Sparklylanddetective - You Don't Know How Much I Miss You.

Crybaby part 3.

pairing: Bakugou X Fem Reader

Summary: With the bills piling up and no way to know when you will be able to return to work. Your roommate suggests you take a call center job where you can work from home. The job? being an anonymous person for Pro Heroes to vent to.

But no amount of training could prepare you for just how quickly your first caller makes you cry.

Genre: Strangers to lovers, Pro Hero AU

Wordcount: 19.4 k Part 3/6 (this chapter 6.3k)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4: 1/2023

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(If you would like to be added to the tag list, please leave me a comment so I know to tag you next update♥)

Also posted on AO3 (most of my work is hanging out there♥ please check it out!)

use of pet names, cursing, and more sassiness! A little dumb flirting, and mild, very mild spice. Things are finally heating up. jealousy? heavy flirting, but reader just can't accept it.

It took almost a week before you were able to make it back home.

A week left of nothing to do, and nowhere to really go. Put up in a fancy hotel, that lost its shine and glamor the longer you were there. While it was nice the first couple of days, you grew more bored than you ever imagined you could. All that the two of you could manage to do was idly go out and explore shops, mostly just window shopping. But even looking into the expensive department stores and fancy little candy shops. Grew old after a while.

Both your roommate and yourself were off for the week. Since neither of you had access to the required tools to do your job. your boss told you that you could have the time off. Still paid of course, since you were technically involved in a villain attack.

But the entire week you spent longing to get back to your job.

And no it wasn't because a certain loudmouth hero hadn't called you like he said he would either. You still weren't worried about the fact that he may have lied to you and never went to the hospital. That he hadn’t been stubborn and was left to bleed out on the floor of his office. And no you definitely weren't upset at the fact he told you he would call you. And you still hadn't heard anything from him.

Nope, not you.

So when you and your roommate were finally able to go back home. You felt a flood of relief take you as you unlock your door and stepped inside. All the glass and dirt had been cleaned up. A brand new sliding glass door and windows installed in every room. Your property management was quick to apologize. For not having impact-resistant windows and doors installed before you moved in. and delayed the date your rent was due, as a way to apologize.

Using your new scooter you found it a bit difficult to push it across the beige carpet of the living room. What was once your favorite thing about this place was now turning out to be a nightmare to roll across. Opening your door and letting you see your bedroom. It looked almost the exact same way you left it, it just cleaned up. The new window lets the evening sunshine as it set beyond the scope of the tall skyscrapers of the city.

But your bed?

Oh, you beeline straight for it. Almost throwing yourself into the well-worn comforter and sheets. Leaving your scooter behind you spread out. Your limbs stretch to the far corners of the bed laying your head face first into the mattress. As old as your bed was, and as much as you liked to complain about how bad it made your back feel sometimes. You felt comforted by being back in your own space. Soft warm blankets, that had been waiting just for you to crawl back into them and sleep the day away.

It felt so nice to finally be back home, even if it wasn’t big or shiny, this was your little slice of paradise. Carefully crafted. To include all of your little trinkets and things you have collected over the years. You didn’t even realize that you missed it until you couldn’t look at them every day.

You turn your head to the side and just take a moment to breathe. Pulling up your still injured hand you trace the line of stitches on your hand. The doctor told you that you would have to keep them for two weeks. And then come to see him so they could remove what didn’t fall out on their own. The palm of your hand was still tender to the touch, but you could see the start of its healing. A tight pink line ran across your palm, forcing the new skin to stay together. It was ugly and bright against the expanse of your skin.

But it was just a hand, nobody would see that scar.

But it still bothered you to know that you were going to be left with a reminder of your carelessness. That scar still brings back the thought of your mystery hero, and where he was. Maybe he too was getting his own set of scars from fighting a villain.

You hated to admit that you got your hopes up that he would call you the next day. It was stupid on your part when you believed him when he said he would call you later. He was a busy man, there was no reason why he would waste his time talking to you, especially if he had a job to do. But still, the last conversation you had with him, had you yearning to hear his loud and angry voice once again.

You were madder with yourself for getting upset than anything else. He didn’t owe you anything, especially a phone call. But you still found excuse after excuse on why you should be mad at him.

But with going back to work tomorrow you silently hoped in the back of your mind that he would call you. You didn’t even care if he waited until you had a minute left of your day. You just wanted to hear his voice, and make sure he was alive.

The rest of your night was spent, checking out your room, and awkwardly taking a shower. It was always so hard to stand with your foot in a cast, but you were thankful for the doctor who wrapped your foot. He was able to use a hybrid-type cast that you were able to get wet. So taking a shower was easier than with a traditional one. But you still couldn’t put a lot of pressure on the appendage.

You managed the best you could, holding on to the shower wall, and using your good hand to wash your hair and body. Taking extra care to start up your skincare routine. And change into the most comfortable pajamas that you owned. Which really just meant that you wore panties and a tank top. Your roommate was nice enough between catching up on her work emails and making phone calls. To order some takeout.

And you sat in your bed enjoying the small spread of food. Idly playing on your phone, wrapped up in your sheets. And for the first time in forever, you decide to turn on the tv. Letting it idly play in the background of your room. Until you let that little intrusive thought cross your mind. Maybe you should turn on the news and see what’s happening in the world. Maybe see if there were any tracks or big fights that happened this week that you should be privy to.

It definitely wasn’t because you wanted to check and see if your mystery hero had made the news.

Not that you would be able to tell if he had or not. You didn’t know what he looked like, what his hero name was, or even his real name. But still, the thought lingered until you couldn’t fight it off anymore. Grabbing your remote and flipping the channel to the local news. You watch as the two anchors give short replays of the events of the week. Mostly about how a school of kids had been attacked, but heroes were there to save the day.

Smiling faces of children and crying parents played along your flatscreen. And you went back to playing on your phone, convinced that you didn’t care about what was playing on the television. Focused on the clicker game you were tapping away at on your phone. Half ready for bed, a tired yawn leaves you as you endlessly tap your phone. Until you hear the soft knocking of your roommate gently tapping at your door. Before she cracks it open sticking her head inside.

“I know it’s late, but apparently he has been calling nonstop!” she says, forcing you to pull your attention away from your phone to look at her. “He’s on the phone asking for you.”

“Who?” You ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

But you knew immediately who she was referring to. The same gruff asshole that you had been longing to talk to all week.

“Him,” She says. “Boss said she will pay extra if you talk to him now, just make sure that you send her over the time stamps for the call.”

Immediately you perk up at that. You didn’t even care that you were going to get more money for taking the call so late at night. But you didn’t want to let your roommate know that.

“I guess,” you say casually, even though it felt like you had to stop your heart from pounding away in your chest.

“Ok, I'm gonna patch him to your cell, so you can stay in bed,” She says with a sly smirk.

There was no way that you couldn’t tell your roommate about the last call you had with him. About how he was being sarcastic but still sincere in his own way. You retold the entire story to her as she sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom while you took a shower. And she laughed when she told you that you had a major crush on the scaly lizard pro hero who kept calling. The running joke now had her also pointing out every little lizard and gecko. That the two of you came across in every store you went to. And it made you laugh but it still made you yearn just that much harder to hear his voice once again.

She shuts your door and not even thirty seconds later, your phone screen lights up with a call. A private number phone vibrates the phone in your hand.

“Do you even know how fuckin’ long I’ve been trying to get a hold of you?” He growls out as you answer the phone.

He didn’t bother to greet you as a normal person would. But even when he sounded angry, you couldn’t help but feel relief as he talked. And you can hear him take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before he let it out. Like he was working up himself in order to keep himself calm. Silence fills the line as you wait with bated breath on what he has to say.

“You can’t just disappear like that,” He says after a moment, his voice losing its harsh tone. “They kept giving me some bullshit about you being gone." He grumbles into the phone.

It was endearing that he had tried to at least tried to contact you. But you had no access to anything to be able to talk to him.

"They gave us the week off because of the whole being shacked up in a hotel. We can't exactly do our job with no way for people to call us."

"Then how the hell did I talk to you while you were on the train?" His gruff voice snaps.

"They patched you over to my cell." You giggle.

"They coulda done that again."

“If I didn’t know better I would say you might have missed me.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh when the offended huff leaves his mouth. Traveling through the speaker and into your ear. It was just cute how he claimed that he didn’t care, but he was up in arms about not being able to talk to you.

“Whatever.” He finally answers.

But something about the way he said it made your heart jump. It wasn’t full of the anger and rough attitude you have become accustomed to hearing from him. It was softer, quieter.

“I guess I could forgive you for not calling me for a week. I was worried you know!” You say after a couple of seconds letting the laughter die down in your voice.

You couldn’t stay mad at him for something out of his control. He didn’t know that your boss was letting you have the week off and you would be unreachable. And he had put in the effort to try and contact you. The thought made your already jumbled stomach flutter more.

“Don’t try and guilt trip me, I tried.” He barks, but it still doesn’t carry the bite of his normal voice.

"Who would I be if I didn't give you a hard time?" You laugh Into the phone.

It hits you just then how much you actually missed hearing his voice. The way he spoke was harsh and loud, but when he was talking like this. All soft and normal it made your stomach flutter.

You wouldn't dare admit it to him. But you have come to terms with the fact that you may have a little bit of a crush on your mystery man. And it was this exact reason why you had such strict rules you had to follow when talking to him.

They didn't want you to become attached to your callers. They didn't want the anonymity of their business to be put in jeopardy. Because one person couldn't keep things professional. But you couldn't exactly make yourself keep to the rules.

You wanted him to bother you, it didn't matter how late it was. You wanted him to call you and gripe, even if it meant that you had to break a few rules now to keep him around. It was selfish on your part. Stringing him along like this. Because once your leg was healed you would go back to your normal job, and he would lose interest.

Besides the distance you knew had to be between the two of you. There was also the fact that you were a social outcast. Quirkless and once he found that out he would drop you like a bad habit. Just like everyone else did. You didn’t have the luxury of being careless anymore, your heart was sealed off from love for a long time.

Nobody wanted to be friends with a quirkless girl, history proved that to you.

"What's wrong?" You hear him ask if you didn't know him better sounding like he was concerned.

"What?" You ask softly, pulling yourself from your spiraling thoughts. "I didn't hear you."

"You stopped that giggling and shit, so what's wrong?"

"Ever perceptive there hero." You quip. "It's nothing, I think I'm just tired."

You lie through your teeth. But what you were thinking about wasn't anything he needed to know. You also didn't want to tell him about your woes either. He called you to vent, not the other way around. You were here to listen, you weren't supposed to be thinking what you were.

You were already crossing a line.

"I think you're a lair princess."

Either you really were a bad liar, or this guy was just way too perceptive.

“I’m fine, it's just been a long week.” You lie again, but hopefully, it would sound convincing enough for him to drop the subject.

“Being laid up in a hotel too rough on you?” he asks with that sarcastic tone you know so well. “The room service and VIP treatment weren’t to your satisfaction?”

You laugh before you can help yourself. It was a small giggle really, but even with his words, you could tell he wasn’t being mean. It was his way of trying to be playful.

“Can you believe that we didn’t get room service?” You ask mock offended. “We were forced to go out and find our own food! They treated us like common peasants!”

You wave your hand around for emphasis, even though you were the only one who could see it. But it worked, he laughed with you. Deep and rumbly as it traveled through from his side of the line into yours. The familiar fire in your stomach sparks to life at the sound. You can feel your face heat up as well. And again you have to mentally slap yourself for letting something as dumb as a laugh cause you to react like this.

“We will just have to up your hotel accommodations. Next time you wanna stick your face in a window during a villain attack.” He snickers.

“No thanks, I think I learned my lesson with the last one.” You sigh. “Besides I need to leave the heroes to do their work. I don’t want any more flying lessons.”

You lay back in bed, with a smile on your face. Now that you had some time to get over the initial embarrassment of the incident. You could finally have a playful conversation about it. Of course, it helped that you had your residential smartass to talk to.

As the line falls silent, you let your eyes glance at the tv, the news anchor talking about the latest story of the day. It was the same story from when you first switched over to the channel. The one about the school full of children being saved. But this time you happen to see two familiar faces pop up on the screen. A small gasp left your lips at the realization.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“Oh, I uh left the tv on the news and I just saw the guy who rescued me! And the other one who busted our windows.”

“The one with the fat ass? What’d they do?” He asks but you could hear what you can only assume is a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Looks like they saved an elementary school full of kids.” You say innocently. Squinting slightly to read the headline as it played across the bottom of the screen. “No casualties,” you add.

“Who are they?” He asks, and you could hear rustling around on his side of the phone.

“I can’t tell you that.” You chide.

“If it’s on the news, then it’s public information princess.”

God, he really needed to stop calling you that. You had to fight against every piece of yourself to stop from just blabbering their names. As they played under their pictures.

"Your dead set on getting me fired, I know it." You groan into the line.

"Just read me the headline then." He chuckles in your ear.

"Pro heroes Deku and Dynamight save a schoolhouse from a metal villain." You read in a hushed tone.

Like being quiet about what you were saying was going to make it easier. For you to further break the strict rules of your contract. But still, he was right in the technical sense. You weren’t breaking any rules the company that paid you set in stone. You were just innocently reading your mystery man a headline from the news. He could just as easily be watching the same local channel you were right?

Complete coincidence.

But he was silent on your end. No witty comeback, or smart-ass reply. But you could hear his breathing pick up as the silence continued.

“Which one saved you?” He asked, but his voice wavered ever so slightly.

It was like he knew something you didn’t, and you did not enjoy that feeling at all.

“The green-haired one,” You say softly.

You didn’t say his name, for your own reasons. But from what you understood from the news that these two were some kind of god-like duo. Working together since their high school days. It was kinda dumb how you didn’t realize sooner. That you had been witness to the number one and number two pros in the country fight right on your street.

“Course he fuckin did.” He grumbles into the phone, and you can hear more rustling going on on his end of the line. Like he was doing the same thing you were, just laying in bed having a conversation with someone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, adjusting yourself further into your bed.

You continue to watch the tv as it plays more of an interview with the green-haired hero. Smiling and happy as he talked to a reporter. He was cute, you had to give him that. With his curly mess of hair and freckled face. It wouldn’t be far out of the scope to say that he was attractive, but not for you.

Instead, your eyes wander to the background as the other hero stomps his way over to his partner.

They were massive, you had seen that firsthand. But the ashy blonde that stormed up to his friend and leaned in to whisper in his ear had all your attention. His sharp red eyes were hidden behind a black mask.

You had to give it to technology these days. The definition was so good you could see the flecks of dirt and soot that lingered around his face and in his hair. And the way his hero suit clung to each and every curve of his well-defined muscles. The tightness leaves little to the imagination. Your eyes can’t help but take in the broadness of his shoulders, and how his arms flexed as his arms swayed. All the way down to where his belt sat snugly around his slim waist.

God, if only you had been more focused on looking at him instead of that fight when he was right in front of you. He was beyond pretty, even with the sour look on his face, his gums showing as the reporter asked him a question. His mouth pulled up in a snarl as he turned his head and walked away.

But you were right about him having a fat ass. Oh my god, at least you got to see that in person.

“You fall asleep or something?” He barks into the phone.

His rough voice was more than enough to finally break the trance the Blonde on the tv had on you. Physically shaking your head slightly you focus back on your phone call.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to get out. “I got distracted,” You muttered the last part like it would make the heat in your cheeks feel less hot.

“D’you see something you liked?” He asks almost sounding hopeful.

But with the way, the thought entered your brain of maybe the roles being changed around. What if That man had been the one who climb through your busted sliding glass door and flew you down to the ground? Would he have been nice about it? Or would he be grumpy like he was on the television? He was a hero, so he would have to have some kind of bedside manner right?

“Do you know those two?” You ask, with not-so-innocent intentions flooding your mind.

Look you were only human, it was normal to have daydreams about being rescued by big muscular men. Playing out the trope of being a damsel in distress. Waiting with bated breath for your prince to rescue you. To take you away to some magical place where you were free to fall in love.

“You could say that,” He says with a bit of a smirk in his voice. “Why?”

And you could tell he was enjoying himself a little too much from the way he spoke. His voice dripped with something you hadn’t had the chance yet to pick apart. Teasing, but something more lingering just under it? Your head was still playing back the fantasy your mind had cooked up. Only pushing you further into your heart rate picking up, and feeling hot all of a sudden. So much so that you sling the covers from your body in an attempt to cool yourself, not that it did you much good.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” You say embarrassed.

And he has the audacity to fucking laugh at you.

“You liked that green-haired nerd didn’t you?” He accuses you over the line. “Or do you have a thing for blondes?”

“Oh my god, we are not about to talk about this on a work call!” You squeak and fight the urge to hide your face in your pillow.

“Then give me your number and I’ll call you.” He suggests. “I’ll give you all the juicy details you wanna know.”

Oh, he was trying to get you to break the rules for him. And he wasn't even being coy about it either. It wasn't going to be his job on the chopping block if your boss found out about this.

“I will not,” You say simply, pulling your face from your phone, ready to hang up on him.

He growls into the line, even with your phone away from your ear. Hearing something so primal comes from your mystery man. Was more than enough to rattle something deep within your stomach. Sending butterflies soaring around your insides.

“I’m not doing this shit again, give me your number!” He barks.

“I can’t, I’ll get fi-”

“Fired, yeah I fuckin’ know.” He cuts you off to finish your sentence.

And before you even have to chance to talk he starts rambling off a list of numbers to you. Slowing down and repeating them once he realizes that you weren’t writing them down. Quickly as you can you pull out your little notebook and make him start over again, writing the numbers. He promptly hangs up after he makes sure you have all the digits written down.

You can't help but be a little taken aback by what you are looking at. It was clearly a phone number, and you had a minute to process the entire five-minute conversation. He had given you his number and expected you to call him. But you couldn’t make yourself. This was crossing so many lines, and the last thing you needed was to lose your job all because you wanted to talk to him.

But with shaky hands, you type the number into your phone and press the call button. When the call started it only got three rings in before you can hear his gruff voice on either end.

“Before you even start bitchin', you didn’t break any rules,” He says roughly. “I gave you my number.”

It was like he knew you were panicky over calling him. Which was sweet, even if he was pushing the limits. He was doing just enough to stay teetering on the line of what would keep you safe.

“I just can’t afford to get fired,” You say softly.

“Listen you fucking crybaby, if you get fired I’ll just pay your bills till you go back to your old job or whatever.”

You don’t know if it was still the sinful thoughts lingering in your mind. Or your own stupid brain working against you. but you can’t keep the words from flowing out of your mouth.

“I could enjoy having a sugar daddy.”

In your mind, you said it innocently enough. But you could hear the absolute sin that was dripping from your tone as soon as the words slipped past your lips. Almost shocking yourself as the sentence marinated in the air. Gently flowing from your end of the line and going right into his waiting ear. You had zero business sounding like that. Especially when it was another hero That caused this type of reaction out of you. It wasn’t fair to the man you were on the phone with to let your sluttiness be known while he was the one here talking to you.

“I bet you could.”

And by all things holy in this world he let his voice drop lower than you ever expected it to go. You could physically feel the chill that ran down your spine. As his voice caused your body to be engulfed in flames. It felt like warm honey was running through your veins. Fuck, he did that on purpose. He was matching your energy, and you could not take it.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you try and backtrack. Trying to sound less seductive, but it still sounded flustered.

“That’s a shame,” He tsks into the phone. “Now tell me which one of those two idiots stole your attention away from the most important hero in your life?”

You were simply going to melt into a puddle on the bed if he kept up that conceding attitude. You Could not handle feeling this flustered. The added risk of him somehow holding this conversation against you later on. As some type of blackmail made you clench your thighs together.

All you could do was sputter and stumble out your words, nothing coherent coming out. You at one point even stopped and took a deep breath, but your words were still failing you for a moment. Even as he darkly chuckled into the phone. Thoroughly enjoying the torment you were going through.

“The nice one!” You lie.

It was the biggest, fattest lie you could muster given the circumstances. He didn’t need to know that you were lusting after the current number two pro. He definitely didn’t need to know that it was his pretty face. And bulging muscles that kept playing through your mind.

Your nice hero Deku was completely forgotten. In exchange for the snarling blonde still playing on the tv.

"Liar." He teases. "You like 'em mean."

"I do not." You try to keep the nervous laughter in your voice from making its presence known. But your voice betrays you when it cracks a little.

"You wouldn't keep taking my calls if you liked nice guys."

He said it was such confidence that you even believed him. Although you suppose he had a point, even so, you would never admit that to him. This was still a pro, completely unattainable as far as you were concerned. If it weren't for your job this guy wouldn't give you the time of day to even talk to him.

But still, it was a nice little fantasy you had going on.

"I have to take those calls." You remind him.

"Yeah? Well, what about this one?" He coos.

He had you there, completely.

"Courtesy call. Just to let you know this won't be happening again."

"Nah, you're gonna keep taking 'em." He says with a low rumble in his chest. "Wanna know how I know?"

"You don't." interjecting his point.

"Because as much as you wanna act like a brat, I think you like being a good girl more."

He was right, and yet again you were left unable to process much of anything. This entire conversation has spiraled out of your control. And left you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something unknown, scary even. But holy hell, why did you enjoy the things he was saying to you?

"You can't say stuff like that!" You whisper harshly.

You roll onto your side, and pull your cover half up your body, shielding yourself from no one but yourself. But it made you feel less vulnerable when you had this man calling you names like he was. Everything from your original crybaby, to now good girl. This man was pushing all of the right buttons to keep you flustered.

"And why not princess?"

And there was the other one. Such a simple little term really. But you couldn’t stop your body from reacting to the way he said it. Deep baritone voice, laced with every intention to make you squirm around in your bed. You clench your thighs together again. Just to relieve some of the building tension you felt growing in your lower body.

"Cause you can't just accidentally flirt with people!" You scold him, still more embarrassed for yourself.

You couldn’t force yourself to come to terms with the fact he may have been so suggestive on purpose. It had to be an accident on his part. Nobody flirted with you, even on those long nights spent at the club you worked at. Drunken bodies weave together under the neon lights and strong bass of the speakers.

It was one of your favorite things to watch at work. When people finally started to let loose and feel the music. When they would grow bold enough to grab the hand of that friend or stranger. Who had been eyeing them the entire night.

Dragging them to the dancefloor and sensually dancing with each other. Sometimes they didn’t even get through an entire song before they would be attacking each other. Tongues darting out to taste the remains of alcohol still on their lover's lips. Hands traveling under shirts and skirts to grab handfuls of thighs and hips.

You always wondered what it would be like to have that in your life. A spur of the moment romance, even if just for the night. To have someone want you with the same messy passion as you witnessed time and time again.

"I'm a hero, I don't do anything by accident." He cockily reminds you.

“You don’t even know who I am or what I look like!” You try to counter his suggestion. “I could have four arms and be purple for all you know.”

“I know more than you give me credit for.” He chuckles like he already knew everything there was to know about you. “But I’ll back off if you want me to. Don’t need ya cryin’ on me again.”

“It’s late, I really need to go to bed.” You try your best to divert the situation.

It wasn’t going to quiver the aching you now felt in the apex of your thighs. But you needed to have a moment to breathe once again. And keeping him on the line was going to do nothing but make your break. You were only about two seconds away from throwing everything to the wind. And letting him have anything he wanted from you as it was. And like a fool you were still trying to cling to the hope you could keep some semblance of professionalism. Despite your call being a private one.

“You gonna be thinking of me while you fall asleep?” He asks in that same sinful tone.

Closing your eyes. You bite the tip of your thumb in hope of quieting the sound of the soft moan as it slipped past your lips. Biting harder on the pad so you can focus back on getting off the phone. Saving what little sanity you still had left.

“My roommate and I think you're a scaly lizard man,” You say dumbly, talking around your sore thumb.

That was sure to kill the mood. Compare him to a cold-blooded reptile! He would get the hint and lose any intrest in you once he found out about your joke. Hopefully, he didn't like funny girls.

“Only one way to find out,” He says.

“What does that mean?” You asked slightly panicked. Your heart pounding away in your chest now for an entirely different reason.

“Get some sleep,” He chuckles into the phone again. “Night crybaby.”

He didn’t even give you the chance to say goodbye, fuck you, no nothing before the line goes dead. And you let out a frustrated sigh before you pull your phone away from your head and throw it down on the bed. You had half the mind to call him back and yell at him for being so rude.

But you knew that was what he was probably waiting for.

For you to call him back so he could find another excuse to keep you talking to him. If you could even call it that. It was all about him talking so inappropriately and you being unable to control how your body reacted to it. It was almost like he could sense what he needed to say to turn you into a gooey mess.

But he wouldn’t win that easily. He didn’t know just how petty you could be. You could easily just go to bed and forget all about him. Block his number and carry on with your life. But you still felt that growing itch to reach for your phone and do it anyway. Already missing the way he sounded when he was getting what he wanted.

And you didn’t fight the urge for very long. Because as soon as you heard the notification for a text go off on your phone. You immediately shoot out your hand and grab the device. Quickly swipe your finger across the screen and pull up your text messages. If the picture that was just sent to you was real then you were wrong, so very fucking wrong.

He wasn’t some scaly lizard man like you joked about before.

You can’t help but let your eyes take in the sight lighting up your screen. His head was completely covered by the flash from his phone. But the sight you were blessed with just about made you pass out. The rest of his body was hard, with chiseled abs, and scars dancing along the curves of his chest and hip. All the way down to the deep V that was on display. Your eyes stopped once they reached the hem of the extremely low-sitting sweatpants. That were barely hanging from his hips. No question in your mind that he had to be bare underneath them.

You couldn’t pull your mind to focus on anything else but the photo haunting your screen. The man had a body built like a fucking deity, strong, wide, and muscular for days. Every inch of his exposed sun-kissed skin just begging to be touched. You had to force your mouth to close. Before you actually started to drool in your lap at the sight that was bestowed upon you. Only for three little dots to appear under the photo. A snarky little message appears from the unsaved number on your screen.

“Still think I’m a scaly lizard man?”.

Taglist: (I'm sorry If I missed anyone I need to set up a whole post for people who want to be tagged)

@mary-jinx, @tnqueen, @sumztrix, @hypernovaxx, @purplepotato13

1K notes View Post

sparklylanddetective

1 year ago

Jesus fucking Christ. This changes my brain chemistry a little.

⠀ ⠀ ℐℱ 𝒪ℛ𝒜𝒩𝒢ℰ 𝒲𝒜𝒮 𝒜 𝒫ℒ𝒜𝒞ℰ .ᐟ

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 12.8k word count , black fem reader [ she / her prnz ] , both you and izu’ are 21 , mean farmer boy izu’ , oral sex [ r. + i. receiving ] , dom / sub dynamics , sex in a barn , daddy kink , big dick izu , slight bratty reader , pet name usage [ ex. baby, honey, shortstuff ] , creampie , bit of cum inflation , cervix kissing , izu’ doesn’t find cussin’ ladylike , izu’ is also huge in this so . . i don’t care how tall you are he’s bigger .

belladonna's note to you .ᐟ . . . smthg to keep u cutiez satiated while i study mi lil tushie off ໒꒰ ♡◞ ˕ ก ꒱১ < 3 i wrote dis like . . a year ago now ‘n only loosely edited it sooo my style may be a lil wonkyyy . have fun readin’ n minorzzzzz Do Not Interact !

it’s true.

you know — what they say about the stars being more brighter, more irradiant . . . vibrant in the countryside. growing up in the city, you had thought it was a lie. sure, sometimes you had to squint past thin layers of smog and gloom, but you could always see the stars just fine. distant, celestial bodies made up of hydrogen and helium, floating kilometers, light years away — its always fascinated you. it being not only stars, but space, time, the idea of knowing that you reside on a tiny, floating rock with almost eight billion other people.

moving from an almost two million people populated city to little sycamore square, seeded right near the border of georgia and alabama on a measly two hundred and fifty acres of land wasn’t a change you would have considered trivial nor minor. no, it took a lot of thought — literal years of weighing pros and cons until you just decided, screw it, you simply couldn’t take it anymore. the constant whirring of helicopters circling the entire city, spine vibrating honks of cars and double decker buses aching your sensitive ears as they sped down the three lane street a block away from your home, and constant stories of robberies and gun violence on every breaking news channel you flicked through on tv, to modestly put it, did not sit right within your spirit.

your uncle maevis, the deemed black sheep of the family, had ran off from the city when he was eighteen years old. no one had heard from him in years until there was a call from him to your mother fifteen years later, when you were twelve, telling her that he had became the mayor of some quaint, little town named sycamore square and gotten married to the town’s pastry shop’s owner.

from then on, you suppose that you and your uncle maevis grow close. he apologizes for leaving the family on such a bad note, realized that it was wrong for not checking in sooner ( could’ve spared your grandparents the dozen missing persons report they had battered the police into filing every couple years ). you and him exchange letters, talk on the phone, he even began to send you pictures and postcards of the town’s beautiful scenery.

and in a way, you fall in love with sycamore square without even needing to physically be there.

breaking the news to your parents that you wanted to leave the bird’s nest when freshly turned eighteen wasn’t easy — not by a landslide. constant asks of ‘ are you sure? ’ and snide comments of the town potentially having ‘ mountain lions ’ and ‘ roaming bears ’ were propelled into your ears as a last minute save to get you to stay.

but, you had already made up your stubborn, little mind. you were leaving and there was not a thing they were able to do about it. you were a legal adult, they couldn’t chain you to the porch steps even if they tried.

uncle maevis and his wife anna welcome you into their home with open arms and you quickly adapt to your new life there, living as the mayor’s niece.

to a certain extent, you were treated almost as if you had been a celebrity.

upon your first week living there, dozens after dozens of homemade pies, fruit baskets, and bouquets of beautiful flowers were sent to your home. the town even threw you something close to a ‘ homecoming ’ ceremony to express their happiness and gratitude of having someone of sweet grace and prestige move down to their little neighborhood. you’re aware that everyone takes liking to you . . . and quite quickly, even so.

in that case, everyone aside from him.

a soft breath of air pushes past your nostrils as your eyes catch on glints of forest green shaded beneath jet black curls that flop and dance in the comforting wind.

izuku midoriya.

everyone in town calls him ‘zuku, ‘zu, or simply midoriya. he had caught your eye on your third day having been moved to sycamore square. back then, he had been eighteen too, but he was so . . big. his stature was one of the first things you noticed about him.

natural, refined, sterling hard muscle cloaked with smooth, ivory skin, dotted with speckly freckles the color of honey. through enough gossip and factitiously-innocent asked questions to your auntie anna, you’ve come to learn that izuku has lived in sycamore square for almost his entire life.

him and his grandma reside over near the outskirts of town on a few, large acres of land in a white, oak trimmed farmhouse that’s been passed down through his family for generations.

some mornings, when you go to sit out on the porch swing to watch the rising sun bring in its rays of light with a nice, hot cup of coffee in hand, if you squint hard enough, you can see him on magic — his onyx black, thick maned, friesian horse that he rides to herd in cattle and flocks of sheep, galloping across the horizon.

he does a lot for the town, you came to realize.

most of everyone’s milk and cheese are churned right from the cows he owns, he makes sure to package boxes upon boxes of fresh eggs made by his brood of hens and give them to the town’s grocery and convenience stores, but him and his family are most known for their poultry.

“don’t know what it is about it, but ‘zu has to have the best bacon i’ve tasted in my entire life,” uncle maevis seems to mumble every morning at the table as anna plates his second serving of breakfast.

he’s polite. when he rides through the busy plaza on magic, you can hear him give sweet, “g’mornin ma’am”s and “how ya’ doin, sir?”s, sometimes even tilts his little invisible, wide rimmed hat to a group of high school girls when he catches them staring wide eyed and slack jawed at him and pretends not to notice how they immediately burst out into squeals and giggles when he’s far enough in fear of him hearing them freak out about how ‘ handsome ’ and ‘ gentlemanly ’ he is.

you think he’s managed to have a full conversation with everyone in your two thousand person populated town but you. and you don’t know why.

but, in a way, it’s not like you’ve tried to talk to him neither.

because just as how easily polite, kind, and sweet izuku can be, you find that he can also be the slightest bit intimidating.

it’s scary.

you think the closest you’ve ever been close to him has to be every fifteenth of every month — when the town opens its monthly farmer’s market where local farmers and people of the neighborhood sell fruit, vegetables, poultry, and a bunch of crafty knick knacks to consumers.

you sell your own, homemade candles followed by flower seeds by the pound. your little booth is always a hit and it makes you happy to hear praise of how good your candles smell because you put a lot of hard work into it. it’s not an easy task and you’re only able to sell around ten to fifteen each time.

one of the main reasons why you drive yourself to even crank those out every month is because izuku’s booth is always in front of and two down from yours. you’re able to get the best view of him come when the crowds ebb and dwindle out. his booth sells, of course, produce and handmade soap bars made of honey — a town known product that’s been made by his family for years.

you watch him smile at the people who walk up to his booth and give a pretty, little handsome laugh and bestow soft kisses on the rosy cheeks of infants as if he were the next living messiah and you try, you desperately try not to, but it’s hard not to feel a tinge of jealousy spark in what feels the base of your tummy at it all.

not of him, no, but of everyone else he interacts with. why won’t he talk to you?

“hey, babe,” anna’s giving you a soft smile as you trudge up the three steps that opens up to the large porch of your home. she’s standing in the doorway behind the flimsy, screen door which she pushes open to aid you in carrying the few, heavy bags that contain your candle making materials and set them down on the glossed, mahogany floors in the foyer.

a warm scent of sweet pepper and vanilla balms the air and drifts itself inside of your nose the moment you step foot over the threshold.

you sniff, “you’re baking?”

anna nods and wipes her hands on the apron she wears while walking to the kitchen, “mhm. i heard ‘zu’s grammy came down with some nasty flu. i made her a nice, little basket full of some teas and remedies and baked her an apple pie,” she says as you follow her. “would’ve got you to do the pie, goodness knows how good your lil’ hands are in the kitchen, but i forgot the market opened today and you ran out the door before i can tell you.”

you can feel warmth bloom across the surface of your cheeks as you look away. maybe you were a little extra excited to see izuku today, “sorry.”

“it’s fine, no worries.”

you watch her pull down the door of her teal-colored, antique, double oven and then a plump, steaming hot apple pie is set on the windowsill overlooking the backyard seconds later to cool.

anna gives you a smile, “you think you can run this care basket down to her for me? i’d do it myself but—“

“—sure, sure,” you’re already backing up from inside the kitchen to hurry on upstairs. “just lemme go change and i’ll be right on down.”

you’re aware of what this could potentially intel and lead to — you finally meeting izuku for the first time. there’s a bud of meager enthusiasm sprouting within your chest that you find hard to keep down. you have always made it a goal to look your best, no matter time or day — pretty skirts, dresses, blouses, and mary janes a staple in your wardrobe collection. nonetheless, you can’t help but want to look your absolute best just in case of you both stumbling into each other.

so, pulling out your favorite emerald green, white lace trimmed, thin strapped dress made of silk that clenched tight along the bodice to bring out the shape of your figure didn’t seem like a blunder. you make sure to adorn a few thin, gold necklaces to piece it all together and pin back a few of your locs — long, they reached all the way past your butt — with pretty clips to bring out your face more.

“tell her that me and the mayor hopes she gets well soon, alright?” anna’s sending you off with a wicker basket full of tea bags, jars of marmalade, the pie, and a bouquet of baby’s breath in arm. “hurry along.”

you find sycamore square to be at its prettiest during dusk and dawn. towering mountains thread along the perimeter of the entire town, acting as its own welcome and come again sign and big, beautiful, camphor trees and shrubs of roses and hibiscus line the one lane roads. you realize that you walk with a little pep in your step as the fresh, late morning air wafts over your face, bringing with it the scent of dew and cedar.

izuku lives on the most captivating piece of land in town, you think. the closer you get towards the house, the more homes and shops start to disperse until there just weren’t anymore. the pavement evens out to a long, winding, dirt road, corralled by wooden, split rail fencing and miles of meadow stretches out towards your left and right.

the closer you get, the drier your mouth feels. you clutch the bouquet of baby’s breath closer to your chest at the sight of the black, oak, glass paneled front door and you’re prepared to knock on it until you realize that there’s a doorbell, so, instead, you settle for just pressing the pad of your finger against the glowing button, hearing a distant, classic ding-dong! echo throughout the house.

you wait.

and while you wait, your head swivels on your shoulder to look towards your left. there’s a a navy blue colored barn about a yard away whose door was left partially ajar. you wonder, just wonder, if izuku was maybe in there — milking the cows, feeding magic, raking up hay that probably covers the entire floor before deciding to ultimately lift the entire haystack with big, strong arms flexing—

the door opens.

an automatic smile covers your face out of reflex as you turn your head back forward.

“. . . hi.”

it’s him.

he finally stands before you, finally looking at you. your voice quickly gets caught in your throat as you realize that you have to lift your chin just to make eye contact with him.

your voice is smaller when you reiterate, “hi.”

his eyes — the tone of moss, pine, and juniper all brewed and fused into one — stare down into yours and he squints them just a bit before lifting a bended arm to lean against the threshold. “. . . can i help you?”

he wears a thick, red and black flannel thrown over a white, muscle tee. his voice is deep, however not too deep to where you couldn’t comprehend his words. he has an accent, of course, he has an accent. it’s a nice, rich, southern drawl. god, you think you’re going crazy.

“uhm,” your fingers tighten around the basket and flowers. “uh, we heard — my aunt, uncle, and i —that your grandma has the flu and we just wanted to, uhm . . . to . .”

izuku’s staring at you — deep green of his eyes a mirror image of chasmal nihility — awfully different than the usual handsome grin that seems to permanently reside on his lips anytime he waltzes into town. you feel your heart give a firm thud against the cage of your ribs before it ultimately seems to . . stop. he seems . . . annoyed by you.

your chin drops, eyes do too, and your voice is now softer, “we heard that your grandma has to flu so, here you go,” you hold out the items you brought and he takes them slowly, as if hesitant. “the mayor and his wife hopes she gets well soon.”

“. . . mhm,” is all he says, before leaning back against the doorframe.

you think your fingers are trembling so you clasp your hands together and hold them behind your back before deciding to spare one last look up at him.

freckles.

so, so many freckles.

dotted along his cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. some are even peppered all over his neck and the broad span of his collar bones and shoulders, you have no doubt that they probably made home along his torso and back, too.

a frown starts to slowly pull down the corners of his lips, “is there anythin’ else?”

oh. “oh! no, no,” a bright smile of embarrassment spreads across your face as you shake your head and slowly take a step back. in doing so, a swift breeze wafts across your face, making you realize that you were standing so close to him before that you were enshrouded in a cloud of his scent. he smells like syrup and pine. “no, uhm, that’s it.”

thick eyebrows rise underneath messy, green curls. “i’ll tell gramma the mayor sends her good wishes.”

you don’t know what you had expected.

maybe a ‘ thank you, ’ or proper goodbye-send off . . certainly not him taking a step back, mirroring you, and swinging the door shut in your face with a firm blam! before you hear the swift shlick! of a lock twisting.

you’re shocked.

speechless, you scoff a slight sound of dumbfoundment prior to turning on your heels and returning back to where you came from.

okay, you think. wow.

on your way home, you replay the interaction again and again in your head. your mother’s always told you that you had too big of a heart, you let people get away with things that they know they can get away with only because it’s you. so, it’s no surprise why your mind drifts off into the conclusion that maybe . . maybe izuku didn’t mean to slam the door that hard. and if he did, maybe he was just having a bad day. that’s not a far off presumption, you muse. it makes sense.

you try not to dwell on it for too long.

he was just having a bad day. that’s all.

from then on, you consider yourself on a constant, steady descent into madness. it’s something you’ve always struggled with — being a people pleaser. and if you ever decide to go to therapy and discuss why you are the way that you are, you’re sure that it would be traced back to either one, your giving always has been disproportionate in each relationship you’ve had and always lacked a return of current reciprocity, or two, who you were and what you wanted has been replaced by the needs and happiness of others — at the cost of your own likes, dislikes, goals, desires, and dreams.

dramatic, you think. although true, but you’d prefer not to delve too deep into that.

“baking soda, flour, butter, sugar, eggs, white chocolate, macadamias, cinnamon, m&ms, and chocolate chips.”

you’re standing inside of the kitchen with a pink, frill-trimmed apron tied over your favorite, plaid skirt and blouse and a small, crumpled piece of notebook paper held between manicured fingers a week later. the ingredients you have written down on the parchment have all been marked with a check right beside them to indicate that you bought them and they’re all laid out in front of you on the counter.

“alright,” you smile, set the paper down, and grab a mixing bowl.

it’s a new day. that means izuku’s probably doing a little bit better.

you’re fully prepared to try again.

baking has always been more of a hobby of yours than job, but, still, it’s also a skill that you find useful. you’re able to bake three different types of cookies — snickerdoodle, m&m, and white chocolate macadamia nut — in the shape of pretty hearts within only an hour and you make sure to envelop them all on a porcelain with plastic wrap to keep warm.

“where are you going?”

maevis is seated on his dark brown, leather, recliner seat in the living room as you’re shoving your feet inside of your pink, high heeled, mary jane shoes.

“down to izuku’s.”

he flips a page of his newspaper, looks at you over the rim of gold framed, rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and gives a small ‘ hm. ’ “alright. be safe.”

you smile and wrap your hand tighter around the red and white checkered wool you have the plate enswathed in. “okay, i’ll be back!”

you’re out of the door on a mission.

making it down to their farmhouse seemed to have taken shorter time than the first. you’re already ringing the doorbell before you’re done rehearsing the lines you planned on saying to izuku as the same bout of nervousness that sparked the inside of your chest the first time returns during which the door opens.

“( ❤︎ )!”

you grin, “ms. aya, hi!”

izuku’s grandmother is a tiny woman, standing at only five foot with thin, waist length curls the same forest-green tone of her grandson’s. you greet her with a hug when she opens her arms and a nice scent of toffee and cedar glides within your nose the moment your chin touches her shoulder.

“how are you feeling?”

she gives you a soft smile and waves you further inside the house after shutting the door. “oh, i’m fine now. the tea your aunt sent me helped a lot, tell her i said thank you for me, dear.”

she leads you down the foyer. you find the interior of their home to be very classic — high ceilings completed with wooden beams, dark floors, and a curved staircase a few feet away from the entrance.

ms. aya ushers you to the kitchen, “c’mere,” she says excitedly. “sit, sit! feels like i haven’t seen you in so long. how’ve you been?”

you take a seat on the bench section of the dining room table just as a loud shrill of a tea kettle went off, signaling aya to put on an oven mit, grab it from the stove top, and set it on a coaster.

“i’ve been good,” is your reply. “i just stopped by to drop off these cookies i baked for you and your grandson — uh, izuku.”

“ ‘zu?” she looks over her shoulder at you while carefully pouring the steaming, hot water into a short mug. her eyes glance away and eyebrows slowly begin to gather, “speakin’ of ‘zu, where is—“

a door closes and you hear the gruff sound of a man clearing his throat a few feet down the hall. on compulsion, your spine straightens and all the confidence you had gathered while walking over here demolishes the second pretty, green eyes meet yours and a frown seems to instantly take place on his face.

“ ‘zu, where were you?” aya clicks her tongue and shuffles over to him.

you think they look a bit silly standing side by side — tiny, frail aya and big, strong, perspiring izuku. no flannel today, he’s just in another muscle tee tucked into a pair dark washed jeans, and heavy boots. your eyes flit this way and that, drinking in the sight of thick biceps, sharp collarbones, and a stout neck veneered in a thin layer of sweat.

his shoulders are rising a bit faster than normal. he’s out of breath. “choppin’ wood,” he tells aya through a soft mumble before he’s leaning to kiss her forehead and brush past you to the refrigerator without another glance given your way.

the air within the kitchen seems to spark a new tensity . . . and you’re not sure as to why. what was once lighthearted feels now unsettled. a dumbbell appears to have taken home within your chest and you look down at your fingers which thumb at the knot holding the plate of cookies together.

“well, aren’t you going to say hi?” aya takes a seat across from you. “. . i don’t think you two have met yet, have you?—“

“—we have.” izuku lets the fridge door slam closed as he opens up a cap to a bottle of water.

aya hums in consideration. “oh,” she coo’d. “well, she bought us cookies. c’mere, ‘zuku. try one. she bakes just as good as anna.”

your hands fall to your lap and you direct your vision to them as aya undoes the fabric and slips off the plastic wrap on the plate. izuku gives a soft sigh and lets slow, wide, heavy steps carry him over to the table where you sit.

you.

he cuts his eyes at you, watching you sit there, almost curled into a ball as if you didn’t want him to see you. good. the cookies on the plate look appetizing — heart shaped . . that’s cute — and his stomach growls at the sweet scent that spirals up from them into his nose. the m&ms catch his attention first. shelled chocolate candy of all colors of the rainbow, buried shallowly into the soft dough with a few chocolate chips in between.

you take a peek up just in time when his long, thick fingers pick one from the plate and your big, pretty eyes follow his hand all the way up to his lips to watch him shove the entire cookie inside of his mouth while staring at you blankly . . . “no oatmeal raisin?”

he’s talking to you.

you swallow and slowly shake your head, “n-no,” you utter, unable to look away from him. “just . . m&ms, snickerdoodle, and, uh, macadamia and white chocolate.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just rubs his fingers together to dust the crumbs off of them and you flinch when some fall on your tiny skirt. “hm,” he murmurs, grabs his water bottle, then walks out of the kitchen without another word uttered.

your posture slumps and you let a heavy exhale. with him gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

he hates you.

no, it’s not just a simple dislike ( as if you could deal with that, anyway ). he hates you and you don’t know why. it’s bothersome.

each time he catches your eye in the plaza while he’s talking to someone, you can literally see the edges of his smile go frayed prior to him looking by away. you don’t stop with the cookies, either, no, you drop off pie, cakes, and candles to the izuku residence, all in effort to somehow get a hint as to why or, even better, an explanation, but he’s quick to brush you off, exit the room, or is just simply not in at that moment.

aya, of course, is more than happy to spend more time getting to know you. and a part of you feels bad at knowing a teeny, tiny bit of you only stopped by every couple days was to see her grandson, but, honestly, can you help it?

you’re drawn to izuku like a stupid, little moth to a blaze.

when you catch him at the town’s convenience store while buying lemons and sugar for your uncle’s famous lemonade, you can’t help but step away from the counter, losing your place in line just to follow the mop of moss-green curls all the way to the back of the store where alcohol, gauzes, and all things first aid are stocked.

your steps are quiet and slow as you round a shelf to watch him squint his eyes, bend his neck, and read a description on a box of bandages.

you think your eyes catch the blotch of blood seeping through the white tee he wears before anything — thick, runny, and the color of merlot, dripping down to the light wash hemming off his levis. “i-izu’,” you’re gasping and shuffling over, hardly needing time to think about your own actions. the heels of your loafers clicking against the linoleum catches his attention. “god, are . . are you okay? you’re bleeding—“

“—i know that—“

“—do you need help? uhm,” you’re setting down the small basket holding the sugar and lemons to open up the satchel you wear, hoping that you have something to aid him with. “i should have—“

he bites out a low, “—i’m fine—“

“—actually, matter of fact, no. how ‘bout i just buy some gauzes and neosporin myself and i can patch you right on up—“

“—i’m fuckin’ fine!”

you jump and large, spooked eyes shoot up to meet his. izuku’s fists ball and he takes a step closer so that he’s looming over you — a threatening vice of strength and you’re left to hold your arms around yourself in fear of him hurting you. “that’s what’s fuckin’ wrong with you city folk,” he rasps quietly, eyes shifting between the both of yours as if he were making sure you were understanding each word that came out of his mouth. “always thinkin’ y’all know everything and what’s best. can tell you right now that i’d rather stand here ‘n bleed out than let ya’ help me.”

oh.

there it is, you muse. finally.

izuku watches the corners of your plump, full lips wobble and your bottom lip juts out into a darling pout as your eyes flicker down from his, to his neck, chest, then the floor. “o-okay,” you whimper, voice soft. “alright. fine.”

your head snaps back up and you seem to try to recuperate your previous poise but when it doesn’t work, your entire face crumbles and you make sure to shove past him with a hard nudge of your shoulder into his side to get him out of your way.

and you wouldn’t call it depression, no, but you are . . . really sad for the next couple days.

your bed is your safe haven and you stay wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and plushies, dozing in and out of sleep between hours of crying your eyes out. if he wants to hate you, then that’s fine. you can hate him, too. it isn’t that hard.

maybe this was just what you needed for you to finally build a spine and speak up for yourself.

“hey, babe.”

you’re a whiny, little mess, letting anna sit upon your bed and stroke her hand gently over your silk, sleeping cap while you lay your head on her lap. she makes sure to check up on you once every few hours — whether that be just opening the door and making sure you’re alive or, at least, trying to get you to eat something. she doesn’t pressure you into telling her what has you so upset, nor to get up out of bed, and you adore her for that.

“wanna eat?”

it’s morning, around ten am. you showered only a couple hours ago after not being able to sleep and you considered actually getting dressed and going to run a couple errands for the house today for the first time in a while.

but, then, the doorbell’s ringing, uncle maevis is yelling upstairs that it’s for you, making you climb out of your sanctum of warmth and serenity, catch one glimpse of freckled cheeks when you make it to the railing, and then turn around. “no,” is all you grumble, catching anna’s bewildered expression as you climb back into bed and shove your face underneath a pillow. “no.”

she softly asks you, “who was it?” and gets up to check herself. only, it’s clear, that izuku has followed you upstairs because you soon head her give a little gasp and the honeyed, contralto of his voice rumbling out a calm, “g’mornin’ ma’am,” from your bedroom threshold. “i was hopin’ that i could talk ta’ her f’a second . . . f’just a moment.”

you curl yourself deeper underneath your blanket, almost trying to make yourself appear invisible. maybe, if you curl tight enough you can disappear, or better yet, he won’t see you.

“angel?” anna’s touching your shoulder and you huff and pull away. “i’m gonna let ‘zuku talk to you for a second, okay? i’ll be right downstairs. call me if you need me.”

please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave.

her footsteps recede down the hallway and you sigh.

with your aunt gone, it leaves izuku standing in your doorway, and normally he’d ask a woman for permission to enter her bedroom but he knows you’re just as stubborn as a bloody-minded bull, so he walks in on his own and lets his eyes catch on the pretty decor of your room.

you have an an arch shaped window straight ahead with a giant pillow and plush animals covering the floor underneath it. there’s a bookcase of all sorts of material aligned with a wall right beside it so he thinks that that may be your little book nook — cute. a classic tortoise shell vanity is directly across from your canopy bed, and the wall behind it is curtained with fairy lights, polaroid pictures, and photo booth strip images of you, your friends from the city he supposes, and your parents.

what covers your vanity is all types of things. he lets his fingers drift across your hair brush, jars of edge control, make up, and candles.

“i reckon that y’can’t be mad at me forever.”

he watches the little lump you make in the bed shuffle, proving that you heard him, but you don’t say a word.

izuku slowly rounds the other side of your bed and tries to hold in a smile. “you ignorin’ me?”

silence.

he sighs. he thinks he deserves that. “hey,” he crouches down to become eye level with you once he plucks the blanket you have over your head with his finger and lifts it so that your face is revealed. you’re pouting, of course you are, and yet, still, you’re staring at him like you’re trying to deep fry him like catfish with your eyes. izuku nibbles on the inside of his cheek, “gramma told me you were interested in how i spend my day,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if he were talking to a kitten to keep from scaring it away. “ ‘n so i thought i’d show you.”

your pout deepens into a frown and you slowly lift up so that you’re propped up on your hands, “what makes you think that i’d want to spend the entire day with you after what you said to me, midoriya?”

izuku rubs the inner corners of his eyes with his fingers and tries to explain this in the calmest way possible, “just . . come on. put on your shoes and let’s go.”

you fold your arms, “no.”

god, you’re a piece of work. he licks his lips, sighs, and lets his legs work on stretching him back up to his full height. “( ❤︎ ), please, put on your shoes. i’d like it if you came and spent the day with me.”

you, petty you, fix him with the nastiest scowl your pretty face can scrounge up, and in the sweetest tone possible, tell him, “i’d rather lay here in this bed and suffocate or bore myself to death than spend my day with you.”

something wicked curls within the base of izuku’s gut, leaving him staring at you while working his jaw back and forth — something that has him confused on what it means. because he knows what you just said was similar to what he told you at the store, he knows you’re only trying to get him angry, and to leave you alone, and just for that, he’s going to do the exact opposite.

you flop back down, and this time, turn your back towards him, “get out of my room.”

he takes a seat at the foot of your bed. “well, then i reckon ‘m not leavin’ until you come with me.”

“i’ll get my uncle to drag you out himself.”

“mister maevis adores lil, ol’ me.”

you loathe knowing that he’s right. you drag yourself out of bed with a groan and huff, realizing there was no point in trying to change his mind, and shuffle to your closet to pull out the first article of clothing you see which is a little, white skirt, white, collared shirt, and pink, cropped sweater vest.

izuku clears his throat, standing up when you turn around and fix him with your eyebrows raised and a cocked head. “i’ll leave you to . . .” he looks down at the clothes on your hand then the pajamas you wear — pink, cotton shorts that stopped right underneath your ass and a bralette. “yeah.”

he stands in the hall while you get ready, leaned against wallpaper the shade of eggshells covered in daffodils and buries his fists in his jeans’ pockets, thinking over if this was a mistake or not. in essence, it didn’t take much for him to admit what happened at the store was wrong of him. if he wants to take it a step further, it was fucked up.

but upon his grandma telling him how interested you are in his life on the farm and what he does, he supposed that it’ll be just a tiny step into the right direction of apologizing.

“ ‘m ready.”

izuku doesn’t know why he despises you so much, especially when you look so pretty, every day, all the time. you purposely left him standing in the hall for almost forty five minutes before exiting the room looking as if you were an angel sent directly from up above to stand in front of him. but, izuku’d rather let magic gallop all thirteen hundred pounds of her against his rib cage than admit that, to himself or you.

“what are we doing first?”

izuku’s throwing one, thick, muscled leg over magic’s back to settle on the saddle before reaching a hand down to where you stand on the first step on the porch. your eyes flick from it to magic who only glances at you before giving a small snort and looking away.

“don’t be scared,” izuku reads the evident unease that glistens in your eyes and gives a short head rub to magic who pushes back into his hand with a sound of content. “she’s a sweet girl.”

“are you sure?”

one look at your fingers rubbing nervously against one another as you nibble on the corner of your bottom lip has izuku’s chest doing that weird thing again — makes him feel as if his heart was twisting and clenching and it makes him, strangely, want to pull you into his arms and never let go. any normal person would ignore the feeling, but izuku doesn’t, and to make it worse he responds to it which always has him biting his words out to you in irritation.

“i think i’d know my own horse. c’mon, we’re wastin’ time.”

you struggle a bit but you end up on the horse with your chest glued to izuku’s broad back.

“wrap your arms ‘round.”

you’re hesitant, you’re always so fucking timid around him, but you do it and izuku doesn’t waste another moment prior to giving magic a nudge into her side with the heel of his foot and she takes off down the road on a steady gallop.

you emit a small squeak. initially, its scary. you can’t help but bury your face into the soft cotton of the white button down izuku wears as the world whips past you in a blur. nevertheless, after a while, you take a peek and realize that if you focus on how the wind hits your face and how good izuku smells and if you press your little palms tighter against his chest, you can make out the outline of abdominal muscles ?, and it’s actually nice.

izuku controls magic with natural grace. his posture is straightened yet his lower body is lax so that he’s able to steer her left and right with only his heel if needed. you’re entranced by him.

“y’ever milk a cow?”

he’s leading you to the barn, the same one your eye keeps catching each time you happen to look out of the window while inside of the house with aya.

your thick wedged, vivienne westwood, ballerina shoes are sinking into soft soil as you try to keep up with his long strides. “nuh-uh,” you utter softly. “. . . it looks fun though.”

you hear izuku give a small snort. the sound makes you lift your eyes up to see a soft smile on his face though his eyes were still trained ahead of him. you want to ask him what’s so funny but he’s pushing open one of the tall, heavy doors of the barn and your brain’s immediately going empty at the sight of all of the animals that occupy almost the entire space within.

the pigs are the first you notice, around five of them, caged in a large wooden pin with dried mud caked all over their plump, pink bodies and they seem to snort a greeting towards you and izuku as you, him, and magic past by them, a flock of sheep, and two cows to an empty stall.

“that’s betsy,” he points to a brown spotted cow who lazily chews on a handful of silage. “and that’s tux.” a fluffy black one who stands in the other stall beside her.

you can’t help coo’ing and tickling your fingers atop of betsy’s head. “well, aren’t you precious?”

izuku watches you whisper and mutter to her while he fills magic’s drinking bail with fresh, drinking water. you’re like a child — skipping between betsy and tux and smiling all bright. and they melt their broad, fat faces into your soft palm, all content and happy like they didn’t try kicking and biting izuku the first time he met them all those years ago after being dropped off at the farm at only ten years old by his parents before they ran back off to another country. jealous? fuck no.

you giggle, “you’re so cute.”

maybe.

“c‘mere.” izuku makes you hold out your hands so that he can slap some petroleum jelly on your little palms and tells you to rub it in while he opens betsy’s stall, grab a pail, rinses it clean, strip her, then plop it underneath her udders. “alright, now, watch me.”

you have to bend lower so that you’re in a crouching position like him to watch him grab two of betsy’s teats at the base by two of his fingers on each hand, grip, and slide down.

you’re amazed at how fresh, clean milk is released from the teats into the bucket, and how izuku seems to do it almost absentmindedly, as if this was just a regular ol’ day for him which, in hindsight, most likely is. “now y’wanna hold and, sort of, grip as you slide your fingers down so that the milk can come out.”

his hands are beautiful to you — big and thick, scarred and bruised. effortless strength and brawn eclipsed beneath a sealant of wounds. your eyes flutter from them and up to his face, shyly. he chews on the inside of his cheek when he’s focused which makes his freckles dance along his jaw as his curls flop against his forehead upon his moil and effort.

“here.” izuku lets betsy’s teats go, lifts up and takes a step back. “your turn.”

you’re hesitant. you waddle, still crouched down, to replace his spot and grab the teats carefully.

izuku hears you giggle. “they’re . . they feel weird,” you tell him softly. he watches you start to gently squeeze and pull, and surprisingly, you don’t seem half bad at it.

“may bring you around here more of’en.”

you spend your day milking cows, shaving sheep, gathering eggs, and feeding pigs. it’s fun — living in izuku’s shoes for a day, and in a way, the respect you have for what he does for the town builds because you see that it’s a lot. a lot more than you initially thought, that is. however, still, as fun and riveting it is, being a farmer and all, it’s nonetheless exhausting.

you’re burned out by the fifth hour which happens to be around dusk and thankfully, izuku doesn’t try to push you past what’s clearly your limit; he just leads you back to the barn, mumbling something about him needing to check on magic anyways, and lets you plop down on a haybed while he refills her food and water pail.

wordlessly, you watch him. “. . . you don’t like me very much, do you?”

the barn is quiet aside from the sound of a wooden brush’s bristles being combed through magic’s thick mane and the soft cracking of hay being stepped upon on your end. izuku looks at you and finds your eyes focused on your shoes and lets your words marinate for a moment. the question was blurted out so he gives you the option to backtrack and take it back if needed, but when you don’t, he inhales air through his teeth and looks back at magic.

his answer is coarse, “no.”

at the same time he says, “don’t ask why,” you shoot out, “why?”

the barn goes silent again for a while and you find that now that the topic is here, lingering in the air, there’s no point in fighting to leave it alone. “did i . . did i do something to you?” your voice is soft and frail; makes izuku step around magic to get the other side of her mane just out of fear of him seeing your round, doe eyes looking up at him full of dejection. “ ‘cause if i did, i’m sorry. all this time, i didn’t think of me probably saying something to you in the wrong way or tone, or maybe even, cutting you off at the plaza—“

“—you didn’t do anythin’.”

you watch him toss the brush to the side, close magic’s stall, then sigh. his face goes through a range of emotions before he ultimately settles on looking straight at you with what looks like frenzy sheathed underneath a thin layer of control. “. . think it’s more about me likin’ you a little too much than me not liking you.”

your eyebrows gather in close as they dip in to reveal your confusion, “hm?”

izuku rolls his eyes and turns his back toward you. his neck bows and you’re confused on what he’s doing until you notice his shirt loosening around the shoulders. “gramma tells me that ‘m actin’ like a child . . a schoolboy because i’d rather hold my emotions for you under dislike and insults than tell you how i really feel.”

his shirt falls off of his arms and he throws it over a wooden beam while walking to an empty stall where a chipped, large piece of glass laid propped up, serving as a mirror. beside it is a shelf that holds a first aid kit and he grabs it before coming to a stop in front of the mirror, leaving you to look at him through the reflection.

your mind tugs between being shocked at how chiseled his torso is — broad, thick, strong, and decorated with scars and bruises, both new and old — and concerned . . because that cut you had wanted to nurse back at the convenience store seems to not have gotten the slightest bit better. no longer is he bleeding but the skin around it is purpled and clearly tender; you can see it in the way he flinches back from his own fingers when he reaches out to tear off the gauze.

“god, izuku.” you’re walking over and reaching for a wet wipe in the first aid kit. “you’ve been walking around like this all day?”

“past couple days,” he gruffly corrects, watching you bend your neck so that you’re able to carefully start wiping away the pus and ooze that seems to drip from the scar. he notices the tiny gold hooks and shells that decorate your locs and how you seem to actually be concerned for his well being . . and he pretends not to notice how his heart speeds up in the slightest as the feel of your little fingers brushing along his skin.

“you’re stupid,” you hiss, sparing a look up at him to see his eyes widened with surprise. “you’re so stupid. you haven’t let yourself heal, it’s been open this entire time.”

he doesn’t know what to say, but he stands still and lets you rub on some numbing cream and keeps from admiring how pretty you look through the reflection of the mirror behind you.

your voice is gentle again when you murmur, “but i’m not gonna ignore what you said . . . mm, schoolboy?”

izuku feels himself grow a little embarrassed. he looks away. “don’t know how else to explain it.”

you’ve got this far . . . “so you like me?”

he doesn’t say anything. not until medication is transferred onto a thick, new piece of gauze and the gauze is stuck and patted against izuku’s skin.

“truth is,” izuku waits until you look up at him. until your pretty eyes meet his and leaves his heart stuttering within his chest which he powers through to softly say, “always thought you were sweeter than stolen honey.”

it’s immediate — the adorable smile that starts to creep up on your lips, leaving you to shyly look away from him and drop your forehead between his pectoral muscles which only makes izuku chuckle. “. . i thought you hated me,” you mewl. “izu’ this isn’t fair. you’d see me coming a mile away while you were standing at the plaza and hurry and go the other way, you sprinkled cookie crumbles on me because i didn’t make oatmeal raisin and when i did, you took the whole plate from me without so much a glance or thank you, and you slammed a door in my face!”

when it’s all laid out like that, izuku realizes that he was a bit, fuck that, very rude to you. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, taking a chance to lay a kiss right against the crown of your head. god, he’s sorry. “i’m sorry, i just . . ” he chews the inside of his cheek, trying to explain his emotions as best he can. “i don’t know how to . . like someone.” he doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush before. he’s never craved to hold a person tight, to slip love notes within their back pockets as if he were a sheepish teen, to protect, love, and cherish — not until you stumbled into his life.

you lift your head and his heart melts at the pout that plays on your plump lips, “so, how do you know you like me?”

you’re confused when he grabs your wrist but it all makes sense upon him taking your hand, pressing it against the middle of his chest, and covering his own with it.

thudthudthudthudthud.

your pretty face is amazed, “it’s beating so fast,” you whisper, pressing your hand against his chest more flat as if to get a better feel.

his face softens when he laughs, you realize. he looks almost . . boyish — an innocent gleam in his eyes that you find adorable. “yeah, well . .” he clears his throat. “reckon it’s been beatin’ this hard since i picked you up earlier . . since i first saw you at the plaza three years ago.”

you’re giddy. you really don’t know how else to explain how you feel, especially when you have izuku staring down into your eyes, face soft and eyes dazed, as if he were looking at you for the very first time. you don’t say anything for a second, you want to bask in how this feels for as long as you can, notably upon him bringing your hand that covered his heart up higher so that he can press one, two, three, four, five gentle kisses against each pad of your fingers.

you stare at his lips the entire time — soft, pink, flushed a pretty coral. the air around you both seems to thicken; leaves your own lips parting and your little mouth softly gasping for your next breath upon him pulling you even closer, chest to chest. he’s so big, you realize it for what feels like the thousandth time. he makes you nervously shift from foot to foot as you try to vocalize what you want, leaving him staring at you with amusement shining within viridescent green.

“you can . .” your voice is pitched higher and his fingers tighten around the hold he has around your waist to make you gasp again. “you can kiss me.”

his responding chuckle is so deep that it has you feeling it rumbling throughout your entire body. you hate how a lick of heat starts at the base of your throat and ends with a gush of slick pooling in the seat of your panties. “shit, that’s cute,” he mumbles, still smiling. “how you think i need permission.”

‘ huh? ’ is only halfway out of your mouth prior to his lips touching yours and you, precious you, blossom like a rose within his arms. he kisses you hard, has your back bending rearward from the sheer intensity of it, but you’re all for it. your hands slip across the broad swathe of his shoulders which you dig your fingernails into as if to somehow bring him closer. izuku cups the underneath your jaw between his large hand, so that he’s able to keep your chin up and lips atop his which he nibbles upon tauntingly, tasting sweet cake batter from your lipgloss.

“izu’,” you whimper and go to pull away but as if drawn to one another like a moth to a flame, you only last a second without his lips against yours before you both are back where you started.

your body’s turning and your feet are moving, walking backwards until the underside of your ass touches what feels like the bed of hay and you’re pulling away for the second time to look up into izuku’s eyes. “can i,” his breathing is slightly labored. “. . . can i touch you?”

you want to be reluctant, you want to resist, but izuku makes it hard.

you mewl out a little, “uh-huh,” while nodding your head and he’s really not wasting another second. your tiny sweater vest is lifted off of your head and thrown somewhere irrelevant, and hesitantly, his fingers reach for the buttons of your shirt before he starts to undo them one by one with your hands holding his wrists the entire time.

your tiny skirt is next to go, not before he indulges himself and lets his hand fall down on one fat, plush globe with a sharp slap prior to him taking a nice handful and you squeak while pressing your chest back against his. “my god,” he whispers underneath his breath, looking over your shoulder to do it again. “lemme see it, princess.”

you whine and press your ass back into his big, rough hands, satiating his greed of seeing your ass jiggle and move when you grab it from the bottom yourself and squeeze. izuku moans, “fuck.”

it’s jarring — seeing his usual, stoic composure he seemed to have masqueraded just for you drop second by second, until he’s just . . . izuku. the izuku you’ve seen kiss his grandmother on the cheek on greeting each time he enters the house, the izuku that laughs all loud and cute in the plaza, the izuku that seems to have softened up more notably around you until he’s giggling and kissing the spot right atop your heart prior to him picking you up and then laying you back upon the soft, fleece covering of a hay bed.

“drive me crazy, y’know that?” he mumbles while undoing the ribbons that tie into a bow right above your ankles which allows your shoes to loosen and fall, leaving you cladded in just your short, frilly socks and pink, laced undergarments with little bows decorating the hem of your bra and panties. “know how hard it’s been f’me, honey?” when you don’t answer, too entranced by his hands sliding up the curve of your hips and waist, up to your ribs then all the way back down to your calves, izuku gives a tilt to your body and swats a nice, thick smack to your ass. you squeak. “ ‘m talkin’ to you.”

“h-hah . . no, izu’.” you’re so cute, pouting down at him like you don’t understand . . like you’re clueless to what you’re doing to him and his little, ol’ heart.

“izu’,” he repeats softly, standing from his knees. nobody calls him that but you and he fucking loves it. he remembers the first time he heard you call him izu’, all syrupy sweet down at that convenience store. he’s positive that you hadn’t even known you let the nickname slip out of your mouth, too concerned with him bleeding and all, but it took almost everything within him from not downright ravaging you directly on that linoleum the nanosecond he heard it pass from your pretty lips.

you follow him when he stands so that you’re seated upright with one hand behind you, holding you up — watching his fingers slip one end of his belt through the loops of his jeans and silver buckle so that he can loosen it, pop open the button, and slide down his zipper.

your little body’s inching closer and closer. you aren’t even looking at him, eyes focused right on his crotch after he pulls his jeans and briefs down his thick, muscled thighs, and his cock springs up centimeters away from your nose bridge. the way you gasp is adorable.

your mouth feels dry. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you never wondered about how his cock would look like, late at night, buried beneath the soft fleece and wool of your blankets with green curls, freckled cheeks, bulging biceps, and pretty lips running through your brain at an all time speed like a montage. it’s pretty — tip flushed the same orangey-pink of his lips, firm skin wrapped around all thick, eight inches of him and he curves just slightly upwards.

your fingers lift before they recoil. “can i . .” your voice is quiet; seems to be stuck in your throat.

thankfully, izuku understand you. he hums softly, “want it?”

your hips shift at the sound of his voice — deep, quiet, gentle. your panties are so wet that it’s uncomfortable. you nod, and lift your head when he tilts your chin up so that you can make eye contact with him, “mhm.”

“say it, then.” you almost cum just at the sight of him starting to stroke himself — lazy and steady. “let izu’ hear you say it.”

you’re so pouty. izuku doesn’t understand how fucking precious one girl can be. “i wan’ it,” you whimper.

“want what?”

a glistening bead of pre cum starts to build at his tip. “want your cock, izu’,” you sniffle and push your cheek deeper into his palm. “want it . . in my mouth, please?”

“what a darlin’ thing you are,” he whispers, eyes focused on your lips which part wide open when his thumb brushes across the bottom. “don’t even have to tell you t’ open up . . good girl.”

the first taste of him on your tongue has your eyes simultaneously rolling back and fluttering closed. it’s something that you can’t explain — a certain briny sweetness that makes your saliva build up within your mouth and literally has you drooling over him. you begin a rhythm at a slow, lazy pace . . burying all of him til he touches the hilt of your throat and pulling back slowly while softly humming in content.

“fuck,” izuku whimpers and tilts his head back, letting himself just feel it for a second . . feel how your little mouth wraps around him tight. you’re messy with it — don’t care if your slobber gets all thick, frothy, and fizzy, ‘cause you’d only pull back and smooth it all over his shaft to lubricate him more while smiling cutely.

izuku’s mouth falls open when your little fists melt into the mix and you circle them in opposite directions while bobbing your head. his toes curl in his boots. “oh, goodgirlgoodgirlgoodgirl,” he moans and lets his hips start to rock back and forth. that’s exactly what you are. you’re so fucking good. izuku hates himself for how he treated you all these years. you didn’t deserve it, no, you didn’t.

all of those times he’d see you at the farmer’s market, selling your pretty candles and flower seeds, he’s been wanting to walk over and spark up a conversation with you so bad, but, he never could. in a way, he thinks you intimidated him . . all pretty and sweet, it’s fucking insane how bad he’s wanted you and for so long.

you choke and your throat clenches around his crown. izuku pulls out, letting you gasp and hum. “so pretty,” he whispers, slapping his heavy dick on the cushion of your displayed tongue. he’s positive that his eyes have hearts doodled within them. “prettiest girl in town . . in the universe.”

you can’t help but giggle which makes him smile and bend to grab your legs and pull them which has you falling back onto your back. “you taste s’good, izu’,” you whisper.

“hm? really? lemme try then.” he’s holding your face firmly between his hand so that he can essentially dip his tongue inside the warmness of your mouth to stroke it over your own and the roof of it, needy for both his and your conjoined taste and — god, it doesn’t disappoint. him, sharp and tart, mixed with your sweetness, he thinks he’s in love. you’re enticing; enlivening something carnal and twisted within him. something that izuku himself doesn’t even have a clue of as to what it is.

all he knows is that he’s never wanted someone as bad as he does you. he doesn’t know why he’s battered down this feeling, this urge for so long, but he knows that now that he has you, he refuses to ever let you go.

you’re looking up at him like he’s hung the sun in the sky when you whisper, “izuku.” your eye contact only breaks because you seem to shy away. “it hurts.”

hurts . . . he doesn’t like that. you shouldn’t be hurting, not one bit. never again for as long as he’s alive and breathing. “what hurts, honey?” he’s lifting himself a little higher, thinking that maybe him lying all of his body weight on you is the problem; but when you whine and shake your head, as if that was the last thing you wanted him to do, he grows even more confused. “hmm?”

it’s cute — how your little hand scrambles for purchase on his wrist so that you can lead and place his fingers right over the seat of your panties upon your pussy and how your eyes roll back into your head, making izuku think that only your relief is able to be satisfied and glutted by him and only him — whether by a simple touch or not.

“oh,” he whispers, letting his fingers find the puffy pearl of your clit that protrudes out between your lips just the slightest bit and is hardened to the touch. “want me right here?”

“uh huh.” your legs are lifting on their own accord so that you can grab the backs of your thighs and hold yourself open for him. izuku appreciates that.

he bends his neck low so that he can leave sweet, gentle kisses along the soft, plush skin of your inner thighs. you smell so good to him — like a coconut cream pie, almost exactly like it, and it’s intoxicating. “spread ‘em wi — well, i’ll be damned,” pushes out of his chest as a soft whisper when you open your legs wider before he finished his sentence. “there you go . . . smart girl. so fuckin’ perfect.”

flawless. exquisite. you’re perfect.

upon him tearing your underwear off and pocketing them without missing your cute, scandalized gasp that is, izuku feasts his eyes on your pretty pussy and is positive that he falls in love with you right then and there. you’re shaved bare, save for a cute landing strip in the shape of a triangle right on your mound whose tip points to your slit.

your lips are chubby and brown but when he uses his thumbs to spread them apart, he opens a door to lovely, glittering, pink and a tiny, swollen clit who seems to have made home in its hood. you’re beautiful. you’re . . “ ‘bout pretty as a peach.”

you grow sheepish under his glazy-eyed stare. “s-stop it.”

izuku wants . . . he wants so much that it makes him press the pads of his fingers harder into your skin where he holds your thighs up himself in frustration. he wants to curb all of your doubts, your uncertainties, your worries — wants you to believe that there won’t be another day on earth where he’d be all cruel and horrid to you. he wants to know if you prefer to live out the rest of your days in a sweet cottage home or cozy, little bungalow. he wants to take his time to get to know your body, wants to treasure it the way it deserves to be. would you flinch back or keen if he blew a soft breath on your little clit to coax it from its cover?

he blows.

your body recoils but your back arches and you whine. both. how sweet.

when his mouth latches onto your entire pussy is when you gasp. his entire tongue scours the complete length of you, from the silver of skin separating your sweet cunt from your taint, all the way up to the throbbing bud of your clit. you lift your head, sparing the chance of your heart failing at the sight of his eyes staring straight ahead into yours through long, pretty eyelashes and messy curls. “ngh — izu, god,” you slump back against where you lay.

it’s a loud slurp echoing throughout the quiet barn when he pulls himself off, just to lay his thumb right above your clit and push the hood of it upwards with just a bit of pressure so that he can grant himself access to it. “there we go.”

your little toes curl in your socks when he suctions his lips to it and gives a few wet, experimental suckles. the muscles of your abdomen tenses and rolls and he feels you press the inside of your thighs closer to his ears, essentially telling him that you liked that.

“ooh shit,” you’re whimpering. “shit, izuku, fuck.”

how filthy. izuku comes to realize that he doesn’t like that very much — those foul words flowering from your pretty lips. but, still, he does it again, only this time he pulls his head back just an inch with your clit still in his mouth before letting it go with a wet pop so that it can settle back in place. you hiccup.

izuku wonders, “. . feel good?” he murmurs around your pussy, needing to know.

he looks up at you just in time for him to catch you lift your head. you’re beautiful. eyebrows just the slightest bit furrowed, making him think you were almost sad if it weren’t for how your mouth was dropped along a soft ‘o’ as you moaned his name. “uh-huh,” you nod and your soft hand pushes some of his curls back from his forehead to get a better look at how his tongue slowly began to snake down to slither inside of your tiny hole. “hng, shit!”

you think the responding swat on your thigh is innocent. his tongue buries inside of you deeper when you fall back again and open your trembling legs wider. “f-fuck, don’t stop—“

“—jesus fucking christ.”

izuku lets your legs fall from around his face and stands up. his mouth leaving the warmth of your pussy is so abrupt that you’re left blinking up at the ceiling in shock for a moment before you’re whimpering, “why did you—“

a bundle of lace trimmed cotton is pushed inside of your mouth — your underwear. “kiss your ma’ with that mouth, shortstuff?” izuku kicks off his shoes and his jeans. “i counted. your lil’ self cursed five times, i don’t like that. pretty girls don’t swear.”

a small mewl is made out through the gag in your mouth. izuku only joins you on the bed of hay when you reach out for him and makes sure to spread your legs wider, just to accommodate his build. he wants his words to sink inside of your fuzzy brain, wants to make sure that you understand what he’s saying . . and so he passes the time by trailing the tip of his nose carefully down your cheek until he reaches your neck where he softly kisses and hums against. “no swearin’, princess. y’hear me?”

you give a gentle “mhm,” and head nod, looking up at him as if he were the creator of all things good and he removes your panties without another second wasted before kissing your lips one more time.

his cockhead nudges the entrance of your pussy and it makes your next inhale go trembly. it hurts. blood hums and thrums within your veins, all heading south which only makes your pussy feels as if someone had been pounding at it with a hammer for an hour straight. izuku knows it hurts, he can see it in the way your hips shift and how your face screws. “can i—“

“—please, mhm, please,” you’re gasping. “do anythin’ izu, i don’t care.”

so pretty. izuku lifts up, spits into his palm and polishes it over his cock, watching your chest heave which only brings his attention to your tits, still encased within your bra and he silently thanks you for having a front clasp because he’s able to simply pluck the hook loose which allows your breasts to spill out into his welcoming hand.

“ooh, fuck,” he whispers, stroking the underside of his dick along your lips while rolling one, small nub between his fingers.

he inches inside you slowly, gradually, little by little until his heavy, plump balls are pressing flush against your ass and you’re mouth is left agape with a little pool of drool sitting on your tongue. izuku groans, forehead touching yours. “shit,” he’s panting, he realizes. left breathless by the sheer sight of you. “oh, fuck. how’s it feel, baby? ‘s good?”

your response is a simple sob of his name.

you’re so — you felt so full, so full, so full — it was too much. not enough? it was so much, too much. you can’t get enough. so good, so good, so good —

your eyes roll into the back of your skull when he pulls out just half way and carefully grinds back in. you’re positive of there being a bubble around you two, one full to the brim of avid, ravenous want and desire — three years of angry pining and back and forth leading up to this one moment which leaves izuku grabbing you by the backs of your knees to press them into the soft blanket on either side of your shoulders which he also uses as leverage to begin pistoning his hips up then down.

“oh my god,” you squeak and reach for his forearms, digging your nails deep into the skin when the crown of his dick bumps against the textured ridge of your cervix.

oh, he’s waited long enough — too long. “fuck, y’so pretty,” he mumbles, hearing the sticky squelch of his cock fucking your cream in then out of you. “so . . fuckin’ beautiful.”

his thrusts are slow, calculated, deep and his thumbs rub comforting, little circles against the underside of your thighs. he was proud of you for taking all of him so well. he’s inescapable when he leans back down to bury his face inside the crook of your neck which leaves your legs still opened and bent back by the weight of him.

your breaths are short and pushed out of you with each jab of his hips and you find the strength to wrap your arms around his back and bury one of your hands inside of his soft curls. “feels s-so good izu’,” you hiccup, feeling overwhelmed. your clit is stimulated by his trimmed pubes the closer he pushes his hips into yours.

izuku can’t get enough. his hands slip down beneath you so that he can grab you by the soft globes of your ass, grip them and start to make you rise your hips to meet him halfway when he picks up a quicker rhythm. “filthy . . lil’ . . pussy.”

tears of pleasure blur your vision. you can’t babble anything but ‘so good.’ “ ‘s so good,” you sniffle. “daddy, ‘s so good.”

the name slips from your lips without much thought, but something inside of izuku ignites. makes him lift his head to look at you, but it’s like you hadn’t realized you said it. how cute, how sweet. a lopsided smile lifts his lips, “ ‘s that right?”

he doesn’t give you a chance to take it back, no, that title’s all his now. he lets your legs go in lieu of throwing them over his shoulders and with the new position, it’s like his energy triples. you’re a mess. you’re a teary faced, empty brained, dumb little mess. “izu — god, fuck — izu’!”

two thunderously loud smacks rain down on your ass before you can even comprehend what you had just said. “what did i say?” izuku’s tone is gentle though as he holds your throat within his hand, not pressing, not squeezing, just anchoring you down to reality so that your blurred vision can focus on him. “what did daddy say, hm?”

your pussy spasms around his girth. “n-no,” you swallow and try to form another sentence. “no swearing.”

“good girl,” his pace stills. he sits there for a moment, lets you feel the weight of him inside of you while he basks in your velvety, pink walls tightening and constricting around him before he’s suddenly pulling out.

you gasp.

he coo’s at how your pussy gapes, only for a moment or two, before your pretty walls were closing again and shrinking behind the lips of your labia while greeting him with another gush of milky white slick.

“c’mere.” he tilts your body on its left side so that he can slip up behind you, lift your bent leg, and slap his heavy cock on your pussy. “put it in f’me, pretty.”

you sniffle as your little hand reaches for his dick and you align his tip to the entrance of your cunny so that izuku can slowly push back in. he thinks this position may be his favorite. your head falls back into his shoulder and you turn it into his neck as if to silence the loud, long moan crawling out from the base of your gut.

he lets you have that; knows you can only quiet yourself for so long, especially when he picks up an immediate constant rhythm that has your ass bouncing off of his hips with thick clapping sounds that echo throughout the entire stable. you’re drooling, a thin rivulet that trickles down your cheek and izuku lets his thumb stroke it away while he pants against your opened mouth. “please cum in me,” you’re crying and digging your fingernails into the forearm that’s wrapped around your chest. “please, izu’.” you’ve never wanted anything more in life, you’re sure.

izuku moans and slips his leg between the both of yours, needing to be intertwined within you. “oh, fuck, y’want that?” he groans. “y’sure?”

“uh huh.” when your hand slips between your legs to capture your clit beneath your fingers, he notices and pushes them away to replace them with his own. you’re sure you’ve reached seventh heaven when his other hand’s fingers slip past your lips so that you can suckle and busy your needy mouth with them, hardly needing another second before your joints were locking up and you were cumming with a silent moan.

you clench up tight — almost too tight. izuku’s jaw tightens and he bullies his cock past that tight barrier your pussy seems to take on as it spasms and drips a thin, pearly cream down his shaft and balls. “oh fuck.” he bends your leg further and further back until it’s almost touching your shoulder. he wants to see it — wants to see his heavy, swollen balls smack against that little clit, wants to see your pussy get battered into submission, wants to see your tummy bulge to accommodate all that he gives.

“mine,” he whispers underneath his breath as his balls draw closer to his body. “god, you’re mine. all fucking mine.”

he cums with a choked gurgle of your name. it’s surreal. iridescent stars seem to border his vision as he ruts his hips against your ass to fill you up to the brim. “shit,” he’s panting and softly whining into the top of your head, holding you as close as he can as his body breaks out into a full shudder. pleasure seems to run up and down his spine at an all time speed, he’s never felt anything like this before. “shit, baby.”

you moan softly at the warmth he brings. you can tell it’s a lot . . can feel it when your fingertips press against your lower tummy and you can hear a small slushing sound.

izuku doesn’t think he can move. his breathing’s labored and his chest feels full, but he can’t move, he’s sure of it. you both lay there for a moment, needing just a second to gather your bearings. you’re tired and you feel just a little gross with all the crying and drooling you were doing, but izuku still kisses you with everything he has within him.

it’s funny, you think.

walking hand and hand with izuku into the same convenience where this all seemed to have started the next day to buy a plan b pill. it’s funnier seeing almost the entire town’s reaction to seeing you kiss one another for the first time and you think it’s absolutely comical, come eight months later when he’s proposing to you in a field of daisies at dusk only a few acres away from the barn.

“oh my god,” you’re giggling while staring down at him on bent knee, holding a tiny, red, velvet box that holds a gorgeous, angled diamond with a pretty pearl right beside it — it belonged to his great grandma, he’ll tell you about a year later while you’re both cozied up underneath a blanket in your own, little cottage home. “are you sure?”

he’s smiling, all pretty and soft, with his eyes focused on yours like you were the only person on the planet, the only person that mattered. “absolutely positive.”

reblog if you think sign language should be taught as a language in schools.

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sparklylanddetective

1 year ago

Deku And Bakugou Are (not) Lost In The Train Station But Luckily Train Attendent ALL MIGHT IS THERE To

Deku and Bakugou are (not) lost in the train station but luckily train attendent ALL MIGHT IS THERE to SAVE THE DAY- ---WITH A MIGHTY POINT!

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sparklylanddetective

6 months ago

FWB!JJK FICS RECS

words cannot express how much i love the fwb troupe!! literally it has me squealing all the timeee! updating as i find more (suggestions r open) ^.^ mdni, nsfw content

gojo fanatize - screampied pinning and wooing and flirting - ahtsumu gn!reader x gojo - staryukis i hope when the moon goes - namisin gojo satoru x reader - keisins morning after - staryukis fwb gojo - staryukis just friends - greeniegreengreen must be love - y2kuromi rich boy gojo - saetoru fwb gojo thoughts - oh-katsuki fwb gojo - garoujo fwb playboy gojo - septembersummer satoru is feeling possessive and never fails to get his way - strawberrystepmom put a little love on me - nkogneatho blow me (one last kiss) - starmapz bury secerets in my skin - musouie friends with benefits satoru - arminsumi

geto fwb geto - idiotgojo brooklyn baby - tonycries smoke gets in your eyes - natty-whines friends who smash together stay together - tojiswhore-adventurinesslut fwb 2 lovers geto suguru - kentoangel jealous - gabseyoo fwb! getou suguru - bokebelle commonalities - semisgroupie cunning - prelovednikaidou

choso fuck buddy!choso - ivyvenus333 commonalities - semisgroupie

nanami silent confessions - v1x3n

sukuna i'll make you miss me - hiraethwrote

toji fwb! toji (cucking gojo) - nyxronomicon pillow talk - white-poppie

yuuji don't want you like a best friend - gojonanami

megumi fwb megumi - a-pastel-edgelord a letter to my beloved - pengujoon

etc comin back for more - isamoa fwb jjk - garoujo one of your girls - bwere-deactivated20240619 / acrhnoelle she said don't get too attached, but she attached me - rosesaints keep it between us (smau) - gojom0jo

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sparklylanddetective

1 year ago