ki♡

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.”

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.”

“Hey, Specs!” You shouted as you burst into Fiddleford and Stanford’s dorm room. “You’ll never guess who just got called into the dean’s office after Honor’s Geometry.”

You plopped yourself onto Fidds’ bed as you always did when you burst in to tell him something. He was sitting at his desk with a book in hand. You glanced at the bed to your left, finding his roommate laying there with a textbook in his hands too. You gave Ford a shy smile before returning your attention back to Fiddleford.

Your friend barely looked up from his book, noticing the blush on your cheeks when Ford smiled back at you, “How do you know everything about everyone all the time, [Y/N]? This is a big school.”

“I’m observant,” you countered. You propped yourself up on your elbows, “Emma May Dixon, the dean pulled her out this morning. Apparently, someone caught her sneaking into this very building after hours.” You waggled your eyebrows at him.”I just hope whoever she was coming to see has a strong alibi. Like, I don’t know, a super cool roommate named Stanford, perhaps.” You stretched your arms above you head, “Anyways, I just thought I’d let my best friend know.” You stood up, giving the boys a wink, “Well, gentlemen, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast. I better get back to the ladies’ dorm before I get caught like Emma May. Goodnight!”

Ford rested his textbook on his chest and folded his hands behind his head, “You’ve noticed she has a really pretty accent, right? It’s not just me?”

Fiddleford looked up at his roommate. “That’s all you have to say about that conversation?” He set his own book down on his desk, “Nothing to say about me sneakin’ Emma May in here?”

“When did you sneak her in here?” Ford sat up straight. He wasn’t even a heavy sleeper.

The next morning, you found the boys sitting at a table in the dining hall. Fiddleford was having eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Stanford was eating a simple bowl of cereal. You scooted in next to Fiddleford with your hands clasped together. A bright grin was covering your face as you sat in front of Ford. 

“Stanford, I have a surprise for you!” He choked on his milk when you looked at him, a blush crept up his neck, through his face, and to his ears. You didn’t notice. You thought he was always red in the face. “I found it on my way here,” you opened your hands to reveal a two-headed toad. You ran a finger down its back as you met Ford’s eyes, “Isn’t he cute? He’s a little weird, just like you, but absolutely adorable.” A snicker from beside you wiped the smile off your face. You blushed then. “I mean,” you stammered, “it’s cute. You’re not cute. Well- I mean, you’re not not cute. This guy, though-  I mean, just look at him.”

A hand clamped over your mouth, your eyes wide. “Stop talking, dummy,” Fidds whispered into your ear.  “She’s had too much coffee, Ford, don’t you think?”

“Decaf is better for you,” Ford mumbled through a mouth full of cereal. A few o’s slipped from his mouth and back into his milk.

You giggled as you watched the man you’ve had a crush on for weeks wipe his chin in embarrassment, but Fiddleford’s elbow planted itself deep into your ribs, “Uh, well, boys, I better get going. I don’t want to be late for World Lit.” You placed the toad into Ford’s open hands, “I’ve named him Hopper. Not very original, I know, but I just found him a few minutes ago. Not much time to think of something clever. I’ll be by later tonight to check on him.”

Ford watched you walk away hoping you’d look at him before you disappeared. You did, “Did you see those blue earrings [Y/N] was wearing? They really brought out the color of her eyes.”

“What did she name the toad, Stanford?”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, looking down at the amphibian in his hands, “I’m pretty sure she said Four-Eyes. She’s very clever like that.” Fiddleford looked at him with utter disbelief in his eyes, “You see, it’s funny because I wear glasses. A common nickname for people who wear glasses is Four-Eyes. This toad has two heads and, therefore, four eyes.”

“She named the toad hopper,” Fiddleford chuckled with a roll of his eyes. He watched as Ford pet the toad lovingly on its back as if it were the greatest gift he had ever received. “Why don’t we go to the pet store after breakfast and get that little guy a proper enclosure? You can show it to [Y/N] tonight.”

Once midterms rolled around, you saw less of Fidds and Ford. You’d been busy studying and so had they. Even your weekly DD&MD campaigns had gotten lost in the shuffle, the panic of studying nonstop. When you did see them, it was often in the library. You would sit with them, your face blushing everytime you and Ford made eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, Fiddleford was rolling his eyes, completely distracted by the two of you. Neither you nor Ford could sit still around the other, often causing him to move tables. If he was going to pass any of his exams, he needed quiet.

“Fiddleford, we need to talk,” you whined as you burst into his dorm again. 

You quickly glanced around the room to make sure Ford wasn’t there. Luckily, all you saw was Fidd’s and a mountain of reference material. Normally, anything you needed to say to your childhood best friend could be said in front of his roommate. It wasn’t like you were shy. You were very open, very out going, and you didn’t care what people though. Right now, though your words were for Fiddleford’s ears and Fiddleford’s only.

“What’s wrong, [Y/N]? Are you alright?” Fidds looked concerned. Your red eyes and sad face were enough to make him worry, “What happened?”

You gave a pathetic whine again, laying onto Ford’s bed. Often you had chosen Fiddleford’s, but you required this one for what you were about to admit, “I think I’m in love with Stanford.” You held up your hand when Fidds glanced toward the stack of books in front of him. “Please don’t interrupt me. I need to get this out before I explode.” You rolled onto your stomach, your voice muffled by Ford’s pillow. Why did it smell so good? You picked the wrong bed, “He’s just so handsome. He’s so smart. Ugh-” You rolled onto your back again. You didn’t care that your long skirt was getting twisted around your legs or that your hair was about to tangle. Who cared about your appearance in that moment? It wasn’t like Ford was in the room, “And he’s so cute, you know? I just want to kiss him all over!”

You spread yourself out on his bed and looked up at your friend. “Quit looking so smug! It’s not funny!” You let out a fake sob, “And have you seen his hands? They’re so weird, like him, but it makes him so unique and beautiful.” You let out a frustrated groan, “It would be so nice to hold his hand, wouldn’t it? My hand would just feel so secure in his.” You flipped over onto your stomach, unsure of how to make yourself comfortable when you’re spilling your guts like this. Your head was propped up in your hands, “Fiddleford, you have to tell me what to do! Please?”

When Fiddleford sat back in his chair, legs crossed and his hands behind his head, you sat up, “What’re you looking so smug for? You knew for a while I liked him. It’s not like you’re learning something new here.”

Fidds chuckled, his head motioning towards the stack of books, “Hey, Stanford, what do you think she should do?”

Your breath hitched in your throat when Ford came out from behind that mountain of books. His face was beet red and his hand nervously scratched the back of his neck. A flood of emotions flowed through you. At first, you slammed your fist on Ford’s bed because you were angry Fiddleford didn’t warn you. Next, you were embarrassed because those words never would have left your lips had you know the subject of your rant was sitting right there! Third, you were sad, afraid of rejection. Finally, however, you stood from Ford’s best. You fidgeted uncomfortably in the middle of their dorm before bolting toward the door.

Fiddleford chuckled, “Go get your Princess Unatainabelle, Ford. The damsel is in distress.”

Ford hesitated for a moment before he was on his feet. He ran after you through the door you left open, too much in a hurry to close it behind you. You heard him calling after you, but you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t  You didn’t want to hear him say he just saw you as a friend. 

He caught you by the shoulders. Looking into your eyes, you panicked, mouth moving a mile a minute, “Stanford, I’m sorry. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship. You’re a great guy and i just really like you. It’s stupid, i know, but I thought we got along and you don’t have a girlfriend, so-”

------

The crimson-haired man ceased to look at you, as if it hurt to do so. Your lack of response discouraged him. How could it be otherwise? You had created a narrative where he was a cheater, believed in it, ended the relationship - all of this without him knowing; without him even doubting it. It was ironic enough that he who saw so clearly in the future, he who knew how to read people’s moves so easily was totally blind when it came to love. Or maybe had he tried to blind himself? To overlook the fact that you weren’t answering your phone anymore? To find excuses upon excuses for you? He had always been that type of person after all. As a big brother, as a “responsible” person, it was second nature to him to bottle up his feelings and to never lose composure. And even in this moment, he couldn’t tell you how much your actions hurt him.

But for once, he accepted the fact that he saw a future that you weren’t a part of. Deep down, he knew that by overlooking the signs and hints, he has also played a role in the downfall of your relationship.

He saw it too clearly: you weren’t his anymore. Just like when you excluded him from the decision making, choosing to put an end to your relationship on your own - you didn’t even have the courage to tell him that yourself. He had to do the same: fill in the gaps and read between the lines. He remained silent for a moment. He got up from his seat when he gave up on you saying anything.

He moved towards the door, ready to leave all your shared memories behind his back.

People don’t always get the closure they need in order to move on, he knew that too well.

“Katakuri,” you called for his name weakly. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if you had really pronounced his name. He turned his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your heart was pounding hard in your chest. You knew that if you let him go now you would regret it forever. You knew that you had to tell him about everything. He deserved it, after all. It was hard to be the bad guy of the story. But you had been a bitch and you had to face the consequences of your behavior. Wasn’t that what being an adult meant?

“There is something else that I think you need to know,” He seemed interested now. He was listening to you without turning your way.

“I apologize for everything that I have done and I know that you will probably not forgive me and honestly, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't either.” You took a deep breath before going on. “What I am going to say might be hard to hear, but I feel like you need to know it.”

You don’t know exactly how the rest followed, nor how you found the courage to tell him about everything. You didn’t get to any details, it would have been too cruel, but you told him what he needed to know.

“I am really sorry, but I think that it’s best for us to split up. My feelings have changed, I have caused enough damage as it is. I think that it’s better for both of us. I am really sorry I hurt you.”

You looked down and from this angle you couldn’t see his smile. It was bitter, the smile of someone that had seen all of this coming. And yet, he was relieved that you confided in him. It was the closure he needed after all. At least now, he could move on.

* * *

The cigarette trembled between your index and middle finger. Your head was clouded. It took too much effort to try and empty your head, to try not to think of what was going to happen. You had lost so much already and what you were going to lose was beyond repair. With every breath you took, you felt your stomach contract and your legs get weaker. It was one of those days when you wished you hadn't woken up. Despite all of this, a feeling of peace submerged you. Peace? Maybe because you had been honest to your ex, maybe because you were trying to be honest to yourself. What got you into this situation was your indecision after all. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

If you can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist. This mentality of yours had to change and you were going to change it tonight. It was the best opportunity, it had to happen, you had to grow. Maybe to some extent, your “romantic” failures weren’t all to blame on others, maybe you also played a role, maybe you weren’t ready yet. Didn’t Sabo say the same thing?

“I thought that you stopped a long time ago.”

A firm voice broke your trance. His hand snitched the cigarette from your lips before putting it out with the sole of his shoe.

“Hey!” You whined in protest, features softening when you were met with his dark eyes.

“I did quit. But I was stressed,” you tried to justify yourself. “I needed it.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit. You always have the choice.” He shrugged and took place next to you on the sidewalk.

Choices, decisions, you were already done with all of this. An awkward silence swallowed the atmosphere, but it seemed as if it was only awkward for you.

Now that you had nothing to do with your fingers and mouth, you started scratching at your wrist slightly - a nervous tic.

The ambience of the park offered you, however, a feeling of safety. The darkness hid your embarrassment. He was now sitting next to you and it was as if words deserted your mind. He didn’t want to pressure you, he didn’t say anything. Under the moonlight, his blond hair took on a silvery shade. He kept looking in front of him, hands in his pockets. Silence didn’t bother him, he knew that something was wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have texted him to come to the park at around midnight.

Truth is, you couldn’t calm down, you felt like you had to come clear about this whole situation, you felt like you had to make a decision. You felt that if you let today pass, then you would find one hundred excuses and hide again.

It was now or never.

“Sabo,” you started.

“Y/N,” he mirrored your answer.

“I’m going to tell you something... But please don’t judge me, alright?”

“Have I ever judged you?” He arched an eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours, making you switch your gaze almost instantly.

“Well... You have... Like that time I used the microwave at your place…”

“Y/N, you microwaved a fork…” You fake pouted as you playfully punched his arm.

“Well, the fork was in the bowl and Ace was there and he didn’t say anything! Not my fault.”

“And you trusted Ace?” he smiled and held your wrist to stop you. “He’s a living disaster. You guys can’t do anything without me, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. What would I do without my Mr. know-it-all of a best friend?” you laughed it off.

Best friend. That word reminded you of the reason why you contacted him so late. You coughed two times, trying to switch his attention to you. Laughing things off helped ease the atmosphere. You twirled a hair strand around your finger then started as if you were going to give a speech.

“Hey, I’m gonna try to... be decisive…”

“That’s some character development.”

“Sabo!”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said with a sweet smile. You sighed and started bouncing your leg nervously.

“So If I called you tonight it’s not to have the pleasure of your company… and it’s not to rip you off your precious hours of sleep... It’s also not to... ”

Noticing that you were starting to diverge from the topic, he held your hand in his softly and gave you an encouraging look. Honestly speaking, he didn’t have much patience around others but he had loads of it with you.

“I called you for something else. And don’t you dare hang up on me next time! I want to have a serious conversation about…everything, about us, and most importantly about…” you sighed before continuing “About my ex situation.”

He took his hand off yours now that you seemed calmer. He was surprised by your willingness to talk about such matters. It was a pleasant surprise to him, it meant that you wanted to take things in hand, that you were growing.

“I’m listening to you.”

“I thought that it was only fair for you to know as well... that I fucked up pretty badly. I assumed that my ex cheated on me and as it turns out, he didn’t. I just learned it this evening so I feel very confused and bad. It’s a long story. It was just me, assuming things because I was scared and because I feared confrontation. Then everything happened so fast between you and me... I shouldn’t have... I feel very ashamed. For him, for you, for acting so immature.”

Your voice cracked and you couldn’t hold your tears any more. You looked down and started wiping your tears with both hands on your face. You didn’t want to cry in front of him because you had caused him pain as well. Sometimes not taking action is also an action and it has consequences.

You didn’t dare look at him, did he look disappointed? Did he stop loving you? After all, you didn’t even know the reason behind his love. Maybe he was “playing games” too as that anon suggested on Reddit. No, you couldn’t afford to assume things again now. You had to be honest, raw, vulnerable. You couldn’t see his reaction through your tears, but you felt his hand on the top of your head, gently bringing you towards him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Wow, this really sucks.” You were surprised by his reaction, but the fact that it wasn’t one of disappointment as well as his easy-going demeanour released your stress. You started sobbing, shoulders shaking. He didn’t know how to react at first, but one thing he knew for sure: you came first, and he hated to see you cry.

“Shh... Here, here... It’s okay to cry... Let it all out...” He then continued “It’s going to turn out just fine. You can count on me, okay?”

“I was a really bad person. I should’ve acted differently. I should’ve at least told you... or Nami or someone... but I just... assumed things... I was so scared that you’d stop... that you’d stop being my... friend... And stop loving me…”

His grip tightened around your shoulder as he pressed you a bit closer to him. He offered you a warm smile as he spoke in the same light note.

“Well, whatever happened, happened. I don’t think that you are a bad person. You’re human and you made a mistake that you’re now aware of. I know that you had no ill intentions. At least you learned something, hm? And about me... Aren’t you underestimating me a bit?” He smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Did you forget that I’m Luffy and Ace’s brother? I’m tough, you know.”

You were overwhelmed by his kindness, and this just made you realize that it wasn’t only about your feelings, you couldn’t count on everyone else to put up with you and clear up your mess.

“Sabo, you’re so kind.” Despite your mascara running under your eyes and you looking like a total mess, he found you incredibly beautiful. He felt proud, he knew how hard it was for you to go through all of this. He felt like it was worth it that he had loved you for this long, you were honest and strong, even if you weren’t aware of that strength, you had proven it in this moment.

“I’m not being kind.” He meant it; after all, his intentions weren’t all that innocent towards you, he had wanted you from the start. “I’m just being truthful, as your best friend.”

Maybe he wanted more, but he was content being your friend as well. Since for him everything needed time, he had no right to rush you.

Love is a matter of timing after all. Too fast and all of his subtle efforts would go to waste.

“About that... I mean... The “best friends” part...” He could easily see your chest heaving with your breath. Your heartbeat raising little by little until it was unbearable, your lower lip slightly trembling as you dreaded the weight of the words you were going to pronounce. He looked at you with genuine interest and curiosity; he laid off a bit, turning your way.

“I don’t think that we could act this way anymore...” You dug your nails into the palm of your hand nervously.

“I... told Katakuri about everything. I told him that I couldn’t be with him anymore because of how things have changed. I can’t be here and pretend that nothing happened when so much did…”

“Nothing has changed for me.” He said in a stable voice, trying to anticipate your reaction. Despite being sure of himself, of every step he had taken till now, he felt a hint of uncertainty, for this was a variable that he hadn’t taken into consideration.

“But everything changed for me, and I can’t ignore it. I can’t continue to play pretend... Of course it was convenient for me... And I didn’t wanna lose... Whatever it is that we have. But I didn’t realize that it had already changed. I can’t be your friend anymore, Sabo. Not like this. Not with these thoughts in mind. Not after…” Y our eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and back. “After... everything we did.”

You didn’t give more reasons, but your eyes gave one hundred more.

We can’t be friends because I touched myself to the thought of you. Because I can’t help but think about being with you. Because I don’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. Because I love the way your arms fit around me. Because I love everything about you, from the way you say my name to these stupid blond eyelashes that reflect the light everytime you blink. And most importantly... because I love your way of loving me unconditionally.

As much as I want you...

As much as you want me back...

I can’t be with you, not now, because it would hurt me and hurt you even more, because I have to make a decision, because I can’t draw the line between love and lust and because I am afraid to wrong you in the way I was wronged.

But just for a moment, just for this time, you wanted to kiss him just one last time. You wanted to get intoxicated by that mint smell that you have grown addicted to. He looked at you as he drank your words, eyes reflecting the darkness of the sky. His piercing gaze seemed to understand your dilemma. Suddenly, the emptiness of the park felt too weighty and the air too heavy.

“Say something,” you pleaded, almost begging him to break the silence.

To words, he preferred actions. Before you even realized, he captured your lips into the kiss you were longing for. His hand was fast to encircle your back, pressing your upper body against his. Your fingers instinctively reached for the fabric of his shirt, tugging on it as to pull him closer. For him to kiss you so passionately, it only made you realize his burning desire for you. The more you kissed in an attempt to ease your craving, the hungrier you got for his lips, for his stupid minty taste. But it wasn’t nearly enough for you, the growing warmth and tingles created a desire that you were unable to appease yet. You pressed your legs together when his free hand gently rubbed your thigh. He kissed you deeply, almost willing you into giving up on your decision to give in to his embrace. He was indeed that good of a kisser, making you want to shift into his lap and have him inside of you. You whined at this thought growing more eager, tongue chasing his, teeth nibbling on his lips. But you eventually had to break the kiss, even when you prayed for the seconds to last for hours, it was bound to end. You took a moment to collect your breath again. His eyes were demanding, pupils dilated and greedy, yours were more modest, shifty.

“Looked like you were dying for it.”

He broke the silence, finger tracing your neck before lifting up your chin, making you lose composure as you looked into his deep gaze. It was too late to deny it, you were indeed dying for it. But instead of satiating you, that kiss felt like the promise of something forbidden. You only groaned meekly as an answer, feeling too weak to actively protest. You indulged in his embrace, resting your head in the crease of his neck. You breathed in his scent, even his hair smelled fresh like mint. As you took in a bigger gulp of air, you could inhale the subtleties of a thyme or violet underlying smell. What shampoo did he use? Another diverging thought that you discarded.

You closed your eyes. “Can we stay like this for a little longer?” you asked, and who was he to deny you so little? He revelled in your desperate need for his touch. He felt needed, wanted, but he knew that he shouldn’t get carried away, he knew that it wasn’t the right timing yet. So he just let you sink into his warmth. For now.

You peeled yourself off of him reluctantly. Your eyes avoided his. Nice progress ,he thought, but there was still need for improvement.

“I can’t be selfish, not anymore. I have to make a decision. I am sorry I can’t make up my mind yet.” Your voice cut through the silence, firm, yet not devoid of sensitivity.

You needed time, it was clear, but he was nothing if not patient with you. He was ready to settle for your friendship for now while he worked for your love, but he liked your idea more. He wasn’t one to push his emotions onto you, he was there to lead the dance, to toss a bottle into the sea. If good news came then good for him, if nothing came out then he had gambled and lost. But he wasn’t as detached and passive as things might have seemed, as he took multiple variables into consideration to place his best bet.

“Take all the time you need.” Not an ounce of annoyance was to be detected in his voice. It was steady, a rock that couldn’t be moved. He had what it took, he knew what he wanted and he was ready to wait for it because he had the deep belief that you were worth the wait.

“Why are you so patient? Don’t you think you’re too confident? Aren’t you scared? ” It was genuine curiosity, but you bit your tongue realizing that your words might’ve seemed cocky or doubting. His lips stretched into a roguish smile, making him devastatingly handsome. And here he was, a Sabo that you had encountered a few times between two eyelash beats. It was so destabilizing, the way he morphed into a totally different person from one second to another, giving you a strange feeling. It was something that you couldn’t fully place yet. He kept escaping from your grip while being totally still. He was like sand between your fingers and you were fascinated by the prospect of catching him.

“I thought that it was obvious, doll.” Here he goes again, calling you sweet names and raising the rhythm of your heartbeats. How did he make everything sound good? You would’ve scoffed at anyone else calling you ‘doll’, but that voice of his made it sound oh so appealing. Or maybe it was the seed of desire that he had planted in your core, that was now growing and blossoming, vines intertwining with your lungs.

He got closer again, black eyes scrutinizing yours.

“You can have all the time you need. What I want is simple, non-negotiable, immutable.”

At first he was startled; your ex appearing out of nowhere seemed like an inconvenience, but after giving it some thought, he realized that he was in luck. He didn’t have to make you choose, the choice was there for you to make.

“And what is it that you want?”

“You. But all of you.” He looked you up and down as he said this then got up. He wasn’t the type to settle for less. He wanted no compromises, no half-open doors, no half assed answers. If he wanted something then it was all of it, out of respect for you and for himself. Another reason was probably that he knew: the longer the chase, the bigger the prize.

He got up since he considered that the conversation was over now and it was also getting late. You looked at him, eyes wide open, cheeks aflame. His voice trailed off, cutting through the silence.

“No rush, I think that it’s better for you to focus on your exams for now. Will you manage without my help?” Another charming smile, shifting back to that playful Sabo you have always known. The mood felt less serious now.

“I think I’ll do just fine this time…” you smiled gently, following his lead.

“Good, then. Good night.” He put his hand on your head, softly ruffling your hair before turning back. He seemed a bit more distant now, like he was plunged into some deep reverie. You instinctively got up, looking intensely at his back slowly fading into the darkness. Before his silhouette got completely enveloped, you shouted.

“Sabo!”

He turned back instantly and you threw something in the air towards him. He was quick to catch it.

“I don’t think I need these anymore. Take them!”

He opened his hands, looking at the packet of menthol cigarettes and a blue lighter. He put it into his back pocket prior to giving you a proud smile. He then continued his way back home, leaving you behind. You felt both relieved because things had gotten a bit clearer, yet apprehensive since your feelings were still very much unclear. But maybe what you felt above all was exhaustion. You looked for a moment at your empty hands. Did you make the right choice? Whether it was good or bad, you couldn’t care less. At least you had acted true to yourself.

SLOW & STEADY

P V

You couldn’t hold back your smile as you slid under your covers. You were replaying tonight’s events in your head endlessly. It was as if you were under his spell, totally captivated. You could hardly point out the first moment when you started feeling this way, but the emotions were slowly creeping into your heart and you were showing no resistance. How would it feel to be more than friends? What would it feel like to let him love you in the way that he has always dreamt of?

Days ago, you would have sniggered at the thought, in the same tone of laughter which you had on your prom night. That night, when you pretended to be a couple, since neither of you had anyone else to go with. It never occurred to you that maybe it meant more to him than just pretending.

Did his heart beat a bit faster as you danced together? Did he spend the night pacing, thinking of you, in the same way you were starting to think of him? To which extent did you share the same memories? While yours were coated with laughter, his were those of longing.

You scrolled through the pictures and it seemed to you that he was now different. It was different because now you knew, you had the knowledge to interpret things differently. To discern a languorous desire in the curve of a smile, a hint of jealousy disguised in apparent concern. You loved going back to pictures and soon after conversations, re-discovering them, a little game of looking for hints and hidden messages. A notification that you were tempted to discard by swiping left popped up on your phone.

Ah.

You had almost forgotten. It was the post that you made this morning. Full of curiosity, you clicked on the notification leading you to the website.

[Me [F] got drunk and asked my bestfriend [M22] to fuck me but now he doesnt want to??????]

[Alright so I've been friends with this guy since we were in highschool. I got dumped by my ex and got drunk. On that night I begged him to fuck me but he said (thanx god) that he'd only do it when I'm sober. He didn't bring it up till I did. In the heat of the moment I asked him to do it, but he said that things will be different after. We almost had sex but he stopped saying that “I’m not ready yet” (?). Everytime this happens, he just acts like nothing happened.

He's a nice guy and he has always been there for me. I don’t want to ruin our friendship but I also want him. ALSO there is this girl that is so into him and they've been hanging out all the time and it's scaring me. I don’t want them to start dating, I feel like it would destroy me.

TLDR: I asked my best friend to fuck me while drunk and now I’m extremely confused since he’s spending a lot of time with another girl]

User34793: Do this dude a favor and be decisive. Do you want to be with him or not? Don't play with his feelings just because you need a rebound. You just want to keep him around and expect him to never meet anyone? This is so fucking selfish and immature.

User3982: Yeah but do you *just* wanna fuck?? Sounds to me that you’re in love & in denial, especially that you’re jealous.

User4295: Sounds like he’s playing games to me tbh. You arched an eyebrow at these comments, they even managed to make your mood quite bitter. The first one resonated with you most as it highlighted what you were trying to overlook. Cradled by the high of tonight’s events, you were too blinded to take a step back and think about what was happening.

Was it because you were terrified of confronting yourself? A plausible, yet unpleasant thought.

The first comment made you feel called out. Indecisive? They couldn’t have described you any better, you felt ashamed of it. But how to make a decision when everything has happened so quickly? So fast that you didn’t even know when it started, the lines were blurred, smudged together. Your thoughts were plunged into a comfortable dimness, and you were (unconsciously?) thriving off of the ambiguity.

You liked it. Why wouldn’t you? You loved the attention he gave you, you craved it, because in your current state you couldn’t have asked for a better replacement. You liked the chase, you feared the commitment. You wanted to take but you were too empty to give back. You fancied him because he had never asked for anything in return. But was it fair to him? How long will the thrill of the chase last? You tried to overlook how well you fit in his arms, how his gentle touch made you melt in comfort, how you trusted him like no other man. Of course you did, he has always been there, but now it was different because you started wanting more. But in that ‘more’ laid an abyss that you were terrified of exploring and you didn’t feel ready to embark on that quest yet.

Were you playing him in the same way you hated to be played? The thought of you inducing the same pain that you went through to someone else made you feel disgusted. Especially that it was to Sabo.

Falling in love, again? So fast? How could it be possible? You snorted at that thought as if it was a bad joke, but your reaction was forced. Were you in denial just as that person said? It couldn’t be. You turned to the other side on your bed, trying to shake off that thought.

But what if you gave it a shot? What would it feel like to be Sabo’s girlfriend? Of course, it would feel odd at first, not only for the both of you, but for everyone. You smiled thinking of your entourage’s reaction, they would for sure support you as Sabo was the kind of man that you’d love to introduce to your parents. Then, Nami would scream “Oh, finally!” as she says some kind of indecent things. And most importantly, Sabo. He would never make you feel worried. You could already imagine how happy you would be with a man like him. You loved how detail-oriented he was, the goodnight text he had just sent you proved it. He cared and he knew how to show it. You smiled at the thought of a comfortable life at his side. It was starting to feel like a fairy-tale after the disappointment of your last relationship.

But if you were starting to feel such a strong attraction towards Sabo, it wasn’t only because of the temptation of a healthy relationship by his side. No, it was because of the appeal of the unknown. Of that glance he gave you between two sips of his coffee. Of the way his words held double meanings, making you doubt yourself. At times, you felt as if he was completely different from what you had always imagined. That duality of his added some obscurity to his personality and made you eager to know more about a man that you have known for years.

But it was also this specific thought that nested in your head how well he would fuck you if you were his, if you only let him. How good it will feel to give in to his caresses, gentle and rough at the same time. You loved the way he pulled on your hair to bring you a bit closer, how he secured you so easily on his lap, and how surprised, how turned on you felt by this side of him.

Maybe if you were closer in that way it would ease the fire that had been consuming you for days on end. Maybe if you let yourself indulge in those feelings, if you gave in to his touch, if you just accepted the fact that you were starting to fall for him...Only then...Maybe he would make you his.

As you groaned in frustration into your pillow, your thoughts wandered and were met with that shimmer of lust hidden behind his irises. You were still able to hear his whispers in your ear, the way he articulated his words so distinctly, punctuating them with a faint “hum?”, enquiring you, chasing your reaction.

“Fuck, that was hot...” You breathed, trying to force your body to calm down but at this point it was useless. All you could think of was the way his fingers went in and out of you, bringing you to bliss. And the damn minty smell that got you thinking of him every time you brushed your teeth. The bare thought of him drove you insane, even more now that he had given you a taste, now that you could imagine how good he would look above you. In any other situation, you would have felt guilty for fantasizing about Sabo, especially that you still didn’t know whether you were ready or not to take things to the next step. But that tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach overrode any sense of guilt, at least for now, giving way to the apex of your arousal. The guilt could come later.

You surrendered to the temptation.

A sigh was buried in your pillow, your hands seemed to have a mind of their own. What the fuck am I doing? That thought didn’t stop you, only fueling your fire. If you closed your eyes and focused hard enough, you could feel his breath ghosting over your neck. With slightly shaky hands, your fingers tried mimicking his gestures. Exploring your body as if it wasn’t your own, gently caressing your thighs. And suddenly you could see him behind you, leaving a trail of kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck. A hand - his hand - would feel your soft breasts, dwelling on one nipple, circling it lovingly and chuckling at how responsive you are to his caresses. Of course, he wouldn’t be making fun of you, quite the contrary, it’s that kind of laugh he has when he is met with something adorable. If you imagined it hard enough, you could feel his growing erection grinding against your ass as you raised your hips a bit, urging him to take off your clothes and make you his.

“You want me this badly huh? Look at yourself...so desperate for my touch.”

His free hand would find its way to your mouth, giving you two fingers to suck on. “Prepare them well for me”,he would say, making you shiver in anticipation. Or maybe he would keep his gloves on? This thought was more pleasant to you as you let out a sigh of ease. You tried to recall the leathery taste from the first time he did this. That was so damn hot too, you commented internally. With the help of your imagination and your experienced fingers you were starting to get more and more aroused.

At this point, shame and guilt were completely overtaken by desire. You gave in to your fantasies, mixing up things he has already done and things that he had yet to do, tailoring the scene to your desires. You started circling your clit in motions, supplying the lack of him with your fingers.

How did it feel when he did it earlier?

You focused, thinking of how you writhed against his hand, urging him to touch you, and how he took his time. You thought of how exciting it was to feel others' eyes on your back, and how your fear only made his smile wider. You recalled how you longed for his touch, how you wished that he would kiss your exposed neck, marking you, claiming you his. That thought alone made you lust for him. That damn desire to be someone’s.

How would it feel if he did it this way?

You could’ve sworn that you heard the lilt to his voice right behind you. He would likely pull your hair, or no, he would push your head into the pillows.

“Shhh...Quieter baby, we don’t want the neighbors hearing you, hum? Unless you’d like that?”

You would answer with a soft moan as he prepared you thoroughly for his length. Fingers crawling inside of you, making your legs tremble with anticipation for what was coming. His voice would trail off, becoming just a whisper “or maybe that’s what you truly desire.”

With a swift move, he would abruptly turn you on your back. You’d hide your flushed face, surprised by this sudden switch of position. Taking your hands away from your face, his voice would be heard once again, and you could see his smug expression, revelling in your uncharacteristic timidity.

“I want to look at your pretty face.” He’d then bring one hand to his face, kissing the tips of your fingers softly. He’d look so damn good above you, and it’d feel just right, as if it was supposed to be that way. As if it was the only way to release that curse that he had cast on you.

“Fuck you, Sabo...” you whispered in frustration, at how desperate you were, masturbating to the mere thought of him. But he gave you no other option. You stroked yourself harder, thinking of him filling you up to the brim. You imagined how good he would feel inside you, how his strong arms would encircle you and bring you against his muscular chest. Your walls clenched around your fingers as you brought yourself closer to orgasm. And you thought of how much you wanted him to release inside of -

A strident noise snatched you out of your fantasy world. Music? You pulled your head out of your pillow looking for its source with a groan. You stretched out your arm to the nightstand, touching everywhere until you found your phone, bringing it close to your face. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the four letters reflecting on the screen.

Sabo.

As if it wasn’t enough to be possessed by him in your thoughts. You cursed him for ruining a perfect orgasm that his fictitious alter ego was granting you. You picked up the phone, fingers still buried inside of you, voice shaking a little in anticipation of your high.

“Sabo.'' Your voice sounded like a sigh.

“I hope I’m not waking you up. Just called to tell you that I took your civil law notebook by mistake. It’s true that… we did go out in a hurry…” you could hear him smile through the speaker. “You can come get it whenever you want. Unless you’d like me to return it back to you tomorrow.”

“No no… I’ll be with the girls tomorrow… I’ll get it whenever I’m free.”

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm…?” Just end the call already…

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why...?”

“You're breathing heavily.”

“Ah… I...I was taking the stairs.” you lied. You then instantly regretted remembering your poor lying skills: for starters, you lived on the first floor. Moreover, there was no reason for you to take the stairs at a late hour.

“Is that so?” he held a chuckle on the other side of the line “Well, don’t strain yourself, will you?”

“I’ll be just fine...” you answered in an unenthusiastic voice. Noticing a hint of impatience in your tone, and you being rather reluctant to pursue the conversation, he couldn’t help but tease you a bit.

“You’re sure? You seem a little distracted. You’re not sick or something, right? Do you need me to bring you some medicine? You know we don’t live that far away from each other.”

Him speaking so slowly, articulating each word, dwelling on every syllable, only made you curse him under your breath.

It would take him seven minutes to get to your apartment. It would take only one more to undress him. You grew needy, greedy, toying with the possibility of making your fantasy a reality.

“Yes yes, don’t worry, I’m totally fine.” you squeezed your legs, impatient for him to hang up and continue what your fingers were busy doing before being interrupted. Hearing the voice that you were imagining in your head earlier, so real, so close to your ear, had its little effect between your thighs.

“Alright then. I’ll leave you for now. Make sure to sleep early, okay? It’s your exams week. You need plenty of sleep.” He cut your thoughts off, back to reality. For now, you had to satisfy yourself on your own and maybe expect him to make the first step once again. His words so caring, so formal compared to the obscenities he trailed in your ears only earlier this evening made you scoff against the speaker.

“Yes, daddy.” you teased. “Now go to sleep for fuck’s sake.”

“Watch your language, young lady.” He played along, only willing to make the conversation last longer, just to piss you off. Typical Sabo behavior. He loved to mess with you when you hated it most, especially knowing that you never gave up.

“Did my profanity scare you off, sir?”

“Feeling feisty tonight. Still worked up from earlier?” An amused smile tainted his lips as he repositioned himself, hand holding the phone while the other supported his neck.

...touché.

You groaned in protest at his remark.

“Earlier what? Forgot already.”

His answer to that was a triumphant smile. Just then, he decided that it was enough teasing and that it was now time to shorten your ordeal.

“Yes sure, good night. Careful with the stairs.”

He wasn’t going to forget about that part, huh?

“Fuck you.” You shoot. Clear. Short. Efficient. Here, back to the Sabo that you have always known. That damn cheeky bastard.

“Maybe sometimes soon.”

Being a tease like always, a promise of a night between his arms was what started all of this after all. You muttered a ‘yeah right’ and hung up. You rolled on your back, both palms on your face, sighing. Your excitement had by now worn off. For how long will the chase last? You didn’t know, but words came back at you like arrows shooting you right in your heart.

By being indecisive, you’d lose it all, your best friend and a potential lover. You couldn’t blame him for trying to play his cards right, you could only blame yourself for not knowing yet.

How easy would it be to succumb to temptation, to ease your tormented loins. Lust is the most obvious among feelings, you sense it just there in the pit of your stomach and it’s unmistakable, unlike for love, the body knows what it wants.

* * *

You yawn, stretching your arm to reach your phone. Fucking amazing. You had slept through the day and a part of the evening. Fortunately, it was the weekend so you could afford to sleep this much. You arched an eyebrow at the twenty-something missed calls. Ah. Your ex again. You proceeded to get ready for the day, or the rest of the day. You laughed in derision as your eyes flicked back to your phone screen. It’s true that you were indecisive, but what the dear anons on Reddit didn’t know is how much more fearful you were, how much you dreaded confrontation.

You were the kind to run away at the smallest inconvenience, preferring to turn a blind eye to your problems. You were avoidant, giving up way too easily, giving no closure. That was your trademark. It wasn’t always this way, but years of being betrayed and hurt as well as coming from a dysfunctional family didn’t help. Playing pretend, always and forever.

The bell ringing snatched you out of your thoughts. You scratched the back of your head, thinking of who it could be. You didn’t plan on meeting with anyone at this hour. You tamed your hair a bit before opening the door. In a matter of a few seconds you closed it again as if you saw Satan himself standing there. A hand firmly grasped the door, stopping you from closing it.

“What do you want? We have no business together anymore. ” You ushered, trying to control the anger and the urge to close the door on his hand. His grip got harder and you finally gave in.

“(Y/N),” the man said with a puzzled look. “What's wrong with you? Why didn't you answer my messages? What does all of this mean?”

You didn’t want to go through all of this. You felt anger welling up inside. You set your eyes right on his, in a confronting manner this time. Seemed like you would have to go through all of this once again. You saw it unfolding before your eyes: you, accusing him of cheating and him taking you for a fool, accusing you back, pretending that you were the one in the wrong. Just like a cheap telenovela scene, you thought, having to go through all of this once again, the cursing, insulting, screams and tears. You didn’t have the energy, nor the time. You wanted it to end quickly, it might’ve stung at first but it was for the best, just like ripping off a bandaid. You and your ex were long distance after all, you just met on the weekends since he lived in another city. That would make it even easier for you to move on, to forget, to erase his existence like it had never happened.

“Go to hell.” You cursed. “I don’t have any time to waste on you. I saw the messages, don’t you dare take me for an idiot. We are over. I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

You were the one who hurt me, cheated on me, rolled my heart in the mud… So, why is it that you are the one who looks the most hurt? The venomous thought struck in your mind, trying to act tough, to protect, anything to keep your head held high against such a humiliation.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry. If anything, smile and show him that you found better.

“Y/N. Please explain to me. You haven't said a word since the last time we talked. I was worried. If this is a prank, then it’s a really bad one.”

His puzzled eyes looked too honest and sincere. How good could one be at lying? You displayed a bitter smile, trying to cover up the mix of anger, of sadness, of despair that was building up inside, pressing on your chest. You then sighed, a hand sliding in your hair, trying to act cool, but also to cover up your wet eyes.

“That girl you've got saved as ‘Angel’ on your phone. Does it ring a bell? Let me recall... You bought her a sweet gift for her birthday, and met together. How long have you been hiding this from me? I think you're taking me for an idiot here. Thank you very fucking much. Now there is no need to deny any of this. I saw the discussion with my eyes. I saw how many messages you have exchanged. I saw how you talked to her… So protective of her... Like you... truly cared. And it disgusted me. No need to deny. Just leave me alone. You knew that the only thing I can’t tolerate is cheating, you knew this about me and you still...I’m very disappointed.”

Your little act was enough to cover up for your shaky voice. He looked at you as if he was struck by lightning. Then, his expression softened. He looked hurt, but you couldn’t see that, as you were looking at the ground. How you wished it could swallow you in that moment...

“I can't believe that you’re saying this.” There was no animosity in his voice. Just mere disappointment. But he understood. And for that, he let it slide. “Can I get in? I will explain.” He asked politely. Calmly.

For a fraction of a second, you doubted yourself. This wasn’t the look of a guilty man. It shouldn’t have been that way. Something was starting to feel off.

Kilometers of barriers were now separating you. How much could have happened in just a week, he wondered. He didn’t get worried about you not answering, after all, he knew it was your exams week and he wasn’t one to text much. But in a way, he blamed himself. He should’ve come earlier. He should have known better.

“There is no need. I've got it all confirmed. Now, please leave me alone. I am trying to get over all of this. I don't want to see your face anymore. It's over between us... Just leave. I am not looking for apologies or anything. I just want to move on. I can’t take this.”

You knew that you should’ve had this conversation before, but everything had happened so fast. Discovering the truth, drowning your sorrow in alcohol... And everything that happened in between with Sabo. It was just a week, but it felt like months and you felt like you were moving on but now, he appeared out of nowhere wanting to explain himself. Explain what, exactly? You were too weak and impatient to protest when he pleaded in a stable tone... You moved to the side, allowing him to get inside.

He got seated and waved in your direction so you took place in front of him. You were still shaking a bit from all your emotions, but somehow you felt calmer. He wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t arguing, it didn’t feel like he wanted to harm you. In front of you, you saw a man that you loved until last week, until you discovered ‘his true colors’.

“(Y/N). I won’t make this more painful for you, and I am only keeping my calm because I know how much you were hurt from your past relationships. The girl you were talking about is one of my step sisters. She turned fifteen last week, I couldn’t be there for her birthday because I spent the day with you. If I didn’t tell you about this, it’s because I knew that you would feel guilty and ask me to go. I am not going to tell you that you shouldn’t have looked through my phone, but you should’ve answered my calls. You should’ve at least... Believed more in me and confronted me, like adults, you know?”

His last line wasn’t accusing you, his voice sounded hurt. He wasn’t making any reproach, just stating facts. Your wet eyes widened in disbelief. His words made sense, you should’ve done all of this, but you were still convinced, or maybe... You didn’t want to admit that you were the one in the wrong, jumping to conclusions, assuming things. The misunderstanding could have been cleared fast, but you buried your head in the ground like a terrified animal. What you thought was ‘protecting yourself’ only ended up hurting you more.

Your throat felt too dry, you opened your mouth to say something only to close it once again. In this moment, all you could do was hold onto the narrative you created. It was selfish and immature, however, just the thought of being in the wrong made you realize how big you have messed up. You thought you were the victim, but you turned out to be the kind of people you hated most.

“It doesn’t make sense. I was certain. How come I didn’t know about her?”

“Here, look for yourself.” You could make out a hint of disgust in his tone as he slid his phone on the surface of the table. You didn’t need to look at it. You just clenched your fists on the fabric of your sweatpants in frustration. You knew when you messed up, you messed up big time.

“Come on (Y/N), you know that I am from the Charlotte family. You have seen it yourself, how many step siblings I have.”

And he was right, you couldn’t even remember half of their names. The only ones that you remembered were maybe Amande because she was particularly good looking and Flampe, the little pest. He invited you to very few family gatherings because of the mess that it inevitably ended up being. How could you have forgotten that he was no other than Charlotte Linlin’s son? The old business woman was mostly known as ‘Big Mom’ because of how many children she had.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You chewed on your bottom lip, not even able to face the look into his eyes. The mixture of guilt, confusion and shame made you feel terribly nauseous. You felt bad for him, he didn’t deserve any of this. You pushed the phone back his way.

“I see that I had it all wrong.”

You attempted to look in his eyes, the eyes of a man that had been hurt, that you hurt. He looked at you through his long lashes, then buried his face into his scarf. You noticed that he didn’t take it off, usually he did. He only took it off around people that he trusted and felt comfortable with. He had always been a little self-conscious, a little too silent, very lenient. And maybe that’s why he didn’t get alarmed by your so-called ghosting. The idea of you changing your mind on him so fast didn’t cross his mind. Not even once.

You tried not to cry, you really did, but the look in his eyes mixed with the weight of your mistake made you snap. You put your hand on your forehead to hide your tears. You didn’t have the right to cry.

“I am sorry.”

It was a quick apology. You didn’t want to justify what was unjustifiable. You were the one that ended this relationship. You had to confront it. You knew at this point that you were also crying because you made a mistake, because you broke something you couldn’t fix. But then, you also had no intention of fixing anything, simply because you knew deep down that you had no feelings left for the man.

He hesitated for a second, then his hand reached for yours, taking it away from your eyes.

“I understand that you have trust issues. I really do.” He then let go of your hand and pushed the tissue box that was on the table towards you. “And I am more than ready to help you get through them, but there is only so much I can do. The rest is up to you.”

Your heart sunk at his expression. It hurt even more because you knew what heartbreak felt like. The feeling was unbearable; the softness of his voice, his comforting words. He only wanted the best for you and it showed, he wanted no harm and you were the one who hurt him. You hesitated for a second.

You were looking at that man that was still offering you his hand despite what you have done and yet, all you could think of was Sabo. All you could think was how well you fit into his arms.

Indecisive.

That word played again in your head. For now you had to face your demons and make a choice or bury your head in the ground and lose all respect for yourself.