synamoly - Tumblr blog

synamoly · 2 years ago

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one of my favs

⠀ ⠀ 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.”

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synamoly · 2 years ago

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now that i am back…i have all the energy to write but no CHARACTERS plsssss someone give me some ideas/thirsts/blurbs whatever u want

#ana’s thinking…

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synamoly · 2 years ago

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go read this NOW lmao I don’t make the rules

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⊹ 𓈒 ۫ ﹙curiosity, canute﹚ ۪ ֹ ♡ ︪

he was not like any other king you had ever seen before, and you couldn't help but become interested in him. little did you know, he was equally curious about you.

before reading please be advised of the following warnings — female reader, her/she pronouns, female anatomy described, written with black reader in mind, mentions of reader knowing canute's sister, let's say reader is a princess idc, sobs i just wanted to write royalty, canute really don’t want reader to get married at all, virginity lost, mentions of blood, slight soft canute, soft canute, breeding kink, // minors dni

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀( dedicated to @diorsbrando )

King Canute always piqued your curiosity. When he returned home, you remembered how it felt like the wind knocked out your lungs when he walked by you. You were completely breathless at the sight of him. You’ve only heard stories about him. Rumors, and folktales for children to imagine that they’ll be rulers like him. You knew that you would never even have the grace to be fully in his presence. You were merely a princess here under protection in exchange for the best resources your country could offer.

Canute probably didn’t even know your name if you were going, to be honest with yourself. Although, you spent a lot of time with Estrid—even so you doubt she would blabber on to her brother about friends she has made during his absence.

But you were completely wrong, Canute actually did know your name. He actually did notice you within the castle that was protected by his men. You didn’t know until one late evening as you were sipping on tea alone and reading some book you found. Canute thought everyone was sound asleep until he saw you sipping on tea that a servant made before heading to bed. You sipped in silence as he helped himself to the same tea the servant made, it still was hot and full of flavor to help bring comfort.

“You’re up quite late don’t you think?” Canute’s brash voice brought you out of the book your eyes were glued on reading by the little lamp near you.

You watch as he brought the cup up to his lips. His blue eyes scan over your face waiting for an answer.

“I can’t sleep, so I usually read until I grow tired,” You lift the book to show him. “Despite me reading this book many times.” You chuckle to yourself and sipped the last droplets of tea out of your cup. You closed the book and stood up, respectfully bowing in Canute’s presence.

“I should head to bed though. Estrid has something planned for us tomorrow.” You flash him a grin before turning to make your exit, but his words stop you.

“I have more books if you’re curious to read some more.”

You pull the book to your chest as if he’ll take it from you and you shake your head. “Your Highness, I can’t do that. You’ve done so much for me by letting me stay here for protection—I’ll feel like I’m intruding.” You pause not sure to finish the last part of your sentence, afraid that’ll it come off offensive or disrespectful.

“Plus, what would someone think if they saw me leaving your chambers with a book that belongs to you.” You shudder at the thought of the consequences of that. “I appreciate your gratitude, your highness-“

“I’m the King of England, anyone who has anything to say can say to me.” His arms crossed over his chest before he’s stepping by you. “It’s okay.”

Your lips form a straight line and you couldn’t argue against the king’s words. Especially since someone could come in and hear that you defined him. How dare you decline such an offer from King Canute. You followed behind through the dimly lit halls not wanting to talk much because for one.) everyone was sleeping and two.) anyone that was up could hear you and wonder why a woman like you were up so late. You’ve never graced so far away from where your own chambers were, let alone so close to where the King’s was at.

The two guards that stood outside his chambers head was held high seeing Canute but one of them eyes narrowed at the sight of you behind Canute clutching the book to your chest. Your eyes averted down in embarrassment at the pending rumors that can circulate around the castle before afternoon tea with Estrid. However, you took note of how Canute pushed open the door of his chambers and he stepped a side to let you enter first.

Most likely ensuring his guards don’t speak a word of the quite scandalous thing unfolding. A mere princess going into the bed chambers of the King of England. If your mother was here you would be able to feel the daggers of her glare stabbing at your back with each step you took further inside his chambers. You can hear her voice now about how unladylike it was to be doing this. But after all, you were only here to see what books he had and then quickly make your way back to your own bed chambers to rest.

But you were so wrong. You didn’t go back to your chambers, instead forty five minutes have passed and you were sitting in a chair across from Canute talking. At first it was about books. He mentioned to you that he always noticed you had your head inside a book, which you pointed out that it was the only thing you can do if you didn’t want to be follow Estrid around on whatever shenanigans she wanted to do. Then you talked about your childhood, well it was more so you mainly talked about your country and how you were raised.

Canute’s gaze made you feel warm. A good kind of warm though. A gaze that made you feel like you were sitting next to a well lit fire after being out in the winter cold. You still couldn’t read him just as much as he could read you within these minutes of you talking, but you were okay with that. A King shouldn’t let his guard down so easily, especially if it would be a time where someone could backstab him easily.

“That still don’t explain why you’re not married? Your family decided to send you away instead of keeping you close.” Canute thumbs at his lip as his head fell back to be back with the wooden back of the chair he was in.

“They’re just searching for the right suitors but war got in the way of that. My mom hoping that I’ll find someone here, but I highly doubt so—despite that it’ll help my family greatly with allies and connections.” You smoothed out your dress before soon meeting Canute’s eyes.

You wanted to know what was on his mind.

“And why don’t you think so?” Canute’s head tilt slightly and his eyebrows raised at you.

“I don’t really put myself out there your highness as much as I should. I have shooed a lot of people Estrid have introduced me to away,” You honestly answered. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I mean, I’m aware that a lot of marriages are considered political moves to be on top. So, I will just do what I have to do to ensure my family is okay,” You give him a grin before going back to flipping the pages in the book in front of you.

A sudden silence overcame you two, you assumed Canute was processing what you were saying. You were aware that if push come to shove, him as the King have to possibly marry a beautiful noble woman to solidify a country he wanted to control. Plus every King needs a heir to the throne, right?

“If you don’t want to marry someone for political gain, I think you shouldn’t.” Canute answered truthfully before you could catch his gaze that’s been drilling a hole in you, his eyes looks down at the book he’s been attempting to read. He just can’t when someone as elegant as you were sitting in front of you.

“Of course you can say that your highness. But I can’t defy my family, they’re depending on me to return married and with something that benefit my bloodline.” You answered truthfully.

There that silence waved over the pair again. You went back to scheming over the mountains of books in his room figuring out which ones you wanted to take back to your room. You found two you were interesting in reading and pulled it from the pile.

“No, I’m saying as King I can ensure you’ll only get married until you’re ready and with someone you want.” Canute corrected.

You wanted to say that he was joking, but you haven’t seen the king crack a smile yet. Plus his tone was assertive—demanding. As if you couldn’t even argue against what he said, his words were final.

“Your highness, you can’t-“ You stooled mid sentence to correct yourself because who were you to tell the King of England what he can and can’t do. “You do not have to do that, it is my duty that was placed upon me and I have to do it. Think how bizarre it’ll be for me to decline a proposal and what will I say? The King said no?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what the people will say?” You leaned forward. “They’ll chalk it off as the King just having a woman to warm his bed, but they’ll probably think I’m trying to become Queen in some conniving way.”

He pushes his chair closer towards your end of the small table you sat at. “Then let them think that and if they have a problem with it, I’ll have their tongue.”

“Your highness.”

“Canute.”

Your eyes looked at him wondering where this was coming from. “Canute, this will complicate some things.”

You didn’t even notice that he moved closer. Your faces are just inches apart, so close to your soft pillowy lips being on his. “Then let it.” He leans in and places a kiss on your lips.

You wanted to panic as you jumped back after his lips kissed yours. Your eyes darted to the door where the guards were standing to protect their King.

“Just ignore them, not like they can barge in here without permission.” His rough hands collected yours and you felt the pad of his thumb on the back of his hand.

With that your closing your eyes to kiss him. You’ve only kissed two boys before. One when you were twelve and another when you were only seventeen. Both were mere memories you couldn’t fully remember, but you knew that this was better. The intense kiss from the King of England left you breathless as you grasped at the thin fabric of his shirt attempting to bring him closer. It didn’t take much for Canute to tug you on his lap, your dress hiking up as your legs were on each side of his thighs. Your fingers tangle in his blonde hair gaining a whimper from him. If you concentrated hard enough you could feel his cock growing within his trousers.

When you tugged away after pecking his lips once more, you couldn’t believe that you two just did this. You never went beyond this but you could feel the warmth in between your thighs that you could help but roll your hips upon Canute’s lap as if you were in heat. Canute picks you up and places you on the bed in the corner of the room. He pulls the shirt over his hand throwing it to the ground and he leans over to help discard you of your clothing. From the dress you borrowed from Estrid to the undergarments that you felt embarrassed that he was seeing you in.

You were still in your mind that this will complicate everything. You can get married and if your future husband figures you weren’t pure, what would he think. Would you not be worthy of marriage anymore?

Your arm snakes around your bare body as you sat on your knees to stare up at Canute. With just the dimly lit candle giving the both of you light—he looked stunning in this manner. His blonde hair fell in his face. His bare chest was toned from the endless training and dueling.

“Let me see you, Y/N,” Canute says as he toys with the strings that were holding up his trousers that were barely containing the bulge of need for you.

Your skin heated immediately at his words as you slowly removed your arms around your naked body. Your skin is garnished with goosebumps feeling the slight breeze that swirled around Canute's chambers. The bed sinks due to Canute's weight and as your body is being pushed down so the warmth of fur that was placed neatly on the bed engulfed your body. The softness of the fur kissed your skin as minutes went by of heated kisses and spit being swapped. Your body tensed up at the feeling of Canute lining himself up with your drooling entrance. Your breath hitched in your throat before letting out a breathy sigh.

"Just relax," Canute says through pecks on your neck.

For some reason, those subtle pecks calmed the tumultuous thoughts that swam around your mind. They were so loud until Canute's lips kissed your skin. As if he locked them thoughts away for you because they bothered you. The piercing pain of him pushing his cock inside you made you grasp upon the first thing you could. His strong forearms being it as your nails punctured at his skin and your eyes instantly closed. In the moment of your eyes closing and the only thing you can see is pure darkness, you were counting down the seconds to bypass the pain.

Canute's light-colored eyes stared down at you, his hips halting from moving forward just because he didn't want to hurt you. You were too precious to go through this pain.

"Look at me, Y/N."

With a tear decorating your lash line the sight you saw when you opened your eyes made you feel all warm inside all over again. Your felt butterflies replace the sharp feeling of his cock sliding in you bit by bit. Your teeth nibbled down on your lower lip bracing yourself physically for more of what he was giving out.

"I can stop. You—"

"No, please continue." You interrupt your head lifts from the pillow below you and lean in to kiss him.

Canute meets you halfway gracefully, willingly. Entrapping your lips with his so greedily that he didn't want it to end. Through the kiss, his hips moved forward slowly until finally, he bottomed down inside of you. Your fingers clutched so tightly that it was beginning to draw blood from his pale skin. Your eyes couldn't help but invert in between the space of your naked bodies. Once again feeling embarrassed by the blood that stained the sheets.

Canute's finger grasped upon your chin to shift your head to look at him. Your eyes were trapped in a trance with Canute's and soon the sharp feeling between your thighs turned into pleasure. Your lips gasped apart to croak out a moan just in time for the last couple of strokes Canute put in. His fingertips dance alongside your thighs as he eagerly pushes them apart to be closer to you. The sweet tune of your moans is like music to him that he would adore waking up to in the morning instead of the annoying plans of conquering another piece of land.

To you, Canute was taking something so precious away from you. Something that should have been given to your husband. He was your first. This moment is bound to imprint on your brain until you leave, until you're married, have kids, and so on. But the thing is, you were Canute's first also. Granted, it wasn't anyone's business who the King fucks and fondles. But, Canute didn't have time for that—maybe he was overthinking that being a factor of falling down the same road of his wicked father that haunts him today.

On some lonely evenings, Canute felt like he was suffocating from his own power. Day by day he gains more power and he realized that it'll get lonely on top. So, the soft comfort coming from you calmed him for some reason. The sound of his father's cruel voices in his head silenced each time he looked at you from afar and now as he bucked his hips forward slowly. His breathing hitched in his throat due to the feeling of you clutching around him wonderfully. Your name flies off his tongue like a foreign word and you enjoyed every second of it.

Your back arches off the bed when the pace of Canute's thrusting slowly increases. It wasn't too much to cause more pain from clawing in between your thighs, but it was enough to have you moaning and tugging him closer to your sweated-coated body. Your legs lock around his waist in the sense that you were afraid if you let go this moment would stop. Your moans echoed in his ear as his lips kissed and bite on your neck.

"You're making your King feel so amazing," His words send a chill down your spine so intense, you felt your cunt pulse around his cock.

Hearing those words causes a pit of fire to light in the pit of your stomach. Your hips slowly buck upward for more of the pleasurable feeling that this was giving. You knew the King had ears and eyes everywhere, but you wouldn't suspect him of being a mind reader too. As if he read your mind that you were unraveling below his strong body he teases you just enough to cause your body to vibrate in a fit of orgasms. Your thighs quiver while his hips gravitate forward completely making love to you through the foreign feeling you felt at the moment. It didn't take long for him to follow suit with you. Not wasting the time of cumming inside of you. His thrusting grew as sloppy as the mess in between your thighs. His cum coated his own cock as he greedily thrust inside you some more ensuring his cum doesn't leak out of you.

With Canute back hitting the bed next to you, the two of you were silent. Your limbs felt numb and your heart bounces around your chest like it is trying to escape. You rolled over and placed your head on his chest before looking up at him, admiring his exhausted face. "I should get something to clean us up." You lift up slowly but Canute gently tugs you back down.

If you were being honest, you wanted to make an escape.

"As your King, I want you to lay down and rest." His eyes flutter open to look down at you.

You chuckle at his words. "Ah, the tired King is going to tell me what to do." Sarcasm oozes from your tone. "Get some rest," You move closer and peck the corner of his lips innocently.

Just enough to tease him and have you gracefully bless his dreams.

As drowsiness wavered over the naked King next to you. You couldn't help but rush to gather your clothes. Your body ached from head to toe and you were surely going to cherish the warm bath in the morning. However, you rather be safe and sound in your own chambers than have to explain to anyone why you were in King Canute's bed chambers so early. You blew the candle that was the minimal light for the two of you during your sexual actions out. Just as you were about to make your exit, you could hear Canute's faded words.

"Be my Queen, Y/N."

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synamoly · 2 years ago

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hey….🤭

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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thinking about how i greened out after devouring some canes

#ana’s thinking…

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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im back bruh college had me by the neck against the wall and not in a sexy way

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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the way this dilf geto one shot has been staring me down for months in my drafts….

dilf! geto gets his hair tugged on by his baby and his baby.

#ana’s thinking…

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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craziest thing ive seen on my tl in awhile

how did i go from reading bl to cleaning up puke

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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one last one shot by sunday before college chokes me w finals…THEN eternal gets an update when im back home in december

the next one shot is mythology based…but it’s not sukuna anymore i went for the long haired man in the same universe

#i have not forgotten #eren will be written about soon enough #don’t major in life sciences for your sanity

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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ive got a god! sukuna x fertility goddess! reader crackling under my fingers…

#sukuna = sadistic Zeus #goddess who smells like coco butter vs god who smells like the blood of his enemies

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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be fr how y’all feeling about hybrid reader stories

#personally i enjoy them #just not the extremely specific ones #bc why are you a doberman pinscher hybrid #just be a bunny #A MERMAID

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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ana you’re mad talented! i like how you tell stories 🤭

aw shucks don’t make me blush, thank you, so happy you enjoy it!

#ana’s kind comments #pls talk to me yall I love talking #maybe a little too much

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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do y’all remember those quotev/fics naruto fics…im bringing it back.

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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INK, E. YAEGER

tags/warnings: black coded! fem! reader + tattoo artist! eren, spanking (brief), breeding kink, mating press, unprotected sex, size difference, slight manhandling | 1.3k words

a.n: tis an apology for my slow updates to eternal

tattoo artist eren! who’s amassed millions of followers through his incredible tattoo skills. he only follows you on all of his accounts, even his professional account. he knows you hate it and he doesn’t care, even if the two of you are supposed to be separated for reasons still unresolved. your account is private, so fans are left curious about your connection to the famous tattoo artist.

tattoo artist eren! who’s pretty secretive about his life, enough for his followers to wonder what your importance is to him. enough for them to not know that you are the mother of his 6 month old daughter, noelle.

tattoo artist eren! who never misses any of noelle’s milestones despite your separation. calling you because he knows that today she turns six months old.

"bring her over today." with furrowed eyebrows, you shift your phone between your head and shoulders as you change yet another diaper. eren can hear her coos in the background. it only makes him miss her more—and you, but he's not sure if he's allowed to admit that.

"can’t, i’m about to drop her off at my parents house for a couple hours. i already promised them." you can hear him suck his teeth at your response.

"stop by the shop then, i wanna see my baby.” you sigh, not wanting to take any detours despite agreeing. besides, you can't make any excuses, especially since you have to drive past his shop to get to your parents house. eren hasn't seen noelle in a couple weeks due to work and you know how much he hates leaving her.

"fine, i’ll be there soon." you can already see the smirk on his face. he thanks you before you can hang up. you huff, leaning down to lift noelle with a kiss to her cheek, all fresh and clean now. "wanna see your papa today, huh baby?"

tattoo artist eren! who still can’t keep his eyes off you when you walk in with a long, cream colored maxi dress adorning your pretty brown skin. he greets you with a longer than needed hug, letting his hands linger on your lower back before eagerly reaching out for his baby. you can’t help but smile as he gives her a mini tour of his shop. he holds her with only one of his strong arms, his dark tattoos contrasting noelle's pink onesie.

tattoo artist eren! who makes you laugh when noelle begins crying in his arms. no matter what he tries, from gentle rocking to even making silly faces, she won’t stop. and you know exactly why she’s crying. he looks to you and all you can do is open your arms.

"oh, are you hungry sweet girl? you didn't wanna eat earlier." eren merely watches as you pull the straps of your dress down. her wails simmer down within seconds, mouth quickly finding your swollen nipple. you gently rub her back as she drinks, humming a small tune as well. you find yourself distracted, forgetting about eren's gaze until he speaks.

breastfeeding your child in your ex’s tattoo shop, huh.

"she eats a lot, doesn't she?" you nod.

"mhm, i wonder who she gets it from." he chuckles but doesn't say anything in return. the two of you merely observe the beautiful being you created together.

tattoo artist eren! who always seems to end up making your business his, closing up shop and tagging along with you to your parents. how you ended up in the passenger seat of your own car will be talked about another day. something about you being a bad driver. okay, you’ll let it slide. but you do know that little voice in your head is telling you that you didn’t need his help with grocery shopping…or carrying the groceries into your apartment.

tattoo artist eren! who makes you a babbling mess with his cock on your living room couch. your poor dress is stretched between erens fingers as he drives his cock into your sopping pussy. you feel stupid for allowing this happen, but you’ll think about that when his cock isn’t so deep in your tummy. he’s made you cum twice already, your poor couch cushions are soaked.

his hand releases your dress, stilling inside you just to push your dress all the way up your chest, just enough to reveal the tattoo down your spine. the one he did himself. the fine lines of black ink against your brown skin look oh so pretty. his hands smooth down your back, thumbs adding a gentle pressure to your spine. completely aware of your sensitivity to his touch.

pleasepleaseplease.

“missed you like this...” he murmurs, you hate how calm and collected he can be when he fucks you like this. he pays attention to all the little moans, breaths and shivers he gets out of you. how you’re dripping around him, how deep his cock is in you. “did you miss me too?” with your face buried into your forearms for any sort of stability, you can only glare at him through the side of your eye. tears beading at the corners. your lack of response irritates him.

“huh?” he raises his hand, landing on your ass with just enough pressure to sting. you yelp, the pain sending little bits of electricity to your pussy. “use your words.”

“m-missed you too! i missed you so much…!” the corners of his lip curve upward ever so slightly, satisfied with your answer. flipping you on your back, his hands push your legs back until your knees are against your chest. your eyes now see his full, disheveled appearance. his hair tie is long gone, letting those pretty tresses loose. a thin sheen of sweat over his tattoos on his chest. there’s a dark, almost scary look in his eyes. the last time eren was like this resulted in the birth of noelle.

his heavy cock rests in between your cunt, coated in all of your slick. he leans down, his gold chain brushing against your chest. his brown hair tickles your forehead, deep green eyes piercing into your own. your lips connect with his before he can. he missed those soft lips of yours, deepening the kiss until all he can hear is wet sounds and your little whimpers spilling into the kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him closer to you. he doesn’t break the kiss when he presses his leaky tip against your hole, swallowing your moan when he presses in further all the way until he’s almost kissing your cervix.

he starts with slow, controlled thrusts before releasing the kiss and putting your legs over his shoulders. by now you can’t control your voice, and eren couldn’t be more happy. he can’t last long with a pussy like this, the way your walls flutter around him should be considered a crime. you’re squirming underneath him, your sweet essence dripping down his balls with every deep thrust. manicured nails brushing against his pelvis in an attempt to gently relieve some of the pressure.

he shakes his head, swatting away your fingers. “what happened to my big girl? take your dick like you used to.”

“s’been awhile…! i-i haven’t slept with anyone since you.” your voice gets quieter towards the end, turning your head to avoid his gaze.

his eyes soften, “fuck…you make it so hard for me to not put another baby in you, you know?” you scoff.

“very funny eren.” he sits up, running a hand through his tousled hair before he practically folds you in half.

“i’m not playing.”

tattoo artist eren! who receives a perplexed look from your parents—more specifically, your father. when he shows up right next to you at their door, ready to pick up noelle. your mother knows what’s going on, leaving you embarrassed when she gives you the all knowing look.

the call from your mother that night goes just how you expected.

“playing around like that is how i ended up with your brother.” you laugh, but you know there’s an underlying message in her words.

“i know, there’s just no getting rid of him.” you say, brushing his fly always from his sleeping face. the heavy arm currently wrapped around your waist is proof enough.

“oh honey, i know. i tried with your dad.”

#black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren x fem!reader #eren yaeger x you #eren x you #x black reader #eren yaeger headcanons #eren yaeger smut #eren yaeger x black reader

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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ch 1 coming soon, introductions r always the hardest for me 😔✌️

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synamoly · 3 years ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

geto suguru | smut, fluff | college boyfriend!au

𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 : 2.5k

— 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 : remote learning was never your forte, especially when it came to a subject as complex as anatomy. you were what they call a hands-on learner and lucky for you so is geto.

𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙎 : college boyfriend!geto, fem!reader, soft!geto, domish!reader, cowgirl, missionary, teasing, unprotected sex (use protection kids), creampie (this is literally so mushy and romantic please who gave me permission???)

𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝙋𝙊𝙊𝙃 : so this idea has been in the vault for a really long time and this post from @bleubrri reignited the spark i once had for this idea and i mean i couldn't not do the scientist gf x english lit bf au. thank you to my lovely grammar gatekeeper @the-australian-editor for fixing this up for me, love you lots. also i used as an excuse to help me study for my upcoming anatomy test, hahaha so it was perfect timing to be a liiitttle self indulgent.

WARNING: this is smut, so please ensure you have your age visible on your account before interacting. Minors (below 18+), ageless and blank blogs will be BLOCKED

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

“Ugh!” Your severe exasperation pulls Geto away from his book. He peers over his literature to see you slouched and defeated in your cushioned office chair, swivelling the seat to and fro with your heel as you stared frustratedly at your computer screen.

“What happened?” He questioned, attempting to continue the sentence he was reading.

“I just can’t get this!” Your exasperation bounces off the walls of your shared bedroom, the volume threatening to wake the neighbours adjacent.

“What can’t you get?” Despite appearing indifferent with his head still stuck in his novel, you had his full attention.

“This whole lecture!”

Your dramatics make his eyes roll, setting his book down on the side table before shifting to the edge of the bed where you sighed for the uptenth time. “Let me see.” You roll your chair to the side so he’s able to view your laptop screen clearly, his brows immediately furrowing when he catches a glimpse of terminology way outside the boundaries of his degree. “I have no idea what any of this means.”

“See!” With your exclamation accompanied the honeyed sound of your laugh, a contagious one at that as Geto also found himself smiling. “Ugh, this is impossible. These diagrams don’t even help.”

That statement confused him. Why would they give you an example of something that wasn’t of any use to you as a student? “Why not?”

“Because we use cadavers during assessments and they’re very different compared to a diagram.” He recalls your many recounts of the anatomy lab, corpses soaked in formaldehyde, skinned, split in two, muscles and organs splayed and pinned in a macabre exhibit all in the name of science. Barbaric is what he called it, but it fascinated you nonetheless.

“So why not use yourself as practice.” The look you give him is parturient with a rhetorical question he could already hear falling from your lips.

“Really, because I’m muscular enough to use as a model?” He chuckles at your sarcasm, loose hair falling over his shoulder with a light shake of his head.

“So then use me.” From the way your face brightens he knew it was a good idea, a mindless one that he admittedly blurted out jokingly, but he’d never tell you that.

“You’d really let me use you as a live model?”

“If it’ll help you get out of this rut, then yes.” Excitement floods your veins at his confirmation, so much so, that you’re already off your seat, notes in hand and bouncing on the bed beside him before he could utter another word. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Well, it’s an excuse to get you shirtless, so yes, very.” And just like that your exuberant and childish personality was back. Who knew that all it took was a glimpse of his physique? He made a mental note of it for future reference, adding it to the list of remedies to use against your rambunctious temperament.

“If you wanted me naked baby, all you had to do was ask.” He teases whilst pulling his shirt over his head, dark locks cascading down the expanse of a beautifully defined posterior.

“Shush, you’re supposed to be helping me study, not initiating foreplay.” You crawl your way behind him, legs crossing as you settle into the mattress.

He shoots you a mischievous smirk over her shoulder. “Why not both?”

“Turn around, you dork.” His shoulders shudder with a muffled laugh, one that makes you roll your eyes as you shift his hair out of the way. Then you begin to orient yourself, fingers grazing his skin tenderly, exploring each trough and peak of the muscles spanning his back. “Alright let’s see here. Flex for me?”

Silently he places his arms behind his head, pulling the corresponding muscles taut enough to protrude from his svelte figure. “Okay, upward rotation of the scapula… upper trapezius,” you eye your notes whilst tracing the nape of his neck, following the fibres down to the next muscle. “And serratus anterior.” Geto inhales sharply when your palms glide along the jagged digitations at his sides, fingers splaying as you round his ribcage. “You doin’ okay, mister model?”

“Just fine, sweetheart.” His deep voice diffuses from skin to fingertips, the vibrations inciting goosebumps across your forearms.

“Alright, next was… glenohumeral abduction, so stay like that.” You use his bicep for balance to change positions and sit back on your heels, weight shifting the bed beneath you. “Deltoids.” Tapping on each of the three bellies, you identify them outloud, familiarising yourself with the shape of the muscle at the apex of his shoulders. “Anterior, middle and posterior.” Then your first roadblock appeared. “I can’t find the other one.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too deep, so I can’t see it on the surface.”

“How about finding the general area instead?” Again you look down at your notes, hands ghosting over the approximate location of the elusive muscle.

“I think it’s here.” You conclude, pressing into the superior aspect of his shoulder blade. “Because if I’m tracing it right, then your acromion process would be here and just above that would be the supraspinatus.” In all honesty you were talking more to yourself than to your boyfriend. To him you were speaking a whole other language, so all he could really do was nod as if he actually understood what the hell an acromion process was.

“Y/n, not to be a bad sport or anything, but my arms are really starting to hurt.” His playful complaint draws a giggle from you.

“Sorry, you can put your arms down. We’re gonna move onto the front now anyway.”

“The front-?!” He was on his back before his thought had even fully manifested, hair haloing around his head in that pretty array of waves you loved combing your fingers through. “Now you’re just abusing me.” He huffs, watching you throw your leg over his hip, smiling as you settle into your new seat.

“You wanted to help.” The statement partnered the sly arch of your brow, eyes devious whilst staring down at him.

“What happened to ‘I’m supposed to be studying, Suguru’?”

“I am.” His breath practically vacates his lungs when your fingertips path their way up his sides, following the margin of his rib cage before trailing along his sternum. “Look, I found your pectoralis major.”

“For someone who was struggling with this a few minutes ago, you’re doing surprisingly well. Too well, in fact.” His suspicions are only confirmed by the growing smile on your face.

“Maybe, I’m just a hands-on learner.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He says in a frivolous tone. “So what’s the muscle below that?” His hands guide yours just under the curve of his pectorals on either side, the rise and fall of his thorax prominent.

“Your external obliques.” You answer effortlessly.

“And here?” Now your hands lay over his abdominal muscles, each curve perfectly chiselled into marble-like skin.

You hold his gaze through lowered lashes, biting your lip to withhold the smile threatening to form. “Rectus abdominis.”

Something flashes in those dark irises of his at your answer, hands trailing your own lower to the waistband of his sweatpants. Sweatpants that you only now noticed were hanging dangerously low on his hips. “What about here?”

You offer him a challenging look, knowing exactly where this was going but deciding to play along anyway. “That would be your pyramidalis, my love.”

“And what does that do?” He responds with the same expression of dissent painted on those handsome features.

“Well, it tenses the linea alba, which is the connective tissue,” you watch his abdomen quiver as you trace the centre line between the rectus abdominis muscles. “Here, that separates your abs into two halves.”

“Mhm, and what’s directly below that?” Your breath hitches he guides you beneath his sweats, pulse quickening when you discover he’s not wearing anything under them.

“Suguru…” As much of a warning as his name sounded falling from your lips he knew you couldn’t resist the temptation, no, not when it was already nestled so nicely between your thighs.

“I’m waiting for an answer, y/n.”

“You know what’s directly below that.” You squint lightheartedly, hand stalling upon the heated tip.

“If I did I wouldn’t be asking you, now would I? So,” he purposefully shifts his hips into yours, your clit just grazing the notable protuberance of his shaft. “Enlighten me.”

“That’s your cock, Suguru.” Laughter follows your blunt response, the man beneath you attempting to cover his mouth upon seeing your partially serious expression.

“That wasn’t very scientific, now was it?”

“Didn’t think you’d be very interested in the technical terms.” You hook the elastic of his waistband, inching it down at a tantalisingly slow pace.

“Oh, but now you’ve got me intrigued. Please, go on.” He aids your little game with the slight raise of his hips, a facile feat even with you on top of him.

There’s silence when his cock is freed from its confines, your lustful gaze already making it twitch in anticipation. Fuck. “Shall we start from the top?” He swallows audibly when you move to kneel between his legs, ass high as your lips closed in on his tip. “First, we have the glans.”

Your soft lips envelop the area in question, hot tongue lapping delicately at his slit, the saltiness of his precum reacquainting itself with your tastebuds. He can’t help but hiss under your touch, body so familiar yet so responsive even after countless encounters with your mouth. “Then the frenulum.” The apex of your tongue slowly compasses the underside of his tip, that sweet spot, right where the head met the— “Corpus spongiosum.” He relents a breathy moan when your thumb runs over the length of hidden tissue.

“Fuck, baby.” Admittedly, your anatomy terms were going through one ear and out the other at this point, but at the same time they somehow stuck, each word morphing into its own form of gibberish as he anxiously awaited your next move.

“More?” It was a simple question and yet Geto wasn’t even sure how to answer it. Were you referring to the listing of parts as you continued your torturous teachings? Or were you simply just asking if he needed more stimulation?

Either way the answer was— “Yes.”

It’s criminal the way you pin him with that salacious look of yours, it was even more so when the flat of your tongue paths from the base of his cock, purposeful in its journey over the same place you’d mentioned beforehand, the one that made his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Now who’s eager?” His chest heaves with each leisurely stroke of your hand now enclosed around his length, a proud smirk plastered on your lips.

He manages to huff a choked laugh, only for it to get stuck in his throat when the tip of your tongue laps at the arousal beading at his slit. “Why must you torment me so?”

“Because,” you whisper, climbing utop his lap once more. “Love begets love.” His heart skips a beat as you draw closer, lips withheld only a breath away. “And this torment,” he watches your hips rise, fingers slipping your pyjama shorts and panties to the side. “Is my joy.”

Would it be wrong of him to admit that in that moment, he’d fallen in love with you all over again? It could’ve been the warmth of your pussy, the way it moulded around him so perfectly. It could’ve been how even the sweetest of poetry was recast as a sensual sonnet, each syllable flooding his veins like a drug from the syringe that was your lips against his skin. Or maybe it was a combination of the two. Heated flesh adjoined, formless breaths birthing a passionate ballad only you and Geto were able to decipher.

“Sugu…” Oh, how your moans drove him wild.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He exhales, fingers digging into the suppleness of your hips. “Fuck, yes just like that.”

The bounce of your breasts beneath your oversized shirt – his shirt – was mesmerising. The angelic vision of his love riding him so effortlessly inciting the euphoric flutter of his lids, a wildfire of sensations ravaging his very being.

Harmony after harmony was sung with the rhythmic clap of your ass, teeth capturing your pillowy bottom lip in an attempt to prevent the promising rousal of the neighbours, a task that grew all the more tempting as time passed. He wanted it. He needed it. He craved it.

You gasp when he proceeds to switch positions, your body now enveloped by the residual heat of his skin imprinted in the duvet beneath you. He chuckles at your stunned expression, nose brushing yours tenderly as he speaks. “There is no place I end and you begin.” He recites, cock sliding along your velvety walls. “When my body is in your body, we are one, once again.”

There’s no resistance when you pull him into a kiss. It’s delicate, deep, eternal. It relayed all unspoken emotion, emotion he eagerly explored with his tongue as it parted your lips.

“I love you.” You mumble between kisses.

“I love you too.” He echoes back, thrusts never slowing.

Your fingers soon find themselves in his hair, a tell tale sign of your incoming orgasm. You liked to use him to ground yourself, knowing all too well just how easy it was to get swept up in the indifferent tides of ecstasy. But he had a different idea in mind.

Coxing your hands from its inky-tressed residence, he pins your them above your head, fingers entwining before he nestles against you. “Let me hear those pretty moans, baby.”

His cock drives deep, balls lewd in the way they slap against your backside. He mutters all forms of profanity against the curve of your neck, teeth unable to resist marking such a beautiful canvas as they sink into your skin. You openly do the same, whining and moaning as if on command, grasp tightening in his when that familiar feeling begins to build in your stomach.

“Sugu, fuck… I’m gonna cum.”

“Go ahead, pretty. Cum all over this dick.” And with a final snap of his hips you’re unravelling, thighs once spread now wrapping around his waist, forcing his dick still. “Yes, baby, shit.” The pulse of your walls drags him into his own metaphorical heaven, lips finding yours as his seed paints your insides.

Staggered breaths fill the room, each exhale exchanged in the comfort of the other's shoulder, a brief interlude before the onset of laughter, soft and vulnerable.

“When’d you learn poetry?” Geto begins, moving to lay on his side.

“I peek at your books sometimes when you’re not looking.” You reply shyly, unable to contain that mischievous grin of yours in his presence. “It’s the best way to absorb your literary knowledge.”

He pulls you close with a soft chuckle, thumb caressing your cheek. “Or… I could just read them to you instead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna disturb you, Sugu.”

“Nonsense. However, what does disturb me is your constant grumbling.” You whine when he pinches your cheek as punishment. “But it seems like that was all a facade to get me under you.”

“Okay, but you went along with it!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you lied.” He retorts.

“I didn’t lie… I meant it when I said the diagrams didn’t help?”

His brows furrow skeptically. “And why’s that?”

You lean in to kiss his nose, a hand laying gently on his chest. “Because nothing beats the real thing.”

tags: @gardenof-venus, @sintiva, @sailewhoremoon, @okhotel, @xharia, @sakinotfound, @protectpancakes, @hoohoohope, @eiflawriting, @yooniluvbot444 , @/erentoes (i can’t seem to find your @ when i search it up idk why 😕)

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