deku. business trip. phone sex. explicit photos and panty shot/upskirts of you that you don’t know about 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
- mars
this choked me and slammed me and made me crazy so yeah :D <33. cw: some angst near the end, not a lot tho. fem reader all i can think of.
"Why are you calling me?" You pull the phone away just in time to dodge the whine that buzzes through your device—from a grown man.
"You know whyyy, angel. I miss you." Izuku's voice carries that familiar pout, and even though you'd love to sink back into your beauty sleep, you'd rather hear him a little longer.
"Hmm."
"Everywhere I look, you're there." He sounds like he's imagining you in gauzy details. . .
He's tugging on your heartstrings. You shift beneath the covers, wrapped in his shirt, your body curled into his side of the bed. Every small movement sends his scent drifting up from the fabric.
"Do you miss me?"
You don't answer right away. After a beat, you say, "What did you see? You didn't send me anything today." He usually does, but it makes sense that he might have gotten buried in work.
"Oooh, accept the video call, I'll show you."
You do, angling the camera so your face fills most of the frame. That way he can't tease you for being on his side, in his clothes—missing him.
"Hi, pretty girl."
"Hi, bubba—now show me, please."
"Lemme look at you a second." He acts like he hasn't seen you in years. You roll your eyes and purse your lips to keep from smiling. "There's that silly face you make when you don't wanna smile. C'mon, lemme see it."
"'Zu—"
"Please—or-or, New York will be hit with an attack from space and Pro Hero Deku can't fight because his beautiful girlfriend didn't smile at him and—ohhh there it is."
You roll your eyes again, not bothering to hide your grin. Sucking your teeth, you watch Izuku lift his pointer finger and wiggle it up and down, the way you'd say hi to a baby.
"Izuku—"
"Pretty, pretty girl, hiii—"
"I'll hang up—"
"No! Sorry, look—"
He shares his screen, and you're met with a photo of you snuggling a bunny on his home screen. You snort at the image, remembering how he cooed over both of you before snapping it.
"Okay, so we had a free day today, kinda, so—"
You settle in as he walks you through his little exhibition, responding when he nudges you to and asking him to go back for a few things he passed. There was a flower, a mannequin, a billboard, a store, a tree—
"And I thought of you here, too." He shows a still shot of a large fountain. You smile softly, finding it sweet, but you still need him to explain.
"Like what? Taking a picture, right?"
He says nothing. You glare into the camera.
"Taking a picture, right?"
"Ab-absolutely—moving on—" Dirty, dirty mind.
He swipes, and you gasp.
What the hell is an up-skirt shot doing here? Did he take that of some girl on the subway? Anger flushes through your veins before you stop and actually look—and realize, is that you?
He hasn't caught on yet. In the lull, you quickly take a screenshot. He notices a second later, but it's too late.
"Wait—"
"Where did you get this?" You're already swiping out of the call and opening your photos.
"Fuck—"
"Izuku—where did you get this—I—we've—" You feel your face heat up.
You don't remember him taking this picture. It must have been two or three weeks ago, the night you wore that dress and you both had to slip away from the bar. You hiked up the hem to show him your new panties, watched him stuff his tie between his teeth as he fucked you, felt him bend down afterward and lick you clean before he kissed you and led you back to your tipsy friends—who, hopefully, never caught on.
"Izuku. . ." You sniffle a little, overwhelmed, staring at a shot of your own ass you never knew existed.
He stays silent.
"Izuku." You pull in a deep breath. "We'll talk about this when you get back, okay?" You stress the words, waiting—needing an answer this time.
"Okay. . ."
"Okay." You sigh and sniffle again. He's looking at you full screen now, eyes watery and red, biting his lip. "I. . . I love you." Because you do love him—more than you can say—but this has left you feeling. . . different.
He exhales sharply, brows dipping as his eyes get wet. He's determined not to cry in front of you. "I love you."
You hang up after one last glance and set the phone aside.
How long has that been going on? Should you be worried? What do you do now?
. . .Fuck that—be real with yourself this time.
You miss him—God how you miss him.
When will you stop missing him?
You shut your eyes, leaning into his pillows, burying yourself in his scent. Your thighs rub together and you stifle a sound.
need a deeply emotional friendship with tamsy where he’s like your best friend for everything to the point where you see him as one of the “girls”- and you two get along great! but there is an ominous clock counting down to the day he’s gonna shove his tongue down your throat and turn this very messy very fast.
osamu is such a teach me guy. teach me how to make that childhood dish of yours. teach me how your name is written. teach me that term of endearment in your language. teach me all those little habits of yours. teach me how to kiss you so your mouth will know no other name than mine. teach me where to touch you to make you feel so good. teach me where your body and your heart aches. teach me, teach me, teach me.
we gotta get back to torrent distribution, i just watched someone eat eight grand in bandwidth charges because they ran a direct-download piracy site with local file hosting through cloudflare. torrents were invented literally for this exact reason
i have a file or folder on my pc that i want to share with other people. let's call it gayshit.mp3
unfortunately gayshit.mp3 is 750mb and im not paying for discord nitro so i need another way to send it
i put it into qbittorrent and it makes a torrent file. this is essentially a very small file that points to gayshit.mp3 so other computers can find it. kinda like a treasure map
i send this tiny file to my friend, who loads it into qbittorrent. their computer takes a moment to find mine over the vast expanse of cyberspace and then (as long as my pc is running and the file is still where it should be), it gets copied from my hard drive to theirs
this is the cool part: if somebody else loads that tiny file, they can download it from both of us. if i'm offline but my friend is on, the third person can still get it. this also means that if two people have separate halves of the file, they can download the other half from each other. as long as some combination of people have the pieces between them, they can all have the whole thing.
crucially this does not require a server!!! you can just upload the file to a few people and as long as they keep it, it's still accessible. as long as somebody, somewhere is still connected, it's available forever. the only way it goes away is if everybody disconnects from it.
do you ever just feel overly horny, overworked and underfucked but you KNOW izu wouldn’t let his sweet girl feel neglected
✩꒱ overworked, underpaid and severely fucked — ft. izuku midoriya .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero izuku midoriya & fem!reader. oral sex, established relationship, care taker izuku. -> izuku midoriya is a good boyfriend, pervy and a little weird … but good. what? it’s not his fault that you’re so easy to look after.
overworked, underpaid but not!! underfucked when you’re with izuku !!!
he’s a little weird, a little perverted but he can be a really good boyfriend if you just give him a chance. promise! izuku is so doting, he’ll leap at the chance to take care of something for you even if you insist you’re getting along well financially.
the first time you let him pay for your food shop and essentials, he walks out of the store with three bags for life on each arm and a boner he just barely manages to conceal. you’re huffy and annoyed because you hardly need the stuff he picked up but it’s enough to last you, so you can’t complain. you kiss deku stupid after he’s loaded the car and lick into his mouth when he settles into the driver’s seat. “always happy to help you, baby.” he murmurs giddy. “just text me what you need next time, you don’t even have to leave the house.” between smooches he doesn’t say he expects a thank you, but you feel the way his chest bristles bristles beneath your fingertips whenever you do give your thanks. as though you’re praising the lord and graced him enough to give you this blessing. he is a little weird.
izuku has an annoying tendency to know what you need before you need it. a bath with lavender oil and candlelight upon return from a three day business trip out of city helping with company interviews — one you had no say on going to. a home-cooked meal because you didn’t have a chance to grab lunch between meetings, although pork katsudon is all he’s good for ( he’ll call kacchan for recipes and cooking advice once you tire of his own skill set). a new work bag because the one you’ve had since starting busted at the strap on the way home, your new one just so happens to be designer because the leather is stronger.
he does it all with a kiss pressed to your cheek and a smile that causes a crinkle at the corner of his eyes — sickly sweet and sticky against you but you tell him thank you all the same and he tells you anything, always. in response. you’re spoiled rotten to the point of feeling suffocated but it’s good, so good, to be swept off your feet for a little while.
izuku is a great listener too. you’ll come home from your job where they don’t pay you enough pennies to give a fuck, designer purse now abandoned on the sideboard by the counter with your keys, heels clicking angrily and izuku will be there ready to hear you out. take your mind off things for a little while.
“you’re frowning, sweet girl, what’s wrong?”
then he’s on his knees, crisp white blouse taut against his chest and tie loose, as he slips your heels off one by one accompanied by angel’s kisses. he lets you curse and vent, spill foul secrets about your coworker who keeps taking credit for your work and your boss who demands too much in too little time all while nodding with bouncing ever-green curls brushing against the inside of your thighs and up your itty bitty pencil skirt.
you ramble on and on, your nails taking through his curls as he descends down on your centre. lips hot on your panties, teething at the fabric that’s already wet and has been since he first sunk to his knees before you — placing you at epicentre of his entire universe. izuku nods at the same time he kisses your clit, agreement in the form of sucking the slick from you as if you’re the only source of life for a thousand miles.
“and god, zu — she stole that client from right u-under my nose!” you’re scowling but your body melts into him below, your hips buck over his nose and he thinks for a second he could die here, happy and unable to breathe if it meant drowning in the deliciousness of your cunt. you’re sweeter when you’re pissed off, when you use him to ease the tension wound tight in your shoulders. izuku is desperate for you to use him, need him, he prefers life this way.
“mhm…” he says, or groans, or sighs blissfully like he’s really listening to you. focused on the tale of how that petty girl at your petty job keeps taking the credit. hed take care of that too, if you let him — call them up and say hero deku had a complaint to make. he settles for this, the now, the exact moment you clench around the thickness of his tongue as it thrusts far enough along your slippery walls to make your body shake. maybe it’s selfish off him, that izuku waits for you to get all riled up at work so that you come home to him like this. broiling under the flesh, smelling like sex that stirs his appetite into something more sinister.
when you hug the back of his head to your weeping slit, izuku purrs as though he’s been rewarded. his tongue does a sweet of the entire length of your cunt, gathers what you drool in viscous waves and smelts his spit into the molten mix, frothy cream gathering just around your hole and clit. messy, greedy, filthy but he doesn’t let up even when his chin is painted with a varnish of arousal.
he doesn’t mind being your crutch or your tool to pass a bad day by, as long as you’re above him like this — toes digging into his shoulders, fist tight in his hair, . “a-and seriously, zu. f-fuck, fuck that girl. fuck. i’m gonna cum!” you squeak shakily and he knows the job is done. you’re happy and you’re distracted, babbling god knows what about who knows what but the anger once built up inside you snaps like an easy spring. your orgasm is melt in the mouth, a piece of heaven created just for izuku to indulge in.
perhaps it is weird and perverted that he loves to be used and to use his skill on you… but you like it and maybe that makes you a little perverted too.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
Along the blackwater coast of Romirro, people whisper about the Lemurians—the beautiful strangers said to emerge from the sea wearing human shapes. Legends say they come ashore seeking humans, whether as meal or more, no one knows for certain. What is certain, however, is that they always find the exhausted, the indebted, or the heartbroken first. According to folklore, the Lemurians never drag anyone beneath the waves by force. Instead, they court their chosen for months or years, until the sea begins to feel more inviting than the land ever was.
You think you know what is happening, then, when the most handsome man you've ever seen washes ashore after a storm.
This is your family's hardest year yet, and somehow, despite the unlikeliness of the tide, he's deposited along the shallow pools where you and your sister gather shellfish. Water pools too enticingly in the hollow of his throat, beads along his long lashes, glittering against his pale skin. You do not trust the look of him. But your sister is already halfway in love with him, and cannot bear to leave him behind.
So you take him home, hoping that you are wrong.
You nurse him back from the state the sea left him in, careful not to let your sister go too near. Her fantastical, romantic waxings in the warmth of your hut have you almost believing you were too quick to draw conclusions about him. She is a year younger than you, in ways that feel more like a thousand years sometimes, but the naiveté and idealism of her world view make you want to believe the world can like be that too. You hope she is right, and he is just a beautiful man.
But then he wakes, and you are all too certain he isn't.
His eyes fix too readily on you when he opens them, his attention too immediate and precise. He is too interested in you when he recovers enough to speak—and repeats your name in a way that makes a shiver slink down your spine.
He tells you his name is Rafayel, and he's been shipwrecked. When pressed, however, he cannot name his home port, the name of his ship, or any of his crewmates. The memory of what they were carrying is conveniently lost to the tides. He is too empty of anything except the sea, you think, and you watch him as closely as he watches you.
Your sister is entranced and enthralled with him. You should feel relief that his attention does not linger on her the same way hers lingers on him. But you cannot, with Rafayel inside your home, asking after you instead, your habits, your likes and dislikes. He's come ashore for something, you know, and you do not intend for him to find it in your home.
You watch him carefully, and when he is well enough, you cajole him outside with a request for help gathering shellfish. You lead him back down to the tidepools, a large bucket clutched in hand. You are apprehensive that he will catch on to your plan so you move slowly, try to turn back to him often, tipping your face up to his. You find yourself doing it almost too willingly, reluctant to tear your eyes away from him.
You turn your face up to his again as you make it to the tidepools, and Rafayel steps closer this time. His mouth lingers over yours, his body so close, the promise of something slipping between you. His eyes glint blue like the sea, and you almost forget yourself for a minute as his mouth lowers to yours.
It's half and accident when you overturn your bucket of collected rainwater between you.
But Rafayel's face changes immediately as he takes a shocked step back, and it's then that you know for sure.
Harbor folklore says Lemurians cannot pursue someone across running fresh water. And Rafayel stumbles back, long eyelashes fluttering as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. The tide laps angrily at his heels, suddenly growing discontent, roiling like a pot over the fire.
He says your name, sweet and entreating.
But you turn and leave before your small, freshwater stream can run its course into the sea. You will hang braided eelgrass across your door tonight, and burn peat in the hearth, so that he cannot get in again. You tell him as much as you clamber back up the shoreline to safety, tell him he is wasting his time on you.
But what you do not know is that once a Lemurian falls truly fond of someone, they become dangerously patient. He will wait, like the tide that keeps arriving, until the shore gives way grain by grain, and little by little slides into the waiting sea.
As someone who collects a LOT of physical media but doesn’t make a lot of money, I want to share the rule that keeps my wallet from crying out in despair every time I enter a store. I don’t remember who I got this from, but thank you whoever you are because it has been a game-changer when it comes to building a large collection without breaking the bank.
The $1 per hour rule. It’s exactly what it says on the tin. If I’m purchasing physical media, I consider it good value if I can expect to get at least one hour of enjoyment for every dollar I spend on it.
I don’t remember what I spent on BG3, but I know it was a good deal because I’ve logged 600 hours in it. Hades II costs $30, and I was more than happy to pay that because I know I’ll play it for at least 30 hours. When I add books to my library, I almost exclusively buy used books that cost under $5 because 5 hours is a good average estimate for how long it takes me to finish a novel.
Will there be a treat you splurge on every now and then? Of course, but $1 per hour is a good standard to stick to if you want to responsibly build a dragon's hoard of physical media.
Ultimately, she spent 20 hours redoing the copy from scratch — and with her $100-per-hour rate, that meant her client was shelling out $2,000 for copy that likely would have ended up being far cheaper had a human just written it in the first place.
So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.
I love the lawyer metaphor, because whenever I see “John knew that...” in prose writing I immediately think “how? How does he know it?” Interrogate your witnesses. Cross-examine them. Make them explain their reasoning. It pays dividends.
First, let me preface this with something very important: you can treat all of this advice as SECOND-DRAFT ADVICE. It is so much easier to rewrite this kind of stuff once you have words on the page. Telling yourself the first draft is totally appropriate and acceptable.
What we’re talking about here are FILTER WORDS (and to some degree verbs of being). Yes, “thought” words are included. But so are “heard, saw, looked, tasted, smelled” etc.—most words having to do with the senses.
This isn’t black and white advice; sometimes you’ll use these words and that’s okay. They’re not WRONG. They’re just weaker. And they’re weaker because they create distance between the reader and the experience of the character.*
If you want your reader to feel like they’re experiencing the story right alongside the character, you want to cut down on filter words.
*This is particularly important with first person and close third POVs. The reader always knows whose eyes they’re seeing through and thoughts they’re privy to. So you don’t need to tell them “I saw X.” Or “I heard X.” Or “I thought Y.” You can just jump into the action/observation as it’s happening.
This is also where you want to pay attention to verbs of being.
“It was rainy.” Versus: “The rain pounded against the roof.” Or “The rain howled like an injured animal.” Or “The rain tapped against the window like an anxious lover.” All of these are inviting the reader deeper into the experience of the story by using stronger verbs and similes. And, at the same time, they stir feelings (instead of TELLING feelings). And feelings keep your reader engaged. Engaged readers keep turning pages; engaged readers become FANS.
The most valuable advice that Author Ex gave me through the years that we wrote together was this: the problem with all these filter words is that they create distance in the POV.
That means that when you read a line like
John saw that the curtains were open.
It immediately takes you OUT of the character's perspective and instead tells you what they experience as a secondhand observation.
You don't have to get fancy or purple with how you rephrase things like this. Not everything needs a ton of breathing room.
You wanna know what's perfectly impactful while keeping a tight POV?
#it’s so tasty and it comes in so many flavors#does the character self-loathe and feel anguished by what others intended as an act of forgiveness and grace?#does the character know they need to change but sort of madly wish they could trade the unceasing exhausting improvement journey#for a flash bang of slate-clearing repentance so they don’t have to *think* about it anymore?#is is a creeping horror as the character realizes no one is going to punish them because everyone else still thinks what they did was okay?#does the character have to live the rest of their life just feeling ever so slightly untrusted by everyone with no way to stop it?#sorry for leaving pretentious tags on tumblr dot com it will happen again
Peer-reviewed tags by @annabelle–cane
for whose sake? @virgomooning - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
