brb riding the screen
i’d let him do irreparable, unorthodox, inexplicable, unfathomable, inhumane, godforsaken, down right tomfoolish, patriarchy-strengthening, feminism-eradicating things

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@misspinkthinks
brb riding the screen
i’d let him do irreparable, unorthodox, inexplicable, unfathomable, inhumane, godforsaken, down right tomfoolish, patriarchy-strengthening, feminism-eradicating things
my friend of like a year just sent me a picture of his d!!!! its huge!!!! i haven’t had sex in months!!!! i might fuck him!!!!!
Bitches be like ‘I’m so tired and sleepy’ and then stay up doing hyperfixtation shit for the next 5 hours
...
rant abt the lesser species
TW: men n my personal life
a man told me to stay up and wait for his call and i ACTUALLY DID now im sitting here yawning listening to my men r trash playlist
im starting to think i have some sort of dick crazed dementia
why do i let myself develop crushes when i genuinely lost my mind and had to start journaling and discover self worth the last time i had feelings for a man
this is why we stick to fictional dick xoxo
gojo has an album on his phone called mukbang and it’s just videos of him eating you out
just finished season 9 episode 15 of TWD. I will never ever ever smile or see the sunshine again
SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT
ENIIIID???? TARA???? HENRY???? THAT POOR LITTLE OLD LADY???????
WHY
Why can’t Carol have one good day like literally a 40 min episode where carol doesn’t suffer and like has a margarita or sm PLEASE
my opinion might change but lydia isnt worth all this death let’s be frank
as long as Daryl💞💕💘💝❤️❤️🔥, michonne, carol, judith, jerry, the king, maggie n hershel, priesty boy, rosita, the deaf girl, aaron (and negan) make it i will be ok
fuck eugene to the world n back tho i’ll never forgive him for what he did (i wouldnt last an hour in the apocalypse)
UPDATE s10 e15
my opinion has changed, bless lydias little cotton socks n i forgive eugene.
absolutely torn up sbt siddiq tho he was so real.
also i ❤️ princess she’s so me.
also love judith n daryl so much more everyday, dixon is so dad.
missing maggie.
5:20 pm british time.
just finished the walking dead.
ive cried like a teething baby for HOURS
which sequel should i watch next im so excited
and should i watch the last of us or GoT
Beige flag: they do their duolingo right after sex
⠀ ⠀ ℐℱ 𝒪ℛ𝒜𝒩𝒢ℰ 𝒲𝒜𝒮 𝒜 𝒫ℒ𝒜𝒞ℰ .ᐟ
꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 12.8k word count , black fem reader [ she / her prnz ] , both you and izu’ are 21 , mean farmer boy izu’ , oral sex [ r. + i. receiving ] , dom / sub dynamics , sex in a barn , daddy kink , big dick izu , slight bratty reader , pet name usage [ ex. baby, honey, shortstuff ] , creampie , bit of cum inflation , cervix kissing , izu’ doesn’t find cussin’ ladylike , izu’ is also huge in this so . . i don’t care how tall you are he’s bigger .
belladonna's note to you .ᐟ . . . smthg to keep u cutiez satiated while i study mi lil tushie off ໒꒰ ♡◞ ˕ ก ꒱১ < 3 i wrote dis like . . a year ago now ‘n only loosely edited it sooo my style may be a lil wonkyyy . have fun readin’ n minorzzzzz Do Not Interact !
it’s true.
you know — what they say about the stars being more brighter, more irradiant . . . vibrant in the countryside. growing up in the city, you had thought it was a lie. sure, sometimes you had to squint past thin layers of smog and gloom, but you could always see the stars just fine. distant, celestial bodies made up of hydrogen and helium, floating kilometers, light years away — its always fascinated you. it being not only stars, but space, time, the idea of knowing that you reside on a tiny, floating rock with almost eight billion other people.
moving from an almost two million people populated city to little sycamore square, seeded right near the border of georgia and alabama on a measly two hundred and fifty acres of land wasn’t a change you would have considered trivial nor minor. no, it took a lot of thought — literal years of weighing pros and cons until you just decided, screw it, you simply couldn’t take it anymore. the constant whirring of helicopters circling the entire city, spine vibrating honks of cars and double decker buses aching your sensitive ears as they sped down the three lane street a block away from your home, and constant stories of robberies and gun violence on every breaking news channel you flicked through on tv, to modestly put it, did not sit right within your spirit.
your uncle maevis, the deemed black sheep of the family, had ran off from the city when he was eighteen years old. no one had heard from him in years until there was a call from him to your mother fifteen years later, when you were twelve, telling her that he had became the mayor of some quaint, little town named sycamore square and gotten married to the town’s pastry shop’s owner.
from then on, you suppose that you and your uncle maevis grow close. he apologizes for leaving the family on such a bad note, realized that it was wrong for not checking in sooner ( could’ve spared your grandparents the dozen missing persons report they had battered the police into filing every couple years ). you and him exchange letters, talk on the phone, he even began to send you pictures and postcards of the town’s beautiful scenery.
and in a way, you fall in love with sycamore square without even needing to physically be there.
breaking the news to your parents that you wanted to leave the bird’s nest when freshly turned eighteen wasn’t easy — not by a landslide. constant asks of ‘ are you sure? ’ and snide comments of the town potentially having ‘ mountain lions ’ and ‘ roaming bears ’ were propelled into your ears as a last minute save to get you to stay.
but, you had already made up your stubborn, little mind. you were leaving and there was not a thing they were able to do about it. you were a legal adult, they couldn’t chain you to the porch steps even if they tried.
uncle maevis and his wife anna welcome you into their home with open arms and you quickly adapt to your new life there, living as the mayor’s niece.
to a certain extent, you were treated almost as if you had been a celebrity.
upon your first week living there, dozens after dozens of homemade pies, fruit baskets, and bouquets of beautiful flowers were sent to your home. the town even threw you something close to a ‘ homecoming ’ ceremony to express their happiness and gratitude of having someone of sweet grace and prestige move down to their little neighborhood. you’re aware that everyone takes liking to you . . . and quite quickly, even so.
in that case, everyone aside from him.
a soft breath of air pushes past your nostrils as your eyes catch on glints of forest green shaded beneath jet black curls that flop and dance in the comforting wind.
izuku midoriya.
everyone in town calls him ‘zuku, ‘zu, or simply midoriya. he had caught your eye on your third day having been moved to sycamore square. back then, he had been eighteen too, but he was so . . big. his stature was one of the first things you noticed about him.
natural, refined, sterling hard muscle cloaked with smooth, ivory skin, dotted with speckly freckles the color of honey. through enough gossip and factitiously-innocent asked questions to your auntie anna, you’ve come to learn that izuku has lived in sycamore square for almost his entire life.
him and his grandma reside over near the outskirts of town on a few, large acres of land in a white, oak trimmed farmhouse that’s been passed down through his family for generations.
some mornings, when you go to sit out on the porch swing to watch the rising sun bring in its rays of light with a nice, hot cup of coffee in hand, if you squint hard enough, you can see him on magic — his onyx black, thick maned, friesian horse that he rides to herd in cattle and flocks of sheep, galloping across the horizon.
he does a lot for the town, you came to realize.
most of everyone’s milk and cheese are churned right from the cows he owns, he makes sure to package boxes upon boxes of fresh eggs made by his brood of hens and give them to the town’s grocery and convenience stores, but him and his family are most known for their poultry.
“don’t know what it is about it, but ‘zu has to have the best bacon i’ve tasted in my entire life,” uncle maevis seems to mumble every morning at the table as anna plates his second serving of breakfast.
he’s polite. when he rides through the busy plaza on magic, you can hear him give sweet, “g’mornin ma’am”s and “how ya’ doin, sir?”s, sometimes even tilts his little invisible, wide rimmed hat to a group of high school girls when he catches them staring wide eyed and slack jawed at him and pretends not to notice how they immediately burst out into squeals and giggles when he’s far enough in fear of him hearing them freak out about how ‘ handsome ’ and ‘ gentlemanly ’ he is.
you think he’s managed to have a full conversation with everyone in your two thousand person populated town but you. and you don’t know why.
but, in a way, it’s not like you’ve tried to talk to him neither.
because just as how easily polite, kind, and sweet izuku can be, you find that he can also be the slightest bit intimidating.
it’s scary.
you think the closest you’ve ever been close to him has to be every fifteenth of every month — when the town opens its monthly farmer’s market where local farmers and people of the neighborhood sell fruit, vegetables, poultry, and a bunch of crafty knick knacks to consumers.
you sell your own, homemade candles followed by flower seeds by the pound. your little booth is always a hit and it makes you happy to hear praise of how good your candles smell because you put a lot of hard work into it. it’s not an easy task and you’re only able to sell around ten to fifteen each time.
one of the main reasons why you drive yourself to even crank those out every month is because izuku’s booth is always in front of and two down from yours. you’re able to get the best view of him come when the crowds ebb and dwindle out. his booth sells, of course, produce and handmade soap bars made of honey — a town known product that’s been made by his family for years.
you watch him smile at the people who walk up to his booth and give a pretty, little handsome laugh and bestow soft kisses on the rosy cheeks of infants as if he were the next living messiah and you try, you desperately try not to, but it’s hard not to feel a tinge of jealousy spark in what feels the base of your tummy at it all.
not of him, no, but of everyone else he interacts with. why won’t he talk to you?
“hey, babe,” anna’s giving you a soft smile as you trudge up the three steps that opens up to the large porch of your home. she’s standing in the doorway behind the flimsy, screen door which she pushes open to aid you in carrying the few, heavy bags that contain your candle making materials and set them down on the glossed, mahogany floors in the foyer.
a warm scent of sweet pepper and vanilla balms the air and drifts itself inside of your nose the moment you step foot over the threshold.
you sniff, “you’re baking?”
anna nods and wipes her hands on the apron she wears while walking to the kitchen, “mhm. i heard ‘zu’s grammy came down with some nasty flu. i made her a nice, little basket full of some teas and remedies and baked her an apple pie,” she says as you follow her. “would’ve got you to do the pie, goodness knows how good your lil’ hands are in the kitchen, but i forgot the market opened today and you ran out the door before i can tell you.”
you can feel warmth bloom across the surface of your cheeks as you look away. maybe you were a little extra excited to see izuku today, “sorry.”
“it’s fine, no worries.”
you watch her pull down the door of her teal-colored, antique, double oven and then a plump, steaming hot apple pie is set on the windowsill overlooking the backyard seconds later to cool.
anna gives you a smile, “you think you can run this care basket down to her for me? i’d do it myself but—“
“—sure, sure,” you’re already backing up from inside the kitchen to hurry on upstairs. “just lemme go change and i’ll be right on down.”
you’re aware of what this could potentially intel and lead to — you finally meeting izuku for the first time. there’s a bud of meager enthusiasm sprouting within your chest that you find hard to keep down. you have always made it a goal to look your best, no matter time or day — pretty skirts, dresses, blouses, and mary janes a staple in your wardrobe collection. nonetheless, you can’t help but want to look your absolute best just in case of you both stumbling into each other.
so, pulling out your favorite emerald green, white lace trimmed, thin strapped dress made of silk that clenched tight along the bodice to bring out the shape of your figure didn’t seem like a blunder. you make sure to adorn a few thin, gold necklaces to piece it all together and pin back a few of your locs — long, they reached all the way past your butt — with pretty clips to bring out your face more.
“tell her that me and the mayor hopes she gets well soon, alright?” anna’s sending you off with a wicker basket full of tea bags, jars of marmalade, the pie, and a bouquet of baby’s breath in arm. “hurry along.”
you find sycamore square to be at its prettiest during dusk and dawn. towering mountains thread along the perimeter of the entire town, acting as its own welcome and come again sign and big, beautiful, camphor trees and shrubs of roses and hibiscus line the one lane roads. you realize that you walk with a little pep in your step as the fresh, late morning air wafts over your face, bringing with it the scent of dew and cedar.
izuku lives on the most captivating piece of land in town, you think. the closer you get towards the house, the more homes and shops start to disperse until there just weren’t anymore. the pavement evens out to a long, winding, dirt road, corralled by wooden, split rail fencing and miles of meadow stretches out towards your left and right.
the closer you get, the drier your mouth feels. you clutch the bouquet of baby’s breath closer to your chest at the sight of the black, oak, glass paneled front door and you’re prepared to knock on it until you realize that there’s a doorbell, so, instead, you settle for just pressing the pad of your finger against the glowing button, hearing a distant, classic ding-dong! echo throughout the house.
you wait.
and while you wait, your head swivels on your shoulder to look towards your left. there’s a a navy blue colored barn about a yard away whose door was left partially ajar. you wonder, just wonder, if izuku was maybe in there — milking the cows, feeding magic, raking up hay that probably covers the entire floor before deciding to ultimately lift the entire haystack with big, strong arms flexing—
the door opens.
an automatic smile covers your face out of reflex as you turn your head back forward.
“. . . hi.”
it’s him.
he finally stands before you, finally looking at you. your voice quickly gets caught in your throat as you realize that you have to lift your chin just to make eye contact with him.
your voice is smaller when you reiterate, “hi.”
his eyes — the tone of moss, pine, and juniper all brewed and fused into one — stare down into yours and he squints them just a bit before lifting a bended arm to lean against the threshold. “. . . can i help you?”
he wears a thick, red and black flannel thrown over a white, muscle tee. his voice is deep, however not too deep to where you couldn’t comprehend his words. he has an accent, of course, he has an accent. it’s a nice, rich, southern drawl. god, you think you’re going crazy.
“uhm,” your fingers tighten around the basket and flowers. “uh, we heard — my aunt, uncle, and i —that your grandma has the flu and we just wanted to, uhm . . . to . .”
izuku’s staring at you — deep green of his eyes a mirror image of chasmal nihility — awfully different than the usual handsome grin that seems to permanently reside on his lips anytime he waltzes into town. you feel your heart give a firm thud against the cage of your ribs before it ultimately seems to . . stop. he seems . . . annoyed by you.
your chin drops, eyes do too, and your voice is now softer, “we heard that your grandma has to flu so, here you go,” you hold out the items you brought and he takes them slowly, as if hesitant. “the mayor and his wife hopes she gets well soon.”
“. . . mhm,” is all he says, before leaning back against the doorframe.
you think your fingers are trembling so you clasp your hands together and hold them behind your back before deciding to spare one last look up at him.
freckles.
so, so many freckles.
dotted along his cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. some are even peppered all over his neck and the broad span of his collar bones and shoulders, you have no doubt that they probably made home along his torso and back, too.
a frown starts to slowly pull down the corners of his lips, “is there anythin’ else?”
oh. “oh! no, no,” a bright smile of embarrassment spreads across your face as you shake your head and slowly take a step back. in doing so, a swift breeze wafts across your face, making you realize that you were standing so close to him before that you were enshrouded in a cloud of his scent. he smells like syrup and pine. “no, uhm, that’s it.”
thick eyebrows rise underneath messy, green curls. “i’ll tell gramma the mayor sends her good wishes.”
you don’t know what you had expected.
maybe a ‘ thank you, ’ or proper goodbye-send off . . certainly not him taking a step back, mirroring you, and swinging the door shut in your face with a firm blam! before you hear the swift shlick! of a lock twisting.
you’re shocked.
speechless, you scoff a slight sound of dumbfoundment prior to turning on your heels and returning back to where you came from.
okay, you think. wow.
on your way home, you replay the interaction again and again in your head. your mother’s always told you that you had too big of a heart, you let people get away with things that they know they can get away with only because it’s you. so, it’s no surprise why your mind drifts off into the conclusion that maybe . . maybe izuku didn’t mean to slam the door that hard. and if he did, maybe he was just having a bad day. that’s not a far off presumption, you muse. it makes sense.
you try not to dwell on it for too long.
he was just having a bad day. that’s all.
from then on, you consider yourself on a constant, steady descent into madness. it’s something you’ve always struggled with — being a people pleaser. and if you ever decide to go to therapy and discuss why you are the way that you are, you’re sure that it would be traced back to either one, your giving always has been disproportionate in each relationship you’ve had and always lacked a return of current reciprocity, or two, who you were and what you wanted has been replaced by the needs and happiness of others — at the cost of your own likes, dislikes, goals, desires, and dreams.
dramatic, you think. although true, but you’d prefer not to delve too deep into that.
“baking soda, flour, butter, sugar, eggs, white chocolate, macadamias, cinnamon, m&ms, and chocolate chips.”
you’re standing inside of the kitchen with a pink, frill-trimmed apron tied over your favorite, plaid skirt and blouse and a small, crumpled piece of notebook paper held between manicured fingers a week later. the ingredients you have written down on the parchment have all been marked with a check right beside them to indicate that you bought them and they’re all laid out in front of you on the counter.
“alright,” you smile, set the paper down, and grab a mixing bowl.
it’s a new day. that means izuku’s probably doing a little bit better.
you’re fully prepared to try again.
baking has always been more of a hobby of yours than job, but, still, it’s also a skill that you find useful. you’re able to bake three different types of cookies — snickerdoodle, m&m, and white chocolate macadamia nut — in the shape of pretty hearts within only an hour and you make sure to envelop them all on a porcelain with plastic wrap to keep warm.
“where are you going?”
maevis is seated on his dark brown, leather, recliner seat in the living room as you’re shoving your feet inside of your pink, high heeled, mary jane shoes.
“down to izuku’s.”
he flips a page of his newspaper, looks at you over the rim of gold framed, rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and gives a small ‘ hm. ’ “alright. be safe.”
you smile and wrap your hand tighter around the red and white checkered wool you have the plate enswathed in. “okay, i’ll be back!”
you’re out of the door on a mission.
making it down to their farmhouse seemed to have taken shorter time than the first. you’re already ringing the doorbell before you’re done rehearsing the lines you planned on saying to izuku as the same bout of nervousness that sparked the inside of your chest the first time returns during which the door opens.
“( ❤︎ )!”
you grin, “ms. aya, hi!”
izuku’s grandmother is a tiny woman, standing at only five foot with thin, waist length curls the same forest-green tone of her grandson’s. you greet her with a hug when she opens her arms and a nice scent of toffee and cedar glides within your nose the moment your chin touches her shoulder.
“how are you feeling?”
she gives you a soft smile and waves you further inside the house after shutting the door. “oh, i’m fine now. the tea your aunt sent me helped a lot, tell her i said thank you for me, dear.”
she leads you down the foyer. you find the interior of their home to be very classic — high ceilings completed with wooden beams, dark floors, and a curved staircase a few feet away from the entrance.
ms. aya ushers you to the kitchen, “c’mere,” she says excitedly. “sit, sit! feels like i haven’t seen you in so long. how’ve you been?”
you take a seat on the bench section of the dining room table just as a loud shrill of a tea kettle went off, signaling aya to put on an oven mit, grab it from the stove top, and set it on a coaster.
“i’ve been good,” is your reply. “i just stopped by to drop off these cookies i baked for you and your grandson — uh, izuku.”
“ ‘zu?” she looks over her shoulder at you while carefully pouring the steaming, hot water into a short mug. her eyes glance away and eyebrows slowly begin to gather, “speakin’ of ‘zu, where is—“
a door closes and you hear the gruff sound of a man clearing his throat a few feet down the hall. on compulsion, your spine straightens and all the confidence you had gathered while walking over here demolishes the second pretty, green eyes meet yours and a frown seems to instantly take place on his face.
“ ‘zu, where were you?” aya clicks her tongue and shuffles over to him.
you think they look a bit silly standing side by side — tiny, frail aya and big, strong, perspiring izuku. no flannel today, he’s just in another muscle tee tucked into a pair dark washed jeans, and heavy boots. your eyes flit this way and that, drinking in the sight of thick biceps, sharp collarbones, and a stout neck veneered in a thin layer of sweat.
his shoulders are rising a bit faster than normal. he’s out of breath. “choppin’ wood,” he tells aya through a soft mumble before he’s leaning to kiss her forehead and brush past you to the refrigerator without another glance given your way.
the air within the kitchen seems to spark a new tensity . . . and you’re not sure as to why. what was once lighthearted feels now unsettled. a dumbbell appears to have taken home within your chest and you look down at your fingers which thumb at the knot holding the plate of cookies together.
“well, aren’t you going to say hi?” aya takes a seat across from you. “. . i don’t think you two have met yet, have you?—“
“—we have.” izuku lets the fridge door slam closed as he opens up a cap to a bottle of water.
aya hums in consideration. “oh,” she coo’d. “well, she bought us cookies. c’mere, ‘zuku. try one. she bakes just as good as anna.”
your hands fall to your lap and you direct your vision to them as aya undoes the fabric and slips off the plastic wrap on the plate. izuku gives a soft sigh and lets slow, wide, heavy steps carry him over to the table where you sit.
you.
he cuts his eyes at you, watching you sit there, almost curled into a ball as if you didn’t want him to see you. good. the cookies on the plate look appetizing — heart shaped . . that’s cute — and his stomach growls at the sweet scent that spirals up from them into his nose. the m&ms catch his attention first. shelled chocolate candy of all colors of the rainbow, buried shallowly into the soft dough with a few chocolate chips in between.
you take a peek up just in time when his long, thick fingers pick one from the plate and your big, pretty eyes follow his hand all the way up to his lips to watch him shove the entire cookie inside of his mouth while staring at you blankly . . . “no oatmeal raisin?”
he’s talking to you.
you swallow and slowly shake your head, “n-no,” you utter, unable to look away from him. “just . . m&ms, snickerdoodle, and, uh, macadamia and white chocolate.”
he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just rubs his fingers together to dust the crumbs off of them and you flinch when some fall on your tiny skirt. “hm,” he murmurs, grabs his water bottle, then walks out of the kitchen without another word uttered.
your posture slumps and you let a heavy exhale. with him gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe.
he hates you.
no, it’s not just a simple dislike ( as if you could deal with that, anyway ). he hates you and you don’t know why. it’s bothersome.
each time he catches your eye in the plaza while he’s talking to someone, you can literally see the edges of his smile go frayed prior to him looking by away. you don’t stop with the cookies, either, no, you drop off pie, cakes, and candles to the izuku residence, all in effort to somehow get a hint as to why or, even better, an explanation, but he’s quick to brush you off, exit the room, or is just simply not in at that moment.
aya, of course, is more than happy to spend more time getting to know you. and a part of you feels bad at knowing a teeny, tiny bit of you only stopped by every couple days was to see her grandson, but, honestly, can you help it?
you’re drawn to izuku like a stupid, little moth to a blaze.
when you catch him at the town’s convenience store while buying lemons and sugar for your uncle’s famous lemonade, you can’t help but step away from the counter, losing your place in line just to follow the mop of moss-green curls all the way to the back of the store where alcohol, gauzes, and all things first aid are stocked.
your steps are quiet and slow as you round a shelf to watch him squint his eyes, bend his neck, and read a description on a box of bandages.
you think your eyes catch the blotch of blood seeping through the white tee he wears before anything — thick, runny, and the color of merlot, dripping down to the light wash hemming off his levis. “i-izu’,” you’re gasping and shuffling over, hardly needing time to think about your own actions. the heels of your loafers clicking against the linoleum catches his attention. “god, are . . are you okay? you’re bleeding—“
“—i know that—“
“—do you need help? uhm,” you’re setting down the small basket holding the sugar and lemons to open up the satchel you wear, hoping that you have something to aid him with. “i should have—“
he bites out a low, “—i’m fine—“
“—actually, matter of fact, no. how ‘bout i just buy some gauzes and neosporin myself and i can patch you right on up—“
“—i’m fuckin’ fine!”
you jump and large, spooked eyes shoot up to meet his. izuku’s fists ball and he takes a step closer so that he’s looming over you — a threatening vice of strength and you’re left to hold your arms around yourself in fear of him hurting you. “that’s what’s fuckin’ wrong with you city folk,” he rasps quietly, eyes shifting between the both of yours as if he were making sure you were understanding each word that came out of his mouth. “always thinkin’ y’all know everything and what’s best. can tell you right now that i’d rather stand here ‘n bleed out than let ya’ help me.”
oh.
there it is, you muse. finally.
izuku watches the corners of your plump, full lips wobble and your bottom lip juts out into a darling pout as your eyes flicker down from his, to his neck, chest, then the floor. “o-okay,” you whimper, voice soft. “alright. fine.”
your head snaps back up and you seem to try to recuperate your previous poise but when it doesn’t work, your entire face crumbles and you make sure to shove past him with a hard nudge of your shoulder into his side to get him out of your way.
and you wouldn’t call it depression, no, but you are . . . really sad for the next couple days.
your bed is your safe haven and you stay wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and plushies, dozing in and out of sleep between hours of crying your eyes out. if he wants to hate you, then that’s fine. you can hate him, too. it isn’t that hard.
maybe this was just what you needed for you to finally build a spine and speak up for yourself.
“hey, babe.”
you’re a whiny, little mess, letting anna sit upon your bed and stroke her hand gently over your silk, sleeping cap while you lay your head on her lap. she makes sure to check up on you once every few hours — whether that be just opening the door and making sure you’re alive or, at least, trying to get you to eat something. she doesn’t pressure you into telling her what has you so upset, nor to get up out of bed, and you adore her for that.
“wanna eat?”
it’s morning, around ten am. you showered only a couple hours ago after not being able to sleep and you considered actually getting dressed and going to run a couple errands for the house today for the first time in a while.
but, then, the doorbell’s ringing, uncle maevis is yelling upstairs that it’s for you, making you climb out of your sanctum of warmth and serenity, catch one glimpse of freckled cheeks when you make it to the railing, and then turn around. “no,” is all you grumble, catching anna’s bewildered expression as you climb back into bed and shove your face underneath a pillow. “no.”
she softly asks you, “who was it?” and gets up to check herself. only, it’s clear, that izuku has followed you upstairs because you soon head her give a little gasp and the honeyed, contralto of his voice rumbling out a calm, “g’mornin’ ma’am,” from your bedroom threshold. “i was hopin’ that i could talk ta’ her f’a second . . . f’just a moment.”
you curl yourself deeper underneath your blanket, almost trying to make yourself appear invisible. maybe, if you curl tight enough you can disappear, or better yet, he won’t see you.
“angel?” anna’s touching your shoulder and you huff and pull away. “i’m gonna let ‘zuku talk to you for a second, okay? i’ll be right downstairs. call me if you need me.”
please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave.
her footsteps recede down the hallway and you sigh.
with your aunt gone, it leaves izuku standing in your doorway, and normally he’d ask a woman for permission to enter her bedroom but he knows you’re just as stubborn as a bloody-minded bull, so he walks in on his own and lets his eyes catch on the pretty decor of your room.
you have an an arch shaped window straight ahead with a giant pillow and plush animals covering the floor underneath it. there’s a bookcase of all sorts of material aligned with a wall right beside it so he thinks that that may be your little book nook — cute. a classic tortoise shell vanity is directly across from your canopy bed, and the wall behind it is curtained with fairy lights, polaroid pictures, and photo booth strip images of you, your friends from the city he supposes, and your parents.
what covers your vanity is all types of things. he lets his fingers drift across your hair brush, jars of edge control, make up, and candles.
“i reckon that y’can’t be mad at me forever.”
he watches the little lump you make in the bed shuffle, proving that you heard him, but you don’t say a word.
izuku slowly rounds the other side of your bed and tries to hold in a smile. “you ignorin’ me?”
silence.
he sighs. he thinks he deserves that. “hey,” he crouches down to become eye level with you once he plucks the blanket you have over your head with his finger and lifts it so that your face is revealed. you’re pouting, of course you are, and yet, still, you’re staring at him like you’re trying to deep fry him like catfish with your eyes. izuku nibbles on the inside of his cheek, “gramma told me you were interested in how i spend my day,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if he were talking to a kitten to keep from scaring it away. “ ‘n so i thought i’d show you.”
your pout deepens into a frown and you slowly lift up so that you’re propped up on your hands, “what makes you think that i’d want to spend the entire day with you after what you said to me, midoriya?”
izuku rubs the inner corners of his eyes with his fingers and tries to explain this in the calmest way possible, “just . . come on. put on your shoes and let’s go.”
you fold your arms, “no.”
god, you’re a piece of work. he licks his lips, sighs, and lets his legs work on stretching him back up to his full height. “( ❤︎ ), please, put on your shoes. i’d like it if you came and spent the day with me.”
you, petty you, fix him with the nastiest scowl your pretty face can scrounge up, and in the sweetest tone possible, tell him, “i’d rather lay here in this bed and suffocate or bore myself to death than spend my day with you.”
something wicked curls within the base of izuku’s gut, leaving him staring at you while working his jaw back and forth — something that has him confused on what it means. because he knows what you just said was similar to what he told you at the store, he knows you’re only trying to get him angry, and to leave you alone, and just for that, he’s going to do the exact opposite.
you flop back down, and this time, turn your back towards him, “get out of my room.”
he takes a seat at the foot of your bed. “well, then i reckon ‘m not leavin’ until you come with me.”
“i’ll get my uncle to drag you out himself.”
“mister maevis adores lil, ol’ me.”
you loathe knowing that he’s right. you drag yourself out of bed with a groan and huff, realizing there was no point in trying to change his mind, and shuffle to your closet to pull out the first article of clothing you see which is a little, white skirt, white, collared shirt, and pink, cropped sweater vest.
izuku clears his throat, standing up when you turn around and fix him with your eyebrows raised and a cocked head. “i’ll leave you to . . .” he looks down at the clothes on your hand then the pajamas you wear — pink, cotton shorts that stopped right underneath your ass and a bralette. “yeah.”
he stands in the hall while you get ready, leaned against wallpaper the shade of eggshells covered in daffodils and buries his fists in his jeans’ pockets, thinking over if this was a mistake or not. in essence, it didn’t take much for him to admit what happened at the store was wrong of him. if he wants to take it a step further, it was fucked up.
but upon his grandma telling him how interested you are in his life on the farm and what he does, he supposed that it’ll be just a tiny step into the right direction of apologizing.
“ ‘m ready.”
izuku doesn’t know why he despises you so much, especially when you look so pretty, every day, all the time. you purposely left him standing in the hall for almost forty five minutes before exiting the room looking as if you were an angel sent directly from up above to stand in front of him. but, izuku’d rather let magic gallop all thirteen hundred pounds of her against his rib cage than admit that, to himself or you.
“what are we doing first?”
izuku’s throwing one, thick, muscled leg over magic’s back to settle on the saddle before reaching a hand down to where you stand on the first step on the porch. your eyes flick from it to magic who only glances at you before giving a small snort and looking away.
“don’t be scared,” izuku reads the evident unease that glistens in your eyes and gives a short head rub to magic who pushes back into his hand with a sound of content. “she’s a sweet girl.”
“are you sure?”
one look at your fingers rubbing nervously against one another as you nibble on the corner of your bottom lip has izuku’s chest doing that weird thing again — makes him feel as if his heart was twisting and clenching and it makes him, strangely, want to pull you into his arms and never let go. any normal person would ignore the feeling, but izuku doesn’t, and to make it worse he responds to it which always has him biting his words out to you in irritation.
“i think i’d know my own horse. c’mon, we’re wastin’ time.”
you struggle a bit but you end up on the horse with your chest glued to izuku’s broad back.
“wrap your arms ‘round.”
you’re hesitant, you’re always so fucking timid around him, but you do it and izuku doesn’t waste another moment prior to giving magic a nudge into her side with the heel of his foot and she takes off down the road on a steady gallop.
you emit a small squeak. initially, its scary. you can’t help but bury your face into the soft cotton of the white button down izuku wears as the world whips past you in a blur. nevertheless, after a while, you take a peek and realize that if you focus on how the wind hits your face and how good izuku smells and if you press your little palms tighter against his chest, you can make out the outline of abdominal muscles ?, and it’s actually nice.
izuku controls magic with natural grace. his posture is straightened yet his lower body is lax so that he’s able to steer her left and right with only his heel if needed. you’re entranced by him.
“y’ever milk a cow?”
he’s leading you to the barn, the same one your eye keeps catching each time you happen to look out of the window while inside of the house with aya.
your thick wedged, vivienne westwood, ballerina shoes are sinking into soft soil as you try to keep up with his long strides. “nuh-uh,” you utter softly. “. . . it looks fun though.”
you hear izuku give a small snort. the sound makes you lift your eyes up to see a soft smile on his face though his eyes were still trained ahead of him. you want to ask him what’s so funny but he’s pushing open one of the tall, heavy doors of the barn and your brain’s immediately going empty at the sight of all of the animals that occupy almost the entire space within.
the pigs are the first you notice, around five of them, caged in a large wooden pin with dried mud caked all over their plump, pink bodies and they seem to snort a greeting towards you and izuku as you, him, and magic past by them, a flock of sheep, and two cows to an empty stall.
“that’s betsy,” he points to a brown spotted cow who lazily chews on a handful of silage. “and that’s tux.” a fluffy black one who stands in the other stall beside her.
you can’t help coo’ing and tickling your fingers atop of betsy’s head. “well, aren’t you precious?”
izuku watches you whisper and mutter to her while he fills magic’s drinking bail with fresh, drinking water. you’re like a child — skipping between betsy and tux and smiling all bright. and they melt their broad, fat faces into your soft palm, all content and happy like they didn’t try kicking and biting izuku the first time he met them all those years ago after being dropped off at the farm at only ten years old by his parents before they ran back off to another country. jealous? fuck no.
you giggle, “you’re so cute.”
maybe.
“c‘mere.” izuku makes you hold out your hands so that he can slap some petroleum jelly on your little palms and tells you to rub it in while he opens betsy’s stall, grab a pail, rinses it clean, strip her, then plop it underneath her udders. “alright, now, watch me.”
you have to bend lower so that you’re in a crouching position like him to watch him grab two of betsy’s teats at the base by two of his fingers on each hand, grip, and slide down.
you’re amazed at how fresh, clean milk is released from the teats into the bucket, and how izuku seems to do it almost absentmindedly, as if this was just a regular ol’ day for him which, in hindsight, most likely is. “now y’wanna hold and, sort of, grip as you slide your fingers down so that the milk can come out.”
his hands are beautiful to you — big and thick, scarred and bruised. effortless strength and brawn eclipsed beneath a sealant of wounds. your eyes flutter from them and up to his face, shyly. he chews on the inside of his cheek when he’s focused which makes his freckles dance along his jaw as his curls flop against his forehead upon his moil and effort.
“here.” izuku lets betsy’s teats go, lifts up and takes a step back. “your turn.”
you’re hesitant. you waddle, still crouched down, to replace his spot and grab the teats carefully.
izuku hears you giggle. “they’re . . they feel weird,” you tell him softly. he watches you start to gently squeeze and pull, and surprisingly, you don’t seem half bad at it.
“may bring you around here more of’en.”
you spend your day milking cows, shaving sheep, gathering eggs, and feeding pigs. it’s fun — living in izuku’s shoes for a day, and in a way, the respect you have for what he does for the town builds because you see that it’s a lot. a lot more than you initially thought, that is. however, still, as fun and riveting it is, being a farmer and all, it’s nonetheless exhausting.
you’re burned out by the fifth hour which happens to be around dusk and thankfully, izuku doesn’t try to push you past what’s clearly your limit; he just leads you back to the barn, mumbling something about him needing to check on magic anyways, and lets you plop down on a haybed while he refills her food and water pail.
wordlessly, you watch him. “. . . you don’t like me very much, do you?”
the barn is quiet aside from the sound of a wooden brush’s bristles being combed through magic’s thick mane and the soft cracking of hay being stepped upon on your end. izuku looks at you and finds your eyes focused on your shoes and lets your words marinate for a moment. the question was blurted out so he gives you the option to backtrack and take it back if needed, but when you don’t, he inhales air through his teeth and looks back at magic.
his answer is coarse, “no.”
at the same time he says, “don’t ask why,” you shoot out, “why?”
the barn goes silent again for a while and you find that now that the topic is here, lingering in the air, there’s no point in fighting to leave it alone. “did i . . did i do something to you?” your voice is soft and frail; makes izuku step around magic to get the other side of her mane just out of fear of him seeing your round, doe eyes looking up at him full of dejection. “ ‘cause if i did, i’m sorry. all this time, i didn’t think of me probably saying something to you in the wrong way or tone, or maybe even, cutting you off at the plaza—“
“—you didn’t do anythin’.”
you watch him toss the brush to the side, close magic’s stall, then sigh. his face goes through a range of emotions before he ultimately settles on looking straight at you with what looks like frenzy sheathed underneath a thin layer of control. “. . think it’s more about me likin’ you a little too much than me not liking you.”
your eyebrows gather in close as they dip in to reveal your confusion, “hm?”
izuku rolls his eyes and turns his back toward you. his neck bows and you’re confused on what he’s doing until you notice his shirt loosening around the shoulders. “gramma tells me that ‘m actin’ like a child . . a schoolboy because i’d rather hold my emotions for you under dislike and insults than tell you how i really feel.”
his shirt falls off of his arms and he throws it over a wooden beam while walking to an empty stall where a chipped, large piece of glass laid propped up, serving as a mirror. beside it is a shelf that holds a first aid kit and he grabs it before coming to a stop in front of the mirror, leaving you to look at him through the reflection.
your mind tugs between being shocked at how chiseled his torso is — broad, thick, strong, and decorated with scars and bruises, both new and old — and concerned . . because that cut you had wanted to nurse back at the convenience store seems to not have gotten the slightest bit better. no longer is he bleeding but the skin around it is purpled and clearly tender; you can see it in the way he flinches back from his own fingers when he reaches out to tear off the gauze.
“god, izuku.” you’re walking over and reaching for a wet wipe in the first aid kit. “you’ve been walking around like this all day?”
“past couple days,” he gruffly corrects, watching you bend your neck so that you’re able to carefully start wiping away the pus and ooze that seems to drip from the scar. he notices the tiny gold hooks and shells that decorate your locs and how you seem to actually be concerned for his well being . . and he pretends not to notice how his heart speeds up in the slightest as the feel of your little fingers brushing along his skin.
“you’re stupid,” you hiss, sparing a look up at him to see his eyes widened with surprise. “you’re so stupid. you haven’t let yourself heal, it’s been open this entire time.”
he doesn’t know what to say, but he stands still and lets you rub on some numbing cream and keeps from admiring how pretty you look through the reflection of the mirror behind you.
your voice is gentle again when you murmur, “but i’m not gonna ignore what you said . . . mm, schoolboy?”
izuku feels himself grow a little embarrassed. he looks away. “don’t know how else to explain it.”
you’ve got this far . . . “so you like me?”
he doesn’t say anything. not until medication is transferred onto a thick, new piece of gauze and the gauze is stuck and patted against izuku’s skin.
“truth is,” izuku waits until you look up at him. until your pretty eyes meet his and leaves his heart stuttering within his chest which he powers through to softly say, “always thought you were sweeter than stolen honey.”
it’s immediate — the adorable smile that starts to creep up on your lips, leaving you to shyly look away from him and drop your forehead between his pectoral muscles which only makes izuku chuckle. “. . i thought you hated me,” you mewl. “izu’ this isn’t fair. you’d see me coming a mile away while you were standing at the plaza and hurry and go the other way, you sprinkled cookie crumbles on me because i didn’t make oatmeal raisin and when i did, you took the whole plate from me without so much a glance or thank you, and you slammed a door in my face!”
when it’s all laid out like that, izuku realizes that he was a bit, fuck that, very rude to you. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, taking a chance to lay a kiss right against the crown of your head. god, he’s sorry. “i’m sorry, i just . . ” he chews the inside of his cheek, trying to explain his emotions as best he can. “i don’t know how to . . like someone.” he doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush before. he’s never craved to hold a person tight, to slip love notes within their back pockets as if he were a sheepish teen, to protect, love, and cherish — not until you stumbled into his life.
you lift your head and his heart melts at the pout that plays on your plump lips, “so, how do you know you like me?”
you’re confused when he grabs your wrist but it all makes sense upon him taking your hand, pressing it against the middle of his chest, and covering his own with it.
thudthudthudthudthud.
your pretty face is amazed, “it’s beating so fast,” you whisper, pressing your hand against his chest more flat as if to get a better feel.
his face softens when he laughs, you realize. he looks almost . . boyish — an innocent gleam in his eyes that you find adorable. “yeah, well . .” he clears his throat. “reckon it’s been beatin’ this hard since i picked you up earlier . . since i first saw you at the plaza three years ago.”
you’re giddy. you really don’t know how else to explain how you feel, especially when you have izuku staring down into your eyes, face soft and eyes dazed, as if he were looking at you for the very first time. you don’t say anything for a second, you want to bask in how this feels for as long as you can, notably upon him bringing your hand that covered his heart up higher so that he can press one, two, three, four, five gentle kisses against each pad of your fingers.
you stare at his lips the entire time — soft, pink, flushed a pretty coral. the air around you both seems to thicken; leaves your own lips parting and your little mouth softly gasping for your next breath upon him pulling you even closer, chest to chest. he’s so big, you realize it for what feels like the thousandth time. he makes you nervously shift from foot to foot as you try to vocalize what you want, leaving him staring at you with amusement shining within viridescent green.
“you can . .” your voice is pitched higher and his fingers tighten around the hold he has around your waist to make you gasp again. “you can kiss me.”
his responding chuckle is so deep that it has you feeling it rumbling throughout your entire body. you hate how a lick of heat starts at the base of your throat and ends with a gush of slick pooling in the seat of your panties. “shit, that’s cute,” he mumbles, still smiling. “how you think i need permission.”
‘ huh? ’ is only halfway out of your mouth prior to his lips touching yours and you, precious you, blossom like a rose within his arms. he kisses you hard, has your back bending rearward from the sheer intensity of it, but you’re all for it. your hands slip across the broad swathe of his shoulders which you dig your fingernails into as if to somehow bring him closer. izuku cups the underneath your jaw between his large hand, so that he’s able to keep your chin up and lips atop his which he nibbles upon tauntingly, tasting sweet cake batter from your lipgloss.
“izu’,” you whimper and go to pull away but as if drawn to one another like a moth to a flame, you only last a second without his lips against yours before you both are back where you started.
your body’s turning and your feet are moving, walking backwards until the underside of your ass touches what feels like the bed of hay and you’re pulling away for the second time to look up into izuku’s eyes. “can i,” his breathing is slightly labored. “. . . can i touch you?”
you want to be reluctant, you want to resist, but izuku makes it hard.
you mewl out a little, “uh-huh,” while nodding your head and he’s really not wasting another second. your tiny sweater vest is lifted off of your head and thrown somewhere irrelevant, and hesitantly, his fingers reach for the buttons of your shirt before he starts to undo them one by one with your hands holding his wrists the entire time.
your tiny skirt is next to go, not before he indulges himself and lets his hand fall down on one fat, plush globe with a sharp slap prior to him taking a nice handful and you squeak while pressing your chest back against his. “my god,” he whispers underneath his breath, looking over your shoulder to do it again. “lemme see it, princess.”
you whine and press your ass back into his big, rough hands, satiating his greed of seeing your ass jiggle and move when you grab it from the bottom yourself and squeeze. izuku moans, “fuck.”
it’s jarring — seeing his usual, stoic composure he seemed to have masqueraded just for you drop second by second, until he’s just . . . izuku. the izuku you’ve seen kiss his grandmother on the cheek on greeting each time he enters the house, the izuku that laughs all loud and cute in the plaza, the izuku that seems to have softened up more notably around you until he’s giggling and kissing the spot right atop your heart prior to him picking you up and then laying you back upon the soft, fleece covering of a hay bed.
“drive me crazy, y’know that?” he mumbles while undoing the ribbons that tie into a bow right above your ankles which allows your shoes to loosen and fall, leaving you cladded in just your short, frilly socks and pink, laced undergarments with little bows decorating the hem of your bra and panties. “know how hard it’s been f’me, honey?” when you don’t answer, too entranced by his hands sliding up the curve of your hips and waist, up to your ribs then all the way back down to your calves, izuku gives a tilt to your body and swats a nice, thick smack to your ass. you squeak. “ ‘m talkin’ to you.”
“h-hah . . no, izu’.” you’re so cute, pouting down at him like you don’t understand . . like you’re clueless to what you’re doing to him and his little, ol’ heart.
“izu’,” he repeats softly, standing from his knees. nobody calls him that but you and he fucking loves it. he remembers the first time he heard you call him izu’, all syrupy sweet down at that convenience store. he’s positive that you hadn’t even known you let the nickname slip out of your mouth, too concerned with him bleeding and all, but it took almost everything within him from not downright ravaging you directly on that linoleum the nanosecond he heard it pass from your pretty lips.
you follow him when he stands so that you’re seated upright with one hand behind you, holding you up — watching his fingers slip one end of his belt through the loops of his jeans and silver buckle so that he can loosen it, pop open the button, and slide down his zipper.
your little body’s inching closer and closer. you aren’t even looking at him, eyes focused right on his crotch after he pulls his jeans and briefs down his thick, muscled thighs, and his cock springs up centimeters away from your nose bridge. the way you gasp is adorable.
your mouth feels dry. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you never wondered about how his cock would look like, late at night, buried beneath the soft fleece and wool of your blankets with green curls, freckled cheeks, bulging biceps, and pretty lips running through your brain at an all time speed like a montage. it’s pretty — tip flushed the same orangey-pink of his lips, firm skin wrapped around all thick, eight inches of him and he curves just slightly upwards.
your fingers lift before they recoil. “can i . .” your voice is quiet; seems to be stuck in your throat.
thankfully, izuku understand you. he hums softly, “want it?”
your hips shift at the sound of his voice — deep, quiet, gentle. your panties are so wet that it’s uncomfortable. you nod, and lift your head when he tilts your chin up so that you can make eye contact with him, “mhm.”
“say it, then.” you almost cum just at the sight of him starting to stroke himself — lazy and steady. “let izu’ hear you say it.”
you’re so pouty. izuku doesn’t understand how fucking precious one girl can be. “i wan’ it,” you whimper.
“want what?”
a glistening bead of pre cum starts to build at his tip. “want your cock, izu’,” you sniffle and push your cheek deeper into his palm. “want it . . in my mouth, please?”
“what a darlin’ thing you are,” he whispers, eyes focused on your lips which part wide open when his thumb brushes across the bottom. “don’t even have to tell you t’ open up . . good girl.”
the first taste of him on your tongue has your eyes simultaneously rolling back and fluttering closed. it’s something that you can’t explain — a certain briny sweetness that makes your saliva build up within your mouth and literally has you drooling over him. you begin a rhythm at a slow, lazy pace . . burying all of him til he touches the hilt of your throat and pulling back slowly while softly humming in content.
“fuck,” izuku whimpers and tilts his head back, letting himself just feel it for a second . . feel how your little mouth wraps around him tight. you’re messy with it — don’t care if your slobber gets all thick, frothy, and fizzy, ‘cause you’d only pull back and smooth it all over his shaft to lubricate him more while smiling cutely.
izuku’s mouth falls open when your little fists melt into the mix and you circle them in opposite directions while bobbing your head. his toes curl in his boots. “oh, goodgirlgoodgirlgoodgirl,” he moans and lets his hips start to rock back and forth. that’s exactly what you are. you’re so fucking good. izuku hates himself for how he treated you all these years. you didn’t deserve it, no, you didn’t.
all of those times he’d see you at the farmer’s market, selling your pretty candles and flower seeds, he’s been wanting to walk over and spark up a conversation with you so bad, but, he never could. in a way, he thinks you intimidated him . . all pretty and sweet, it’s fucking insane how bad he’s wanted you and for so long.
you choke and your throat clenches around his crown. izuku pulls out, letting you gasp and hum. “so pretty,” he whispers, slapping his heavy dick on the cushion of your displayed tongue. he’s positive that his eyes have hearts doodled within them. “prettiest girl in town . . in the universe.”
you can’t help but giggle which makes him smile and bend to grab your legs and pull them which has you falling back onto your back. “you taste s’good, izu’,” you whisper.
“hm? really? lemme try then.” he’s holding your face firmly between his hand so that he can essentially dip his tongue inside the warmness of your mouth to stroke it over your own and the roof of it, needy for both his and your conjoined taste and — god, it doesn’t disappoint. him, sharp and tart, mixed with your sweetness, he thinks he’s in love. you’re enticing; enlivening something carnal and twisted within him. something that izuku himself doesn’t even have a clue of as to what it is.
all he knows is that he’s never wanted someone as bad as he does you. he doesn’t know why he’s battered down this feeling, this urge for so long, but he knows that now that he has you, he refuses to ever let you go.
you’re looking up at him like he’s hung the sun in the sky when you whisper, “izuku.” your eye contact only breaks because you seem to shy away. “it hurts.”
hurts . . . he doesn’t like that. you shouldn’t be hurting, not one bit. never again for as long as he’s alive and breathing. “what hurts, honey?” he’s lifting himself a little higher, thinking that maybe him lying all of his body weight on you is the problem; but when you whine and shake your head, as if that was the last thing you wanted him to do, he grows even more confused. “hmm?”
it’s cute — how your little hand scrambles for purchase on his wrist so that you can lead and place his fingers right over the seat of your panties upon your pussy and how your eyes roll back into your head, making izuku think that only your relief is able to be satisfied and glutted by him and only him — whether by a simple touch or not.
“oh,” he whispers, letting his fingers find the puffy pearl of your clit that protrudes out between your lips just the slightest bit and is hardened to the touch. “want me right here?”
“uh huh.” your legs are lifting on their own accord so that you can grab the backs of your thighs and hold yourself open for him. izuku appreciates that.
he bends his neck low so that he can leave sweet, gentle kisses along the soft, plush skin of your inner thighs. you smell so good to him — like a coconut cream pie, almost exactly like it, and it’s intoxicating. “spread ‘em wi — well, i’ll be damned,” pushes out of his chest as a soft whisper when you open your legs wider before he finished his sentence. “there you go . . . smart girl. so fuckin’ perfect.”
flawless. exquisite. you’re perfect.
upon him tearing your underwear off and pocketing them without missing your cute, scandalized gasp that is, izuku feasts his eyes on your pretty pussy and is positive that he falls in love with you right then and there. you’re shaved bare, save for a cute landing strip in the shape of a triangle right on your mound whose tip points to your slit.
your lips are chubby and brown but when he uses his thumbs to spread them apart, he opens a door to lovely, glittering, pink and a tiny, swollen clit who seems to have made home in its hood. you’re beautiful. you’re . . “ ‘bout pretty as a peach.”
you grow sheepish under his glazy-eyed stare. “s-stop it.”
izuku wants . . . he wants so much that it makes him press the pads of his fingers harder into your skin where he holds your thighs up himself in frustration. he wants to curb all of your doubts, your uncertainties, your worries — wants you to believe that there won’t be another day on earth where he’d be all cruel and horrid to you. he wants to know if you prefer to live out the rest of your days in a sweet cottage home or cozy, little bungalow. he wants to take his time to get to know your body, wants to treasure it the way it deserves to be. would you flinch back or keen if he blew a soft breath on your little clit to coax it from its cover?
he blows.
your body recoils but your back arches and you whine. both. how sweet.
when his mouth latches onto your entire pussy is when you gasp. his entire tongue scours the complete length of you, from the silver of skin separating your sweet cunt from your taint, all the way up to the throbbing bud of your clit. you lift your head, sparing the chance of your heart failing at the sight of his eyes staring straight ahead into yours through long, pretty eyelashes and messy curls. “ngh — izu, god,” you slump back against where you lay.
it’s a loud slurp echoing throughout the quiet barn when he pulls himself off, just to lay his thumb right above your clit and push the hood of it upwards with just a bit of pressure so that he can grant himself access to it. “there we go.”
your little toes curl in your socks when he suctions his lips to it and gives a few wet, experimental suckles. the muscles of your abdomen tenses and rolls and he feels you press the inside of your thighs closer to his ears, essentially telling him that you liked that.
“ooh shit,” you’re whimpering. “shit, izuku, fuck.”
how filthy. izuku comes to realize that he doesn’t like that very much — those foul words flowering from your pretty lips. but, still, he does it again, only this time he pulls his head back just an inch with your clit still in his mouth before letting it go with a wet pop so that it can settle back in place. you hiccup.
izuku wonders, “. . feel good?” he murmurs around your pussy, needing to know.
he looks up at you just in time for him to catch you lift your head. you’re beautiful. eyebrows just the slightest bit furrowed, making him think you were almost sad if it weren’t for how your mouth was dropped along a soft ‘o’ as you moaned his name. “uh-huh,” you nod and your soft hand pushes some of his curls back from his forehead to get a better look at how his tongue slowly began to snake down to slither inside of your tiny hole. “hng, shit!”
you think the responding swat on your thigh is innocent. his tongue buries inside of you deeper when you fall back again and open your trembling legs wider. “f-fuck, don’t stop—“
“—jesus fucking christ.”
izuku lets your legs fall from around his face and stands up. his mouth leaving the warmth of your pussy is so abrupt that you’re left blinking up at the ceiling in shock for a moment before you’re whimpering, “why did you—“
a bundle of lace trimmed cotton is pushed inside of your mouth — your underwear. “kiss your ma’ with that mouth, shortstuff?” izuku kicks off his shoes and his jeans. “i counted. your lil’ self cursed five times, i don’t like that. pretty girls don’t swear.”
a small mewl is made out through the gag in your mouth. izuku only joins you on the bed of hay when you reach out for him and makes sure to spread your legs wider, just to accommodate his build. he wants his words to sink inside of your fuzzy brain, wants to make sure that you understand what he’s saying . . and so he passes the time by trailing the tip of his nose carefully down your cheek until he reaches your neck where he softly kisses and hums against. “no swearin’, princess. y’hear me?”
you give a gentle “mhm,” and head nod, looking up at him as if he were the creator of all things good and he removes your panties without another second wasted before kissing your lips one more time.
his cockhead nudges the entrance of your pussy and it makes your next inhale go trembly. it hurts. blood hums and thrums within your veins, all heading south which only makes your pussy feels as if someone had been pounding at it with a hammer for an hour straight. izuku knows it hurts, he can see it in the way your hips shift and how your face screws. “can i—“
“—please, mhm, please,” you’re gasping. “do anythin’ izu, i don’t care.”
so pretty. izuku lifts up, spits into his palm and polishes it over his cock, watching your chest heave which only brings his attention to your tits, still encased within your bra and he silently thanks you for having a front clasp because he’s able to simply pluck the hook loose which allows your breasts to spill out into his welcoming hand.
“ooh, fuck,” he whispers, stroking the underside of his dick along your lips while rolling one, small nub between his fingers.
he inches inside you slowly, gradually, little by little until his heavy, plump balls are pressing flush against your ass and you’re mouth is left agape with a little pool of drool sitting on your tongue. izuku groans, forehead touching yours. “shit,” he’s panting, he realizes. left breathless by the sheer sight of you. “oh, fuck. how’s it feel, baby? ‘s good?”
your response is a simple sob of his name.
you’re so — you felt so full, so full, so full — it was too much. not enough? it was so much, too much. you can’t get enough. so good, so good, so good —
your eyes roll into the back of your skull when he pulls out just half way and carefully grinds back in. you’re positive of there being a bubble around you two, one full to the brim of avid, ravenous want and desire — three years of angry pining and back and forth leading up to this one moment which leaves izuku grabbing you by the backs of your knees to press them into the soft blanket on either side of your shoulders which he also uses as leverage to begin pistoning his hips up then down.
“oh my god,” you squeak and reach for his forearms, digging your nails deep into the skin when the crown of his dick bumps against the textured ridge of your cervix.
oh, he’s waited long enough — too long. “fuck, y’so pretty,” he mumbles, hearing the sticky squelch of his cock fucking your cream in then out of you. “so . . fuckin’ beautiful.”
his thrusts are slow, calculated, deep and his thumbs rub comforting, little circles against the underside of your thighs. he was proud of you for taking all of him so well. he’s inescapable when he leans back down to bury his face inside the crook of your neck which leaves your legs still opened and bent back by the weight of him.
your breaths are short and pushed out of you with each jab of his hips and you find the strength to wrap your arms around his back and bury one of your hands inside of his soft curls. “feels s-so good izu’,” you hiccup, feeling overwhelmed. your clit is stimulated by his trimmed pubes the closer he pushes his hips into yours.
izuku can’t get enough. his hands slip down beneath you so that he can grab you by the soft globes of your ass, grip them and start to make you rise your hips to meet him halfway when he picks up a quicker rhythm. “filthy . . lil’ . . pussy.”
tears of pleasure blur your vision. you can’t babble anything but ‘so good.’ “ ‘s so good,” you sniffle. “daddy, ‘s so good.”
the name slips from your lips without much thought, but something inside of izuku ignites. makes him lift his head to look at you, but it’s like you hadn’t realized you said it. how cute, how sweet. a lopsided smile lifts his lips, “ ‘s that right?”
he doesn’t give you a chance to take it back, no, that title’s all his now. he lets your legs go in lieu of throwing them over his shoulders and with the new position, it’s like his energy triples. you’re a mess. you’re a teary faced, empty brained, dumb little mess. “izu — god, fuck — izu’!”
two thunderously loud smacks rain down on your ass before you can even comprehend what you had just said. “what did i say?” izuku’s tone is gentle though as he holds your throat within his hand, not pressing, not squeezing, just anchoring you down to reality so that your blurred vision can focus on him. “what did daddy say, hm?”
your pussy spasms around his girth. “n-no,” you swallow and try to form another sentence. “no swearing.”
“good girl,” his pace stills. he sits there for a moment, lets you feel the weight of him inside of you while he basks in your velvety, pink walls tightening and constricting around him before he’s suddenly pulling out.
you gasp.
he coo’s at how your pussy gapes, only for a moment or two, before your pretty walls were closing again and shrinking behind the lips of your labia while greeting him with another gush of milky white slick.
“c’mere.” he tilts your body on its left side so that he can slip up behind you, lift your bent leg, and slap his heavy cock on your pussy. “put it in f’me, pretty.”
you sniffle as your little hand reaches for his dick and you align his tip to the entrance of your cunny so that izuku can slowly push back in. he thinks this position may be his favorite. your head falls back into his shoulder and you turn it into his neck as if to silence the loud, long moan crawling out from the base of your gut.
he lets you have that; knows you can only quiet yourself for so long, especially when he picks up an immediate constant rhythm that has your ass bouncing off of his hips with thick clapping sounds that echo throughout the entire stable. you’re drooling, a thin rivulet that trickles down your cheek and izuku lets his thumb stroke it away while he pants against your opened mouth. “please cum in me,” you’re crying and digging your fingernails into the forearm that’s wrapped around your chest. “please, izu’.” you’ve never wanted anything more in life, you’re sure.
izuku moans and slips his leg between the both of yours, needing to be intertwined within you. “oh, fuck, y’want that?” he groans. “y’sure?”
“uh huh.” when your hand slips between your legs to capture your clit beneath your fingers, he notices and pushes them away to replace them with his own. you’re sure you’ve reached seventh heaven when his other hand’s fingers slip past your lips so that you can suckle and busy your needy mouth with them, hardly needing another second before your joints were locking up and you were cumming with a silent moan.
you clench up tight — almost too tight. izuku’s jaw tightens and he bullies his cock past that tight barrier your pussy seems to take on as it spasms and drips a thin, pearly cream down his shaft and balls. “oh fuck.” he bends your leg further and further back until it’s almost touching your shoulder. he wants to see it — wants to see his heavy, swollen balls smack against that little clit, wants to see your pussy get battered into submission, wants to see your tummy bulge to accommodate all that he gives.
“mine,” he whispers underneath his breath as his balls draw closer to his body. “god, you’re mine. all fucking mine.”
he cums with a choked gurgle of your name. it’s surreal. iridescent stars seem to border his vision as he ruts his hips against your ass to fill you up to the brim. “shit,” he’s panting and softly whining into the top of your head, holding you as close as he can as his body breaks out into a full shudder. pleasure seems to run up and down his spine at an all time speed, he’s never felt anything like this before. “shit, baby.”
you moan softly at the warmth he brings. you can tell it’s a lot . . can feel it when your fingertips press against your lower tummy and you can hear a small slushing sound.
izuku doesn’t think he can move. his breathing’s labored and his chest feels full, but he can’t move, he’s sure of it. you both lay there for a moment, needing just a second to gather your bearings. you’re tired and you feel just a little gross with all the crying and drooling you were doing, but izuku still kisses you with everything he has within him.
it’s funny, you think.
walking hand and hand with izuku into the same convenience where this all seemed to have started the next day to buy a plan b pill. it’s funnier seeing almost the entire town’s reaction to seeing you kiss one another for the first time and you think it’s absolutely comical, come eight months later when he’s proposing to you in a field of daisies at dusk only a few acres away from the barn.
“oh my god,” you’re giggling while staring down at him on bent knee, holding a tiny, red, velvet box that holds a gorgeous, angled diamond with a pretty pearl right beside it — it belonged to his great grandma, he’ll tell you about a year later while you’re both cozied up underneath a blanket in your own, little cottage home. “are you sure?”
he’s smiling, all pretty and soft, with his eyes focused on yours like you were the only person on the planet, the only person that mattered. “absolutely positive.”
❤︎ — all rights reserved ! © poutsiez !
Ghost is such a cocky little bitch I KNOW he would be fucking you in his gear just because he suspects you have a uniform/mask kink.
He's so intuitive: he's trained to be. So he would have picked up on your uniform kink the moment you two met and your eyes betrayed you. All blown out with lust as you took in the statue of a man that he is: like hes a psychic but with access to only your thoughts and it's just a rinse-repeat cycle of mentally undressing him. He knows.
And, he could do the valiant thing and ask... but then he'd have to sit you down and talk it out, just for you to blush and nod or shake your head. No, Ghost likes the chase... he wants to play.
So, he does the only thing he finds reasonable, and starts off strong.
Back from a particularly demanding mission, Ghost doesn't bother shedding his gear before coming home to you. You're met with his presence in the doorway, rough and exhausted but desperate and domineering. He looks down at your frame through his mask, eyes burning into yours and the way you can't look away from how he looks in his uniform.
And before you can even register he's home: Ghost has you down on hands and knees in front of your favourite mirror. Your gaze meeting your own through the reflection, cock slipped through his uniform pants and fucking into you with a passion he wasn't previously aware of. Usually with you, he's washed clean of Ghost, and exists only as his human aspects. Simon loves you, Simon is selfless in the bedroom, Simon worships you.
"Fuck, Simon-" you try and sob, meeting your shadows gaze in the mirror. But he reaches forward with ease and grabs your face a gloved hand. He pulls your body up against his, cock nestled so deep inside of you that you fear you might break.
"No Simon here to save you," his voice is low and torturous by your ear. If he didn't have the mask on, he'd be biting into the flesh of your neck. "Say my name."
You watch his hips thrust forward into yours, and through cloudy vision and your rocking sight you see every inch of his body covered in uniform, and what's left is nestled deep inside of you as if you're an extension of the gear he adorns. He's pulling you apart at the seams. Ruining you and your ideals, stripping you of your self-control. Simon would have been the one to moan your name in repetition as he comes undone.
But Ghost? Ghost grows impatient when you ignore an order; and his gloved hand slips down to your neck and grips just hard enough to warn you.
"Say my fucking name."
"Ghost."
ID in alt
oh my GOD??????? need him between my legs 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. normans such a slut like i knew it but godddddd
also found this on tik tok from ‘dixonsvixens’!
BOOOOOO WHOREEEEEEE!!!! PROVE IT!!!!
he’s soooooooooo bby girl princess with his overnight curls
why’s he looking at me like that 🫦
fuck this *unfocuses my eyes*
need him like i need air
May I request #2 and #18 with Daryl pretty please?
(Some Daryl whump if you’re feeling especially generous <3 )
Title: All I'm living for
Pairing: Daryl x female reader
Summary: Just when you finally got the man you wanted, another surprise could threaten your relationship, especially when a herd of walkers is almost at your door step.
Setting: Alexandria (between season 8 and 9)
Warnings: talk of pregnancy and motherhood, anxiety, crying, slightly suggestive, angst and fluff.
Word count: 4k
Prompts: "I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." "You can't be serious, that's suicide!"
A/N: I have never done hurt/comfort before, so I hope I've done it well. I did try to condense this one, only to end up making it longer haha. Enjoy!
The feeling of careful eyes on you, suspicious, narrowed and unwavering, and you knew just who they belonged to. Without even looking you knew, you knew he was trying to read you and you also knew you were not making it easy.
You and Daryl had shared a different kind of connection from the very first day you met, one so deep you were aware of the others presence before coming into view. The electricity that charged a room the two of you were in was undeniable. You'd had your time of pretending not to notice, that was…until terminus. You will never forget reuniting with him outside of their captive walls, the sheer relief to have him in front of you, holding him in your arms as he squeezed you in return.
It was then you could no longer lie to yourself about how you felt. Lying to him, however, was surprisingly easy while you lived on the road, constantly moving from place to place, you hadn't had a moment to breathe let alone relax enough to think about it.
Until Alexandria.
Then you spent too much time thinking. Overthinking. The timing was never right, or his mood never seemed to fit, or sometimes you just couldn't face the thought of rejection and losing his friendship in the process.
Then came the saviours.
That's when everything changed, you no longer cared about being embarrassed or unrequited feelings.
When he was captured by Negan you were filled with regret and it was all consuming. If only he'd known how I felt about him. If only I'd told him before this.
When he returned, he was a different person. It took a long while for him to open up to you and tell you his story. He needed time, that much was obvious but in this world we didn't have the luxury of that before something else needed our attention or our fight.
You'd confessed one night, when you found him asleep in his basement room having a traumatic nightmare. His body jolted and his face contorted in pain, it hurt your heart in ways you couldn't even describe, in ways you didn't even think possible. He whispered your name and your hands were on him, gently stroking to rouse him from his horror.
He'd awoken with a start, eyes darting to all the dark corners in the room, reaching for his knife when he saw your silhouette.
"Daryl, it's just me." You said, hands up as you stepped into the moonlight seeping in through his small window.
His fright dissipated as he dropped the knife; clattering against the wooden floor. The tears in his eyes had you closing the space between you and wrapping him in your arms, he clung to you while he cried.
That was the night you could no longer keep the words inside you.
His response had told you everything. He made love to you that night, drawing his name from your lips numerous times until the yellow of the sun streamed through his window.
Since then, passionate kisses and delicate caresses only when you were alone, along with whispered words you'd only dreamt of…until a week ago.
You'd been off, that much was obvious to everyone in Alexandria. Knowing Daryl, he was probably obsessing over what he'd said or done to upset you, you could practically see it ticking over in his mind constantly and it killed you. Knowing it was you making him feel that way, knowing you were making him doubt himself, something he definitely didn't need any more help with but right now, you couldn't get out of your own anxiety; you couldn't see past it, as selfish as it was.
The constant feeling of wading through mud, everything seemed harder and your mind felt slower than ever, you were drowning in it and nobody could pull you out of it. Especially Daryl and that was a first. He was the person you spoke to about everything but this…something this big and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.
Making the mistake of glancing over at the group discussing the herd of walkers travelling in this direction, only to meet his gaze and for a moment, you see a flash of hope in his eyes as he straightens up, rigid on his seat on the steps of the porch of your shared house.
Your body flinches but you force a smile as you look away again.
"Hey," a voice sounds behind you, making you jump.
Looking over your shoulder as you continue sharpening your knives, you're met with Aaron's sincere and concerned face.
"Hey." You reply weakly, head down and focus back down on your task, relishing in the high pitched scratch the blade makes against your stone.
He slowly squats down next to you making avoiding his questioning gaze now impossible. "What's going on?"
You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, the tears pricked the corners of your eyes, making your vision blurred but you stayed attentive to your knives. "Nothing."
Sighing he placed a gentle hand on your leg, the notion a comfort you didn't want, knowing you would crumble right here in front of everyone. "You're not fooling me, I know you and I know when there's something troubling you," his thumb rubs small circles on your thigh, in his usual caring manner. "why don't you come over to my place and we can talk? And whatever it is, I'll be here to support you however I can."
A lone tear fell onto your lap as you were careful to keep your eyes down. Aaron must have noticed as he gently took your hand in his and pulled you up discreetly, leading you towards his house.
You were closest with Aaron, second to Daryl, he was someone you trusted with your life but this wasn't just about you. How could you share this with him when you haven't spoken to the one person who needs to hear it the most?
As soon as your back’s turned to Daryl and the rest of your group, you swipe at the warm tear that escaped, leaving a wet trail down your cheek in its wake.
Sitting in Aaron's house, leaning back into the couch and feeling yourself relax slightly from the familiar comfort, worry evident in his eyes as he took the seat opposite you. "What's going on?"
Chewing your bottom lip, debating where to even start, not sure you can even find the words to explain how you feel. You're more than aware of how you should feel rather than how you do and yet, here you are, unable to even understand this pit that has formed, weighted and heavy inside you.
"Is it Daryl? Did something happen between you two?"
You swallow the nervous dry patch scratching away at the back of your throat. "You could say that," mumbling in response.
Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, eager to hear what's on your mind. "Did you tell him how you feel?"
You could see it, the excitement blooming under the surface that he was trying so hard to keep restrained and to put him out of his misery by nodding in response.
"And?" His eyes wide with eagerness, almost cartoon like and under any other circumstances you would have laughed. "Did he upset you?"
Letting out an amused sigh as the idea was ridiculous in itself. "No, far from it."
He smiled, seeming satisfied and leaning back against the chair. "Didn't I tell you he had feelings for you? You two are made for eachother."
He registered your watering eyes and immediately joined you on the sofa, taking both your hands in his, waiting patiently for you to continue.
You swallow the nerves you feel rising in your throat like bile, burning your insides as they creep upwards.
"It's me, I'm messing things up, not Daryl."
The tears fall freely now, unable to ebb the steady stream down your face. "He's amazing and I don't deserve him for how I'm making him feel right now."
He rubs your back softly as you speak through your sobs. Regaining some ounce of your control in order to choke out the words that made you want to vomit. "I–," your stomach lurched at the thought of even saying those words. "I–," you sat up straighter assessing the churning of your stomach.
"I think I'm gonna be sick." Your hand went straight to your mouth as Aaron managed to hand you a bin before your breakfast came up and out of you, your stomach pulling, retching until there was nothing left to bring up.
You hadn't noticed you were alone until Aaron walked back in with some tissues and a glass of water, to which you down greedily, feeling a thirst like never before.
Kneeling down in front of you rubbing your arms, he looks you over. "Are you…are you pregnant?"
You nod, gently pushing the bin with your foot, wanting it as far away from you as your leg could reach before it had a chance to turn your stomach again.
"Have you told Daryl?"
There it was, the loaded question you couldn't face. Your eyes met his; guilt and desperation radiating from them, telling him the answer before you had a chance to speak.
"Why not?" He frowned, sliding closer to you, holding your knees. It wasn't lost on you how he knew you responded best to touch. It made you feel safe and that was what you needed to open up.
Shrugging, not really knowing yourself and painfully aware of the cop out response you were giving. "I'm scared."
"Listen, Daryl would be a great father and–,"
"I'm not scared of that." You almost scoff, the idea of him being anything other than that is absolutely preposterous. "I know he'd want this baby, and I know he'd be an amazing father."
You stop, taking a shaky breath, pulling the courage from inside you to speak the truth, "I'm scared of bringing a baby into a world like this, of being terrified all the time that something will happen to it, of being so afraid if something happens to me or Daryl and where will that leave the baby. People die all the time now. Look at Glenn and Abraham, Sasha…Carl. What if we come across another group like the saviours. What if I can't protect this baby?" Another pause and when you next speak your voice comes out like a haunting whisper, "what if I'm an awful mother?"
You can't help but stand, pacing across the room as thoughts race into your head. Some old offenders and new. Your hands find anchorage in your hair as if that will stop your head pounding with unanswered questions.
"How can I fight walkers off with a screaming baby? You can't, it just goes against everything nature is throwing at us right now. I don't want to go out on runs, I don't want to leave these walls because it's not safe enough, how am I supposed to be useful anymore?"
Your feet finally find pause as your eyes search Aaron's face, pleading for some kind of resolution of all your worries.
He takes a few tentative steps towards you. "And you're worried you'd be a bad mother?"
Taking both your hands in his, he gives them a gentle squeeze. "You're already protecting this baby, you're already being her mother."
That silenced your wild thoughts for a moment. Every decision you've made recently was putting this baby at the forefront of your mind, even if that meant letting others down, that didn't matter anymore, only the safety of your baby and yet, you've failed to realise that until now.
While you processed his words, something else stood out to you. "Her?"
He smiled, "I can just picture Daryl as a girl dad, that's all."
Your heart swelled in your chest, fit to burst at the image of Daryl holding a little mini you. A little girl with your hair and his eyes. The scene flickered behind your eyelids like a movie, him smiling down at her while holding her tiny body, making his hands seem even bigger. As a child, teaching her how to track and hunt but letting her put makeup on him or play dolls with her. Then, as a teenager, dealing with hormones and mood swings and trying to fiercely protect her from heartbreak. The image had excitement blooming inside you.
"Listen to me," Aaron grew serious again, "it's terrifying, I know. I'm scared for Gracie constantly and she's not even biologically mine. But when I come home to her and she's safe, that's all that matters."
Aaron had taken to fatherhood like a duck to water, even whilst grieving for the loss of his beloved…Eric.
"And look at our family here," he continued, "…they are always there to help and support me since Eric…" he trailed off and your heart panged for the sadness in his eyes, forcing a smile he continued. "Look how you are with Gracie and Judith, you protect them so fiercely, I know there isn't anything you wouldn't do for them."
You'd die to keep them safe, without question, like many others in your family would too. The support system you were lucky enough to have was incredible.
Suddenly, you stood here feeling rather foolish. Here this man in front of you was raising a baby on his own after the tragic death of his partner and here you are with the man you've wanted for years, ready and willing in front of you, plus the gift of his baby but almost throwing it all away. And for what? Because you're scared. God, you wanted to slap yourself and tell yourself to grow up.
You have everything most people want in life and yet, you're over here crying and worrying about things that you can't really change, a world you have no choice but to make the best out of, instead of being with the man you love and sharing this happy news with him.
You had the opportunity to be a complete family unit, how many people in this world got the chance at that?
Aarons eyes locked with yours, his wide and full of meaning, "Whether you realise it or not, you're already a mother."
Those words made your heart pound violently in your chest with purpose and validation.
He was right.
You felt a lot brighter about this unexpected pathway your life had now taken and ready for the next step of talking to Daryl.
With a freshly splashed face you returned to the house you shared with some of your family members, Daryl's eyes on you instantly, chewing his lip as he anxiously played with his pocket knife.
Rick glanced round at you, a solemn look on his face you'd come to know well.
"Just the person I was waiting for," he put an arm around your shoulder as you joined them. "Listen, I need your help, we've got a herd coming our way, the biggest yet."
All previous positivity diminished hearing those words. You knew you would all have a part to play in keeping Alexandria safe, the cost was unavoidable but who would be the one to pay the most?
"We have a plan…"
You looked up at him sensing what he wasn't yet saying, "but?"
A slight grimace contorted his face, "but, you're not gonna like it."
You couldn't help your eyes rolling, wishing he would just get to the point. The anticipation was too much to bear, especially with your stomach churning again, through nerves or nausea you weren't sure. "Spill it."
He informs you of his plan. He had men out there building barriers ready and hoping their faith in Rick wasn't misled.
Who was staying behind to fight them off at the gate? Who was going outside the walls to try and keep them in formation- you apparently? And who was going to try and lure them away? You knew the answer to the latter before the words had left Rick's mouth. Anxiety and anger bubbling and ready to erupt at any moment.
"Daryl's got the bike, he's offered to lead them away, as many miles as he can get them before turning round and coming back."
Your head shot over in his direction.
"You can't be serious, that's suicide!" Your voice was loud enough that it shocked even you.
Daryl's eyes were on you, a hint of relief before he concealed them to his usual blank glare.
"Ain't nuthin I ain't done before." He mumbled.
"Why do you have to do it alone? What if something happens to the bike? With all of them following you?" You were tense, your body coiled ready to spring into protect mode for him.
His response to shrug infuriated you fiercely, lighting a fire in your belly, something that must have been obvious as Rick's arm around you dropped and he gave you some much needed space.
"Can I talk to you?" You directed at Daryl, sharply. "In private."
You stormed up the stairs of the house, hearing his slow footsteps follow behind and stomped down to his basement room, less chance of being heard in there.
"So now you wanna talk to me, huh?" He says kicking the shut behind him. "This what I have to do, to get your attention?"
Guilt stabbed you in the gut, nausea rearing its ugly head again but you pushed it aside needing to be brave and needing to do the right thing.
"I'm sorry." You started with simply, a look of surprise flashed in his eyes as he took a step towards you. "I'm sorry I've been…off. I was too in my head and too scared to talk to you about it because once I did then it would be real."
He looked down at his feet, face hiding behind his messy bangs, nervously chewing his lip, a sight that made you want to grab him in your arms and never let him go. "If ya changed ya mind 'bout us, it's fine, I get it."
You froze, heart aching that that was his first conclusion, before closing the distance, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "My feelings for you will never change, Daryl Dixon, don't you dare suggest otherwise."
He nods timidly, fighting a small smile before his brow furrows. "Have I upset ya?"
Shaking your head. "No. You haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why ain't yer spoke to me all week? Yer ain't been near me or wanted me near yer."
The tears pricked your eyes, feeling like the worst person in the world for making him feel this way. He did not deserve this, he was the last person to deserve to feel like that.
"I'm pregnant ok, that's why I don't want to go on runs and that's why I've been avoiding you." You blurted out quickly before you had the chance to be distracted or interrupted.
His eyes popped as his frame stood frozen, unwavering and silent.
"I was scared," you continued, attempting to ease the shock. "and I didn't know how to tell you. It's all happened so fast." You sighed, the weight of the world removing itself from your tired shoulders. "I'm sorry for making you feel like it was something you'd done."
His hands came up to either side of your face, gently holding you in place, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks. "Are yer sure?"
You nod, eyes moving back and forth between his, "I found a pregnancy test from one of the stores on our last run and did it as soon as I got back."
Watching the light of sheer happiness in his gaze illuminate his entire face made you exasperated with yourself for neglecting to tell him this long. How could you ever not want this man?
His hands still cradling your face pulled you close and his mouth was on yours, gentle yet urgent, with one arm wound around your waist holding you close, bodies pressed up against each other.
You had missed his hands on you, the warmth he radiated and his body close to yours. Heart hammering wildly, drumming against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was trying to escape to join Daryl's as one.
Breaking away only to catch your breath, foreheads still touching, your hands found their way around his neck, keeping him as close to you as you could.
"'m gonna be a dad." He said quietly, a heart wrenching smile stretching across his face, a rare sight that you bathed in when it was present.
"You're going to be the best daddy."
You knew hearing that meant more to him than anything else due to his relationship with his own father.
His eyes sparkled as his gaze clicked with yours again, the intensity of it making you weak in the knees.
"I love yer."
Breathing hitching, heart fluttering hearing those words from him for the first time, even though you knew it, it had never been uttered out loud.
"Now, how are you gonna tell me something like that when we have urgent work to do," you stroked a finger down his face, relishing the way his body shivered in reaction, "and I can't make love to you exactly the way I want to."
He kissed you again more fiercely, growling as his mouth explored yours like a starved wild man.
"I'm yours as soon as I'm back." He rasped.
Reality came crashing down on you then, hitting you like a ton of bricks, suffocating you under their weight. "You're not doing this alone. I mean it, this time."
He nodded. "Fine, but ya ain't coming. I need yer here, behind these walls, keeping our baby safe."
You're about to put up a fight but nod, knowing it's pointless to argue with him. Besides, he wouldn't be able to focus on his job if he was worrying about you.
You would do what you could behind these walls unless it was vital.
You both head out onto the porch with the others, while Daryl goes over to Rick you take a seat on the steps next to Rosita, who mouths, "you ok?" Nodding and smiling in return, you squeeze the hand she puts atop yours.
Watching as Daryl whispers to Rick, his eyes meet yours with a flash of surprise followed by warmth, before composing himself somewhat. Clasping Daryl's shoulder before pulling him into a quick hug and turning back to the group.
Rosita turns in your direction but you ignore it and keep your eyes on Rick.
"Alright, I need someone to take a car and help Daryl lead the walkers away?" Rick asked, turning back towards you all.
"I'll do it." Aaron's arm shoots up and instant relief washes through you. The two people you trust the most helping each other out there, you felt much more comfortable about the situation now and didn't feel as sick knowing they would be out there together.
Rick calls your name, regaining your attention. "You'll be here on the wall with Gabriel, you're the best shooters we have. Do what you can from here to hold our walls."
You nod in agreement, before everyone breaks away to start getting ready.
Daryl's by your side in an instant, arm winding around your waist and pulling you to him. Your arms make their way around his neck as you memorise his face, every line, scar and curve.
"I'll be back soon, ok?" He says quietly.
"Make sure you are." Standing on your tiptoes you kiss him passionately, relishing the way he tastes against your mouth, not caring that your family were watching.
"I love you." You whisper against his lips.
His answering smile makes your stomach flutter as he gives you one last kiss on the forehead before heading over to his bike.
"Stay safe." You call out, hands clasped tensilly together in front of you.
"Always." He replied, turning around to face you and walking backwards. "Make sure you stay safe!"
You lifted two fingers up and crossed them over each other, making that silent promise to him, one you would do your all to keep.
A hand squeezed your shoulder and when you saw Aaron's face next to you another pang of sadness and anxiety pulled your heart strings.
"Stay safe, and thank you for going with him." You whispered as he pulled you into a hug.
"We'll both be home soon." His gaze turned serious as he held you firmly in front of him, "be careful."
He heads off towards the car, returning your attention to Daryl, who's mounted his bike and whose eyes are already on you. His stare fierce and yet loving, the way that man was capable of conveying everything he needed to in just one look never failed to surprise you.
A lump the size of a golf ball sat in your throat as you watched him start the engine, giving one last look back at you before he begrudgingly lifts his foot off the ground and let the bike take him. You watch the wings on his back carry him off until the gate closes.
Your chest felt empty, a giant hole still beating but with nothing inside, until he returns, bringing your heart back with him.
AWWWW
masterlist
dirt
sundress+no panties+daryl = uh oh...
title and soundtrack is dirt by depeche mode. you need to take depeche mode away from me tbh, I'm hung up on the exciter album writing smut when I should be making updates to my negan and ironstrange fics.
I also headcanon daryl having huge fat swinging balls for some reason and I'm so sorry you had to read that I turn into an animal when I write daryl
cw: 18+, word count 3k. a little rough (butt slaps, some bites, he calls you a "bitch in heat" and a "slut" a couple of times - lovingly of course), a little pervy (you're fucking outside and daryl eats his own come out of your pussy+breeding kink if you squint really hard).
He reaches in, fingers curling around the bunched up, patterned cotton of the dress and his mind blanks. The low growling, he realises, is coming from his own mouth.
"The fuck, girl?"
You look at Daryl over your shoulder, where the bare skin has erupted in goosebumps from his hot, humid breath. "What?"
You sound annoyed, but there's a distinctive teasing undertone to it. Your eyes are narrowed a little too much. The corners of your cherry-tinted lips are tilted upwards.
"You ripped all my damn underwear, Daryl! What did you expect?" You grouch, breaking the second of still silence. "Can't just take a stroll to Victoria's Secret anymore, can I?" Seeing his face darken even more, you hastily add, "I got a couple I wear on runs."
You sound so cute when you're annoyed, Daryl thinks, but it's overshadowed by his blood rushing in his ears, hot and fast. His cock is still pulsing in his jeans and it demands to be released.
"So you jus' walkin' 'round with allat juicy ass hangin' out fo' all da men to sniff?" Daryl feels an urge to clarify to you, what is exactly you're doing, that he's upset with. "Cuz that's exactly what all them dawgs are fuckin' doin'!" He's jealous, of course he is, but most importantly, he doesn't trust any of the men as far as he can see them.
Hell, he isn't completely sure even Rick would pass on the opportunity to get an eyeful of your soft thighs, your scrumptious ass, or your fat cunt, for that matter.
Lord knows they're the juiciest fucking things he has seen in his whole entire miserable life. Just thinking about it makes his rock hard cock twitch and release a sad dribble of pre-cum in his pants.
"Exactly, your girl!" You declare, eyeroll audible in your voice. "Nobody's seein' me without my panties 'cept you."
Daryl's only response is to hitch up the sundress higher, the movement so quick, the fabric gives a sad crack as the seams threaten to burst. Your ass is still bare, still round and smooth as ever, nobody should have this sort of curves while they're in the middle of a damn apocalypse, he thinks, and sinks to his knees and sinks his teeth into the supple skin of your right ass cheek.
You yelp at the sharp pain. You squirm, your attempt at getting away, of course, futile: your hips and waist are firmly in his grasp. Rough fingertips dig into you, just shy of painful.
"There," Daryl inches back a bit, admiring the indentations left behind by his teeth. For someone who forgets to take care of himself most days, his teeth are surprisingly straight and white and strong. And he lets you feel it. "Now if any asshole decides to go nosin' where he shouldn't, there'll be a warnin'." Daryl sounds proud of himself, which is all and all - fair.
Once the initial shock subsides, your feel your cunt lips stick together even more as your arousal oozes out of them- and down your thighs, now that there isn't any fabric to contain it all. In all honesty, you did enjoy the occasional breeze that would waft up your skirt, even if it didn't offer much respite from the sweltering summer heat.
And Daryl is definitely not helping matters, either. He's like a damn furnace, pressed up against the back of your legs, all solid bulk, breathing hot and moist into your skin, every exhale going around the curve of your ass and disappearing between your legs. He knows it the moment that you shift in place, subtly trying to widen your stance even though there is nothing more you want than to rub your thighs together to provide relief to your swollen lips and throbbing clit.
He raises a hand, wide and open-palmed, and smacks your ass. "You're such a fuckin' slut," he grouses. And your first instinct is to gasp at the offense; you hide your grin in a lip bite. Yes, yes you are. And you know it. And he knows it. Your ass cheek jiggles as he gives it another well-aimed slap. "Lookit you," Daryl presses the issue, "drippin' wet." To hammer his point home, he takes a thick, fat finger and runs it along the seam of your cunt.
It glides easily. You shudder, biting back a moan. Your legs shake just a little, but Daryl notices - he always does - and his finger dips inside your lips. The rough, calloused fingertip swipes through your labia, stopping just short of your clit. You whine and he withdraws.
His numerous knives and tools clatter as he abruptly gets up.
"You wanna be fucked, huh?" Voice quiet, Daryl's front presses to your back with a malicious intent. The prominent bulge of his erection is pushing into your back. "Is that why you goin' round naked? So anybody coulda bend you over, anytime, huh?" He reaches around you, hand blindly nosing for your face. When he finds it, he wastes no time in prying your mouth open, sticking the damp finger inside.
Your own cunt, salty and tangy, blossoms on your tongue. The gesture makes you moan around his finger and him- he sticks another one in, keeping you quiet.
"Shut the fuck up," Daryl orders. The rasp in his voice makes your knees buck and your cunt weep and he knows it. His free hand moves at your back, and with the accompanying noises, you come to realise that he's opening his pants and hurrying to free his dick.
When the damp, silky tip touches the bare skin of your ass, your body reacts before you do. Your mouth wraps tighter around his fingers. Spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth and onto his wrist. Your back arches into his body. He is just as scalding as the sun beaming down from the sky.
Daryl pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding them there until you gag. The motion makes your whole form spasm and shiver; his cock gives a responding jump of its own.
"Lookit you," he rasps directly into your ear, hot breath tickling the shell of it. "Like a fuckin' bitch in heat," he grabs the meat of your ass cheek, spreading you one-handed. His cockhead noses around the cleft, leaving a sticky trail behind itself. It dips near your cunt, adding your juices to the mix. "You want it so bad."
You do. You really, really do. But you know Daryl is mean. You love it when he's mean to you. When he is proud of the strength of his bulk, when his eyebrows draw tightly over his brilliant blue eyes and nothing, absolutely nothing can escape his predatory stare. You crane your neck, trying to look back at him, to plead with your eyes.
He gets it, because he always does. Daryl's fingers quickly leave your mouth, dragging a wet trail of spit down to your neck where his fingers wrap around it in a secure hold.
"You want it so bad, then fuckin' beg," he says the words and you immediately, greedily descend into the permitted depravity.
"Please, Daryl," your voice sounds hoarse, interrupted by hiccups as you struggle to swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and around his fingers, "please, fuck me. I'll be good. Please."
You feel him fist his cock as it twitches; you can't help it, really, as you arch your back even more and push your ass against his rough hand. Immediately, he withdraws it, just to slap you again.
"You're a bitch in heat," he muses, but you can hear the beginnings of impatience in his voice. "Say it!"
He's never made you do that before. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, you gasp, part shock part offense, until you feel a drop of fluid roll out over the outer lip of your cunt and fall and disappear somewhere below you. Then it's just lust. The kind that tints the whole world red and narrows your field of vision.
"Fuckin' say it!" Daryl demands, patience thin.
You wouldn't put it past him to just shove himself in at this point. "I'm... I'm a bi- I'm a bitch in heat," you hiccup, feeling your face flood with heat. "I'm a bitch in heat, please fuck me!"
You feel his lips tilt up just the tiniest bit against your ear before he reaches back for his cock and aims it at your cunt in a single, precise thrust. You gasp and mewl as he suddenly stops halfway through. Your cunt ripples and flexes and squeezes. Daryl drops his forehead onto your shoulder, panting.
"So fuckin' tight," he murmurs, mostly to himself. You're not - he knows better, he makes sure you're not before he even thinks about sticking it in - but you are. All that blood that went straight to your cunt the moment his breath caught up in his throat at the sight of your bare pussy - It's making your cunt swell all around him.
A pathetic mewl leaves your lips, your satisfaction incomplete. You wiggle, you arch, but Daryl is as unyielding as ever.
"You take what I give you," he growls, teeth bared like an animal against your ear. Nonetheless, you feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. Stars burst in your eyes. You are so full, practically bursting at the seam of your cunt where his fat balls rest against the stretched hole.
Slowly, Daryl withdraws, both of you hissing at the drag of his fat cock in your engorged cunt. You may be a bitch in heat but he's every bit the stud that is just as fervent and feral to breed you. His teeth creak as he pulls back completely, leaving just his weeping tip inside of you.
And then he slams home. And again. And again. And again.
With every powerful thrust of his hips, you gasp. Quiet, pleading moans is the limit of your vocal capacity. Mouth dry, the air gets trapped in the back of your throat as your lungs demand their due.
Daryl is unrelenting. His blunt fingernails drag over the skin of your throat, leaving marks in their wake, as he makes way to your mouth.
"This is what you wanted, slut?" He pants into your hair. "Be quiet. Be really fucking quiet unless you want everybody to see what kinda..." He inhales sharply, feeling your walls flutter at the flith dripping from his tongue.
And it shouldn't make you feel the way you feel. Those fucking words just add more accelerant to the fire in the pit of your stomach, spreading it from there and up, over your face. It flames. Your hand helplessly clutches the nearest surface as you attempt to brace yourself against his thrusts and the notion that anyone could see you.
Bent over something or another, dress hiked up to your waist and Daryl's hips pistoning in and out of you at a rapid pace. He didn't bother undressing save for letting his pants hang freely just below his cock and balls. Heavy, fat balls, littered with coarse dark hair, that slap against your cunt and your clit with a resounding smack every time he drives his cock inside of your cunt. The squelching noise it makes is obscene.
Another whine, and your pussy squeezes him once again, blind and hungry for release. You can feel it building steadily, deep within your abdomen.
"Fuck yeah," Daryl growls, "you fuckin' like this, don't 'cha?" He's gotten the hang of it: the dirty talk, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. He's a mean bastard with nothing close to dignity or self-respect. If anyone saw him, rutting into you, little more than two animals, he wouldn't, couldn't stop.
Daryl would stare them down up until his cock swelled and busted, depositing his seed inside your womb.
Your knees feel weak. It's getting harder and harder to keep up with him; seems like every pathetic whimper that leaves your lips only makes him meaner, stronger somehow. The grip of his hand on your hip is bruising. Daryl effectively wears you on his cock, submerging himself into the warm depths of your pulsing cunt over and over.
"Da-Daryl..." You gasp, you moan and you plead.
He doesn't stop. He merely handles you into a different angle, the one that hits that special spot inside of you with every powerful thrust. He is mean, but he is also fair.
"Gonna cream my cock?" He barely makes sense to himself, the words that his dry mouth garbles seem to have a mind of their own. "Gonna be good, girl? C'mon."
"Ah," you want to say yes, you want to affirm, but all that comes out of your mouth are garbled, unintelligible noises of pleasure. But Daryl sees it. It's in the way your arch becomes near-painful, body overtaking your mind. Even the slightest bit of pain blends into hot-blinding pleasure. You don't know where what ends and begins.
It begins somewhere behind your cunt. The contractions start slow and aching, and every punch of his cock to your guts intensifies the feeling tenfold, until every last inch of your cunt is squeezing around him in that same arduous, suckling rhythm. It's like your pussy is nursing at his cock, attempting to suck his life out of him and deposit it into you.
The pleasure is like a wall of fire and water. Your chest blooms with it, but your extremities swarm with pinpricks. Mouth parted in a silent scream, you sway forward, managing to catch yourself on your elbows at the last moment.
The man behind you doesn't care. He's way past caring, having had started chasing his release the moment your cunt enveloped his cock in a vice grip. The meat of it is sensitive and he spends the few inches to the finish line gracelessly mashing it inside of you, accompanied by the sound of wet flesh meeting even wetter, sloppier flesh.
"Take it, fuckin' take it," you hear him gasp through your stupor before that familiar, warm rush floods your cunt. His cock twitches, once, twice, three times, each forceful throb followed up by more and more seed being pumped into the depths of you.
Against your back, Daryl sags and pants out his excerption. Like a dog. His wet nose leaves sweat stains on your back where he nuzzles into you.
Your knees shake as you struggle to hold up his weight, and then your legs completely turn to mush when droplets of his cum escape your cunt as his spent cock slips out. You know you should be worried about stains in unsightly places but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.
Daryl notices this, of course. His bulk slides off you; you hear him quickly shove himself back into his pants before his ass hits the ground with a loud thud. Next to you, of course, his stubbly, prickly cheek rubbing over the skin of your leg. He places a wet kiss on the inside of your thigh, and then another.
You know the drill. It's hard for him to find words, sometimes, after a scene like that. It's the intensity of it, the forceful ejection of him out of his head where he spends most of the time, that renders him speechless. Daryl is forced to feel - good things. It's not something that he is used to.
Your skirt is still around your waist and the hot sun is shooting lasers directly at your ass and pussy. You've managed to get your bearings enough to feel at least a little self-conscious, a little exposed. Your combined fluid still drip from you and for a split second, you think about pulling up your panties to try and at least somewhat contain the mess.
Right, you sigh to yourself. It makes your exhausted body twitch and sag even more.
Daryl gently pushes away your hand that was attempting to pull the dress over your ass. You freeze; he smiles against your skin, a little closed-lipped grin that makes something warm and fuzzy make a nest inside your chest. That quickly turns into a startled gasp as his fingers glide through the mess of your cunt.
You're spent. Exhausted. So sensitive, his rough skin practically hurts on your hole and clit.
But Daryl gets it. You get him, and he - he gets you. His hot breath fans over your pubic hair and it's all the warning you get before he opens his mouth wide, flattens his tongue and licks. You've made a big mess and there is a lot to take care of, but if there's anything about Daryl that you know, is that he's thorough at what he does.
In no time, he's got his tongue shoved down your cunt as far as it would go, curling against your walls, lapping up his and your cum like your pussy is an all-you-can-eat-buffet and what's inside of it is sugar and spice and everything nice.
But it's not enough. It's not anywhere near your clit, or any other place that could make you produce more of the cream he's feasting on. Idly, you think about who's the real bitch in heat here, but push out your hips to meet his face nonetheless. You can be mean too. If you want to.
I don't know what to say for myself
BRAVO



