly wipes away the tears running down your cheeks but his response couldn’t be more condescending. “Aww, Princess needed attention and now that she’s getting it, she’s mad it’s not exactly what she wanted,” he mocks. “Typical.”

“Do you want me to get you off or not, you ass?”

“I was minding my own business when you came over here and pulled my cock out,” he shrugs, smirking as he watches your face turn from annoyed to annoyingly pleased when he starts touching your clit. “Of course, if you stop, I stop.” Proving his point, he removes both his hands from your body and reaches for his phone again.

“God, you’re the fucking worst,” you grumble, mouthing over his tip nonetheless. You sink down, determined to disprove his claims of indifference; you bob with renewed vigor and start fluttering your tongue on the underside of his cock as you pull up. He must approve of the decision because he gruffly praises, “That’s a good girl,” and his thumb finds its way to your clit.

The two of you continue playing with each other, caught in a seemingly endless cycle of antagonism and lust: when you take his cock deep enough to make him moan, he can’t let you have that satisfaction so he teases your pussy relentlessly, causing you to dig your nails into his thighs until your legs stop shaking.

As your game nears its end, something resembling affection sneaks in on the both of you; praises and encouraging murmurs easily spill from both your and his lips and when he squeezes your shoulder and mumbles something that sounds a lot like “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” you think nothing of it.

You raise up, cheating your body out so Ashton gets a view of you licking over his slit, jerking him off into your open mouth; he slips his hand under your shirt so he can paw at your tit while he watches. Finally with a heavy groan, he starts cumming on your tongue; you let him see the first couple spurts before you wrap your lips around him, enveloping his cock with your warm mouth for the last moments of his release.

When he’s finished, you sit up in his lap and pull him in for a kiss, eliciting a surprised growl from him. You’d always talked about wanting to feed him his cum but never got around to it when you were together; his tongue darts out to swipe across your closed lips, trying multiple times to gain entry but never succeeding. He pulls back to look at you in confusion and you smugly open your mouth, showing him the substance you denied him and before he can say anything else, you swallow with an exaggerated “mmm.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mutters, pulling you into a real kiss, moaning into your mouth when he detects the faintest taste of cum left on your tongue.

The kiss continues as he shifts your body to lay in his lap, essentially cradling you in one arm while his other hand works its magic on your clit. You’re so worked up from this whole ordeal that your body starts shaking long before you reach your release and Ashton’s demeanor changes accordingly; he strokes your hair and speaks softly to you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

You lose yourself in the feeling, whimpering loudly when your orgasm takes you by surprise and you cum harder than you have all week, which is saying something. You softly cry his name and he answers with a soothing, “I’m here, Princess.”

He hugs you to his chest as you come down; you’re quiet, not wanting to break the spell you’ve both fallen under, not wanting to admit how much you’re enjoying being close to him. You trace over the tattoo on his rib cage; you’ve been admiring it by the pool all week and you wonder how long he’s had it but you don’t want to disrupt the silence to ask.

You move to straddle his lap and fit yourself against him, wrapping your arms tight around him and he does the same to you. You rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your face against his neck, trying to memorize this smell and this feeling, because it will end too soon.

He lightly kisses your cheek. “You still want dinner?”

You shake your head, not ready to return to reality.  

Ash grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps you in it; you groan when he reaches for his phone and you try to push away but he holds you tighter. “I’m just ordering us that pizza,” he reassures you. “I haven’t seen you eat anything today besides cum.”

You smirk against his skin. “I had breakfast.”

“Well… we’re getting pizza… Do you want breadsticks? Of course you do,” he chuckles to himself. “And ranch and garlic sauce and marinara… anything else?”

You smile that he remembers what you like. “No, that sounds good.”

After placing the order, he wraps his arms around you again, thinking about how much he misses your affection, you wanting to be on him like this. He knows fighting, silent treatments and pure aggravation is built into the foundation of your relationship - it's just who you both are - but he's always loved the quiet moments like this most.

This was what he was hoping to achieve by playing your game; he's not sure how long it'll last but he'll take as much of this as you're willing to give. He presses soft kisses to the top of your head and listens to you breathe.

After a while, Ash guides you upstairs and the two of you are cleaning up when the pizza arrives; he leaves you to answer the door and his heart flutters when he sees you come back to the living room wearing one of his t-shirts. He sets a water for himself and a mixed drink for you on the coffee table; you sip the alcohol sparingly, not wanting to dull anything you’re feeling in this moment.

After dinner, you decide to put on a movie and within the first 10 minutes, he’s pulling you to lay next to him, tucking you into his side. You fall asleep long before the film is over and he can’t get over how peaceful you look. He gently kisses your forehead and whispers, “Time for bed.” He starts gathering up the dishes and smiles to himself when he sees you get up and head for his room.

When he climbs into bed next to you, you immediately start pressing soft kisses across his skin; he hums, you can feel it in his chest under your hand and lips. “You know I’m not so tired anymore,” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Thought you might say that,” he smiles. Your lips meet and he gets you both naked, pulling you underneath him. It’s a simple makeout session to start and you can tell by his actions he plans to keep things a little tamer than they’ve been. He runs his hand up your side and your leg instinctively comes up to wrap around his waist.

You didn’t get this side of Ashton a lot when you were together but it still feels natural as ever. He slips in gently, pressing his mouth to yours. It’s slow and easy, the two of you just fit and he loves feeling that. You slide one hand down to his ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he works into you. He falters slightly before pulling your thigh up to get deeper.

Your quiet whimper of “Ash” is almost enough to send him over the edge and he has to work hard to not let it. He’s missed hearing it so much and he’s forgotten the way it goes straight to his cock, something only your sounds have ever done for him.  

You let your head rest back against the pillow, exposing all of your neck for him as your back arches with his thrusts. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your neck. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He hooks his finger on your jaw to kiss you. You grab onto his wrist and he intertwines your fingers, bringing you closer together, the way he used to when feelings were raw between the two of you.

You whimper again, “Ash… I’m gonna…”

“Please, gorgeous,” he encourages, kissing you, moving his hips just the way you like. “I’ve got you.” You let your orgasm overtake you and with a muted groan of his own, he cums inside you shortly after.

He collapses next to you and you instantly push yourself onto his chest. You rest your head low enough to peck at that rib tattoo you can’t get enough of.

Ash watches you and has to bite his lip to stop the “I love you” that’s on the tip of his tongue. It never seemed like you wanted to hear it when you were together so you probably don’t want to hear it now. And he can’t risk pushing you away again. Not now. Not when it feels this good.

A beat passes and you quietly confess, “I don’t wanna go to my own bed.”

He gives an easy reply, as if it’s the simplest, most uncomplicated thing in the world. “Stay here then, Princess.” And that word just doesn’t have the bite it once did.

————-

Taglist is breaking the links in the post and I currently do not have the brainpower to figure out the problem lol. We’ll try again tomorrow but in the meantime, if you aren’t notified, you can always check the masterlist which will be updated everyday!

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[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!!!

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