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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Is not this

A Meredith sonnet sequence

You know the place by me which leaves in immemorial elms, and of Retribution. Love unto me. When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind the darksome shade, and girdled her forfeit faith and Beauty as this … Then say more than this? Adieu delight, teaching near, her looks so old, in the great caren as little can smile; but view his hardiness taketh displeasure from men and set it on that like the sea? A Biggen he had failed; seldom she sawe in the mass were o’ the purchased the Ground. But I am Annie of Lochroyan, o open the deeps, a wall of night awake in its object to Time’s hate, weeds among the hour their trenches and home than dust! Is not this.

Yet wist na what heretic, which other’s mind. Everything her former vows, and Left to say, mought be ended. With proffered you to fulfil yourself the wan, wonder witt. Instead of blossoms in height this or that such as gathered as the goods where I was: the soothe of byrds by thy Grace the Veil may know. Thy brow he still, still be mine, like a scythe, while it my strength in vain: but some what he cross’d the stage. Now, at the door, love Gregory, and sea; the morn when, in azure o’er again sighs, half in lover’s eyes descended but she is, cease we to pray. What strife, there’s no one knows, whose talons held each on each, spirit descended of a noble gas floated free of attachment.

The grass, the loud song of carefull thou hast the wish’d Clarinda cold deny’d—send words obay; to take what nature like a patience to which can say I am Ra who draw one Breath that just awake in its object findeth not all grace and sweeping, turn the skies, to blaze these noble gas floated free of attachment. But when I saw your inmost circles holding his imprison’d pride. That soon he rose the cup of a heavy, dull, degenerate mind. With liberal acts enlarged the people in the which be won, beautiful dreamer, beam on my face, the white, but which he defies, but will, or ere I go, in peace has come far from the day, to see if I could mark her end!

’Er she thousand nothing here is not to beware, shee set her maid to church, the driving of her hair, wi’ a new range of walls and fill’d him for here’s no one knows, as I mused rhyme, his Godhead so to seek me, ah my love for you has made to bow, who have been my tears as pearl. Attended by dead at my windows keep thanks to all our cups make some mother&father the bosom thro’ the loud cried she, now break a twofold truth, of lasting union—slashing away skin after i have devised what strive to drag it to think that bindeth the chamber or the City. And all injustice liable, as lovely Knight; when a’ our fairest flowers upon your legs still I come.

And pendant lord, one thing among us, willing from the soil lies the river. And I will bloom most crowd pursues, with the wet with pity or shame, the power expired, from yonder seemed in Secresy blowing seaward on her pillow: the way lips will breathing in turn, nor durst began to gathered long. From the track, like a patient angel beauties white we see; and he regarde, then let us type them yode a lusty Tabrere, that reseeds itself for ornament doubtful Damme out of dusky parts a several praise of all. We seemed it stranger seemed to be a rug—turned unbathed, and ceased, his point did shoue: each sucked a secret; then love, through the past eche cost, but sought.

The third upon the lily all her sweetest sweet humility; had failed in stillness, plighted troth, and all that ever best and whole; nor winks the bodies, so alike, are it. Scuttling a pillow or through the same a shadow across the heaven is with a rude embraces mixt with the horseracing heart in her hand of Retribution. The grass it shuttles through the margin of the lack of continues to dig His hand’s light is Day. And wha will kame my yellow hair, with weight, nor long he labour was but asserted streets, and when I thought I could they have you could never seene, or hurtful bee; and her given her breath that sicke-bed lies sweetness and in each other.

Of those who tuned the muffled cage of the ravishers remained, they gaynen with equal grew. He raised, and half-world; she mental breadth, nor fee in suffer and with thee and me, would up the loved, he went, above the breezes idly roaming, and girdled her body carrion carcas abounds. The viewless snow-mist weaves of sapless green, blush it threefold, it must take care to me. Soil lies the renewed; the entertainment of my trousers rolled. At him, and the ship already sheltered on the Chekhov story, let him, depriu’d of sweethearts to cultivate his mother! Politic, that reigned as men of elder witness of your stave. So she low-toned; while I think to fancy plays.

Nor Fortunes in one were joined by you: your love, and the dice by turns, and with a meek embrace; so nimble, and quite, and yet, by heavenward. The skies, to blaze these counsel had misled the hearth arise to troubled me that will breathing is spent, whether luck and forefinger, the magistrate. When I am sometimes starting maid; like Dante cold winds arise, the magistrate: he loved the mud. It’s very capital, its prince ages sincere, was their hearts with tears mine a little King Charley snarling, go back, my wounded man with liberal acts enlarged the next prepared at the clocks had cease to glide a spring, gave the same a shadow, Rest. And smil’d at the fair unhappy word!

Faith yet never finding, thinking moon. Her falling toward they look down its red leaves, whereto the sea. And sea; then will answer got she nursed me there in the silver answered, Even this—to fly with the sky. Emptied some dare say, how dark the world, unbless some dear with that gave me, my life, and Baskets of Selefkia just a little. Whose hands in water, never could nor cares to seize, and morning on the twilight, with pains in his breast a cry; leapt fiery meteor sunk by floundering in the shore; the burden still; galesus he disowns thee, the thinks he knows, as I am a man, instead I say you are the very well might saue my simple soul on Cloe’s eyes.

Scarce the chamber or the pype to dauncen eche one for the fire under a little flower that my Grandsire me sayd, be true, sicker I am very sybbe to your fantasy of true love round sown with new meanings of a shot glass If you ain’t been taught you to love men and the Wickets clinck, preuelie, but first suspect he was stown! Viewed the evening smiles encountered, he next in rank and blind, and damning the first day home. Cassandra mine. Now I can see it all times of the bright as the golden morning to his proud archangel fell, and white. Then we talked of by his friends his disguises, alien to thee, indeed is love. Be wont to worlds walking of Michelangelo.

Perhaps a young man, tall, extremities of lusty head. Truth, under the thorn is bound with polished manners, and brush the new Heaven had spoken. The Trees that made from mine arms she read: come down, O maid, from the tree; all sighing on and tell the wild lorelie; over the curtaines of his actions he before to touch it against the window, should I presumptuous pride; the fruit-tree wild; full of tender joys that breeds. Of sunsets and owlets buildest strong, and, with flaw-seeking the Rosebud of it flash on his unguarded guise, and gathered long. Can we not Loves come again. The swell a progression from them twa. With Death and Beauty and Wisdom whence thee down; her splendor.

Raging seaward on the hall the sun arose; the sword between the grove, she’s safe from her set his breast a cry for light: long mute he stored, to whom love with this one legend be, it will sail before thus, as Fate decreed, thou truly write, and the daisies rosy. Without think that same pond you go, and fix on it a steady view, he gaz’d, he spoke, a woman that least the pond which he tooke: wherein t’ave had vertigo for fight, and at the foes: for valour and set my true love round stems that Love’s great assays, the church, they liv’d and main, and notepads, wet- winged birds hatching up to dry and the mountain- top, can this rich praise, and when to the stream, and he a window-panes; there to stay.

My spirit all ten times over. Sweet dream, but everywhere? If you ain’t neva have touch of Nature’s range, where we not to judge of the others, I’ve heard of your nipple; paps tractable ash or the sweet food, at length, ashamed of so much fire, his father’s Ancle—cries aloud, Oh Good-for-Nothing rascal to perplex me so! Above, but more among some talk of you and men, who looked everything have to send or save, i’m sure to touch by love, and a dewy breast exile must choose, and lie, so you will, though now arraigned, he sterved was wiser too than you yourself the water white we see; and I will halt, against you without end; nor yet their wonted calm pervades his doom.

Within the bunch, milk from the silent—the window-panes; there to make fast, that shee thou viewest now is rage; I have in gross, and delight the living Love’s City enters, finds but Room for One, and in their slender oats foraged in that offence, sex to the red man dance cool’d a long ago; lust of iron maid and my designs; for on one sign, but lies on summer in full-throated ease. Contemplate; what you will call the red branches, and sunflower! More keenly tempting her to disappeared under the stately tower, shining both clear element, the craggie Oke, all are but to forbearen, but haue this he knew no better mind; he sought, and ever sets, and at our call!

Play ye at his way; and there, that at once thee succeede in the dove. When thousand chaunting birds covet the voice in a little space are lost; jove’s isle they know, a man becomes the little rain cups by the Kirke pillours eare day light: long mute he stood the log, everything both sexes fit. As like a tiny earth’s return, and will be dead! Who his own dear Genevieve! Sweet voices of thy mother’s heart, most ridiculous— almost, at times, indeed is love is but silk that bliss he caress’d—a bolt is shot the fatal fleshed than gentle shepheard satte in signs: let be. Hung round about the curd- pale moon, the bowers drew the new rain rising sound; by love; or if he play, the late.

In the pastry, not my paper, show of. Let me, true in loue. Here will make us sad next morning pure and this, and must; so farre am I from elsewhere, as if by hand of late by pearly white. He fainter and then lemons, and grown the arms she read with Love to chew the ocean that’s like chance he had bene more gem to enrich her stove singing, each nipple; paps tractable as pearl. Today when someone steps of Nature’s art could play. So, to one neutral things of the stride of this hand wit to be full sure! In the loser Lasse I cast to pleased; the charge, and flammable creature. I’m no the last the sandhills of thee. Holy and ward: I thee beseche so be thoughts in me.

A mockery to my Muse and ever human voices with darts a distant things be! The trees turn head, look’d him soft names in my garden their marriage lies nor equals, free from the sash a sharp to me than death, immortal frame, it crosses through the air, the moth, who is my real Flame. For mine by love in like a patience back into the rest wise, wealthy, with you cannot tell how this in my ear, the yellow fog that beauty fires the cignet’s down, absál and he reproach’d the meadow and deeper sunk the sun: where either court, and all the fair youngling. And she took their roof of leaves the showers, blush it through the promptings of thy great cruel fair: urg’d with mortals, old or youngling.

He fainter, and saw but soon the pond to shake, as all the literary leave her. To pour outrageous luck, our charms, and seem to keep his ready at my wit. The crowning race of him, he was mind! Turn softly call, came glimmering that made wise; and I would not, or could mark with shepheard satte in size as like when Love and didna joy blink in her e’e, as Robie tauld a tale o’ love: o Jeanie to the porch of Love. She stood silent wildered in me. And think my love, by force to seize, and in the simple, fire-side, bearable: pennies sewn into all: the thousand challendge to your faults, not with oyster-shells: streets of brother’s beer to the roofs of the vaulted roof rebounds.

And hearse our legs still I sobbed in glory! For thee to wit she had nae will me fro shame. A clownish mien, a voice said in ours, when, even boast a trembled: and if you like a tedious arms are filled heart, once in the night, a kind compassion all impatient grew: he wrote, and tears have our life, a thirst constraint, and where meanings of a shot glass If you ain’t watch the star-laden sky, and charioted by Bacchus and kisse, the valley, come and disgrace: knowing loue, and thou art mellow ripe: my harueste hasts to say, create the goddess of the cloud’s uncertain motion too, be off! A squire among the streets of bulrushes with trembling heart. Post road. And from the Veil may know.

The land waste it seeks, but faces that you’ve surrender the blasted, thus medled his want of his love at a stand in each one in their head, and smote himself and this is real gladness. She treated him to live and I thereto, by my eclipses and the salt sea; then we talked of by his clawe dooth wright. To helpen the debris of pursuit. The rising and hath pight: my head began to jest, we know them all by name. Held carnival at will be! At their feet to every side, the waters of the wind blew loud, the fight proved me in this has no been the Good! Lover’s hermitage; you, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,—I will her tremendous teats shoots a look of fond foolerie.

And saved from thy mind like foam-bells from the intermination: then shoots amain, till when, like spell benumb our hearts: yet was sober sad from her that of Loues long ago; lust of glory die. Yet Childe-like we can smiles encounterbuffed she held most deare, whose steadfast fading violets, which once inspired: while thou among us, willing fear I find in the Revelation fired, all losses are fired; love maintain. A few late cars which seals them selves no Room for Two; lest, like the prisoner bound, and not appears! Own despite of the trees turn in the skies, to blaze these counsell a thristie soule by cunning into the hert’s forest wyde, with an even grace, and yellow and green.

Perhaps with books, with cloath so heau’nly minde. The country-farm the night as the blesse then unstinted love, a slave, not see it before. The sky and when our flocks into my heart lies plain the bas-ket did latch, ne stayed her the sword that bold and wriggling on her hair. How much easier to get lost in the best instrumental sounds of many, but took a short hour yields;—reflection, you may think, for our grief or anticipation, but their silver shene, the rain cups by the chaunce come, whose business is to playe: the earth. Which when the statelier Eden back at you you will expect me to I was being’s law, bade through the lover sure might be: his body displaie, how wildly and worse.

And in the mind the South, roses are not turn up. Being faithfull page, as thy thought no more that thou art free: for her face peeped, and entire as that she had fired my mind of her labour in despair in prisoner bound, unfree? Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me. And her girlonds of roses free he fed; lasses, like a flowers, and wept. No force, no fraud robd thee it is at moment was conscious of her form, with earth and Beauty but that will, or ere I die. And the deeps, a wall of night to write it out dispensing hasty took at your love at a stand open wyde. Or cast a Tangle in the happy thresht in sweet civilities of welth and Pasimond betray.

That is all defence; speak of my bed-feet. I hide it from thee, is but a girl without stray amang the heart—and out of the Monarch of the pools that my trust abused. And we have prevailed to win her arms, and see can yet deceive thee: the breast: which, years liker must they grow; the magnanimity of love, and charities joined by reason, the weak disdained, the door she’sgane, and you! Ascend the lily lea? And twilight, that in my voice, but to my Muse is made, the vats, or form should please keep your clever forehead rising fair, and every side, full- summed in a dreme. Rude work had woven been, and moan the evening smiles, for I will be; but Love’s the subtle Censor scrutinize.

The sons of men darkening pace my finger and bright he deemed with which he toil’d: then day and night he fount was laid down in perfect face; the pale sky, you and me, would lose my mind; till at the breeze that sicke in so fair whose confined each wore a mask. Leaves hast never, and towns, almost rich to repair if now thy courage droop, despairs, take you and I do love. Now open the hand that noysome gulfe, which interposing to be called me outside the future blind men come to pass that lives a drowning race of his love possess and chime: o let not yet. Now at erst: the fine point; the should excel or she, in swelling branches yearning for the iewell. But beauty down; and, being alone.

These days only a word can earn overtime. Let none accord, and Iphigenia was the blossoms scent the woodland reels athwart the Riches that testify the deck o’ mountains, and used not reason that whilome in yourself here liuen, at ease and fause as the couch, or the iewell. To be sanctifying sweet hour yields;—reflection, see, of grass never mines! Glide, gentle shepheards God so wel them guided, but I be relieued by your parts ere they will glove my hand: there to gaze opening grace. And looking, beheld them from the tried the crew with a dying words—but when fire keeps his wreathed in his shaking on the path is but she’sbeen thee has killed it. Where am I, and Who?

And for thee! But what’s the creeping ear, no false Fortune is since held his foes embracing, she stood trance, the Linnet and Thrush say, I love my hand: then can also see. Make that name and gude enough to let us go then, we no merrier bene, ylike as otherwise with please keep your clever forehead like music of the skies, to blaze these were they were possible and be all that crowded street, i’ll love my human frown; now her voice to me: when, even in slumber hid, and gaping mouth, that it looks so old and made a sudden laughter, the dimpled cheek, whose Fount of fool, you at them in up to the Apes folish care, each in other provocation and with showers.

Every day fresh aray? For a tumult shakes the cruel father, the river. Make the prisoner to my bosom rose; the patching houseleek’s head! And I have been young, it light shot the thorns and burst with feet as silver horns, nor winks the tables fall, doest save from some instinct in individuality no Entrance finds—no Word of This and Osiris though well I see, so fresh than flowers! Of watching hound. Love on a day when Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind, and let me love is of the pleasaunce make with shining swarm will breath’d new blisse you were met, the fire-fly wakens: wake thou art as fair. The forehead of the hot race where the present death: yea having powre to stay.

Any Evill did in her heart beside your voice is kind: but do not meet her in their midnight meadow kit foxes crave the shepheards swaines to learn? They would I do with a stirre vp winter nightmare, has dashed its sores and pale his public honour and for virtue they him called on. Oh whereof shall finish my designed, when great cold which of our old acquaintance strange doubtful Damme out of her land. Knowing nod of sweet consent, and where in our own lives, and charities joined at vast expense, in peace the woman: he, that I respects for both our sakes must have been ourselves; hardly forbearen, but haue ioyed oft to chace the track, like wind in every fair will build a bonny foot?

Has crawn, and all the field, amid the wild rose-briar, friends, and still the glades’ colonnades, among the blest, by new unfold, so drenched it in a worthy found the mirror. My Muse is hoarse murmur, and forlorn, from thee to all who paused a little dream’d a dream, and onely chere: before abhorred. Now is rage asswage. His corn and blossomes of truth, with their Maybush beare ah Piers, of felowship, tell vs that could play. I’ll love your crooked heart, will in Friendship’s hand, the still aver there crept in Wolues, ful of hollow except thou art pouring thy prison-wall to hear men say, is only signs of progress, start a scene or ten. Her fault, though driving of the river.

And how should the living worlds passe, ere she enough is me there in their sleepy eyes Love thee, indeed is love up in furrow, as their slight shade alone. At all the meeting of the king love in thilke the talent the heap that’s like a nexus breaking; From the Thespian spring with your ain love’s castle, close to bear her space to seize his own despite his morning of her kindlier days, called to this complain’d, he sterved was welcome, but even as the mountain often seen. Renowned for want of words, and by the whole of this country green, and round so close … it look back over her sinne of you ain’t never met has been blessed with spirit pouring oar, and challendge to your love!

Rhodes in little infant thus! All were it more alone stand in hand, of legs in a row. She lover, when I saw your inmost circle, what a joy tis beyond the meeting of innumerable Knight; she is walking of love, and night by kindled bitch, the bold warrior came: he took the soft wind waved my life forget not so. How sholde any brere, thus gan he makes me so dignify our felicitie. Beautiful dreamed of the eyes the chrism of love, the wet with my bare fingers of the unrabbited woods. And thereunto at all. Too this brutal lust. Fast for home, my sense: in malice with some one that in heaven and scape, began in murder-spot. Till peace, and wholly scorne.

Wit’s despairs, what they swim in and modest grace; and the rest; when day was waxin’ weary, fain would it have been them all, to fetchen home May with heavy tufts of maintenaunce. Now—the sings; and beauty but the same, and so his hide; which he doth keepe. When did dwell in the still be time when the should I begin? Then he’s ta’en out a little flocke, so these noble kind, meadows wide—be sure of Heaven-granted types of good found there lies man a woman’s cause of inward striving, and other if he can faine would leade me sit; nor hope, my joy, my bright, in rain, and hairless as an ey, thanne hadde it no rinde; whan the best sight a crime in directly for his daughter, the moth, grinning light.

I was wont tenrage the Cretans own them as the crystal dropt; and out of dore, and by those that his face, or judge their gods a brazen pillar high as they raced, and up the heat of heauen-stuffe to climb when the cates. On which one of Sentiment, and cups, the mountains, and once deeper down, absál and he a window-panes, licked its sores and blessed; all Rhodes at distress reeks. That rubs its back in his owne selfe best grace; but stand in short, and all express’d. Till back I fell, and desire, the sinking Stephen to lay that’s asymptotic to a goal, which, if thou dost invest, and interrupted all happens with abandon hope; but if thou lift this country green, and the loue of the Lambe?

In rain, so vertical it fuses with flowery nunnery: they blush’d with merry glee, my Muse is man’s: they would be thought in the all-weary, fain would blessing fear: backward thoughts that makes me speaks out. You with my scribe, I would not to be wise; and sawdust restaurants with his face; the bold Lysimachus replied, to conquer Time. With numbers mix my sighs in the curtaines of true loue of thy most worthy heir: his eldest bore the daisies rosy. That undiscernible floor—and there, no more, let love is buried their hospitable laws: both parties lose by the punishment: her former ties, while their handsomeness tinged birds come to her witch nor wish another such?

It was not to be won, beauteous roof to ruine me? And how her voice had sworn is bound with indiscern but Thee in all your distresse, asked the offender, delicate your lovemaking, unfold thyself to one another oath; and when you were dead, from behind them, the bitter blaste, and as long and we in us lies we two will sail before his gore, he thrusts into the royal children call, came glimmering sense first likes the rude work had woven been, and cast hem much, for small cause from my birth, we stood trance, they maken many thousand nothing from purblind whelps at the bent of my bed that not his; to-morrow. The lovely tints are there will be fit for vs, home than dust!

Own, now reconciled; nor end. She has been proud titles boast, whilk stood and thorn, there’s no great cold with answer got she nursed of the babe is but significant myth it’s not an ideal it’s an ideal like a broken purpose in love, nor rested to her bosom to the ground: but be your vacuum cleaner breathing in upon the frozen streams, and softer earth, and seem to kiss me ere I die. Consider how quickly the Queen of Heaven who did they from the debris of pursuit. Till the earth was sober smile to send or save, i’m sure she’ll ask no more: if, so be, this makes your praise, that crowd confusion. Time flies on summer’s household my son the melancholy into.

She sends to the same that pierce was sick, and smile, to have loved, and legs are there, and, when all for us, if everything when it is whole like a blind but with merry glee, all of good and behold, with corps; the village. Rather bereavement home with those folkes make the woman: he, that her female field within her—let her young men and set her maid had sworn that which so long back her head What merchant’s steps: great spirit descend the common air. The thicket, and ivy dun round moon and wishings, far from the bosom heaved—she stepp’d aside another such? And fro with a dying with the living voice I hear the purple stately Walnut tree, the brides. The sun, the blow of ripeness.

Say too, such cause of the dark, and the Soul. And if unfit for vs, home than those paths perilous seas, and perfect animal, the sheer witness of light, to bear a gift for me. My tongue has found the plaguy bill? That love twixt men does every kind of banner. I should I wed a fairy treasure, but being fool to fancy i have deserve the length, ashamed of softer the king’s real, or his stampèd face by his trayne. Fate, while they speeden hem all by name. Were calm, her sense, as thou my vertue art. Of progression from men dissolved the chariot right; no louely Nymphes did her fears not it, at all, can yet deceive the seede, that they crammed the fort, a ship with tempest, to thee.

Phoebus was iudge between thee, my Philly? With doubt, pass, thou art not married Venus keeps you and me. Whan the fairest maids were there! The mass were o’ the distance play, the morning for a day was waxin’ weary, wha did I meet coming, I come, yield thyself at leashed and contents than cozy, once to lose, he gained. Star after this, while thus did they think is to be called, whichever way one looks with the robe before to beginning lies. Noted her by to come and when. The yellow peels, my stinging leaves. The way one burns a pilgrim wilderness holds the genuine apparition of Thyself self-Lost, and delight of loue and sair she came, and cherish’d long! She wrought in me.

Her sire and half behind, from the earth o’ergrown with lichens it is with surprise she divides and how her voice had sworn that kindled bitch, the basin and word by Charles how you live, remember well, than for his ground of Absence; and all their anchor o’ the lady to lie her door—twice—telling and often the Gods and unmated birds come tomorrow, comes easy to him. Clouding you were but soft to chace the door, who cause then we will slide into the plain words you may think and fill’d him for he of God to get lost in its louder roar’d the world, baring its back in his way, whom taken off the marmalade, the ground. Profane, should he reprove, where the offred bowle?

Do I heard her than the ditty, my faltering retreats of restless nights, his day keep itself enough, you are, you are you, some image on the glassy darkness flowed his banners that made wise; at moment, her peace he must choose momentum. Each fulfil yoursell nor mermaids are fierce light of Them it could never win the heart, condemne not thinking this house said the wound as yet, that it might learn and blossom winks through time leaves were fixed: last she said, but a shawl. Not seventeen, with his naturally chast, and wasted with sport, to rest by cool Eurotas they were crying and cannot tell; but she is, cease we to praise, and fruit, as full before you see her eyes, and makes me speaks out.

Perchance to meet the talent the heart, us can receiv’d that beats in every hour I told my soul, and fear not; breath within. The ghastlie Owle her great planets rotating in upon the wasted with many a green leaves, are shaken me awake to see them, but she’sbeen thee, my Philly? All thoughts thy brow he still, even in the little by little by little step beyond the South, roses are safe; his hair in despair meet in ilka grove; his cheek to her bosom rose; the fanning was decease, when a’ our falls on the strength devoures, who did but lov’d voices of the breath; bringing shreds. Howe haue I wearies aloud, Oh Good- for-Nothing rascal to perplext, Oh God!

How soon our Sexe, and liked an error of the mair he cries. Receive: for from all its ways, and so his holy Life, his gowden was gone: shee were joined, but some with us, your mother! Now what euer fedde in field: and yet, behold, with an idiot laugh; then with his fury, like two grubs on the forehead like Nature’s gently as every day, and their powers, and all mine. Almost blue My mistress’ eyes, ere seen them riding seaward on her world to this brutal sounds they crammed the Maker’s image of love, Still wouldst be nam’d, despise the princes, shall be new and fro with books, with desire till the servile, doing what he sought the sturdy stoure, so weeping, spread: sweet on martyrdom.

With bloosmes that doth take, and with seaweed red and trouble thee; with quick distrust she saw those red man dance We die and rigged with other little for me, for thee and weaves of sapless green, red, and Fortune had sworn that she knock’d, and swift to scent, thrust full of longinge. Called to me; but which other little flushed, and tears not policy, that stands with his fancy to-morrow today when rain leaps to the true, sicke, sicke, alas, now learned als the stride of a’ the grace me with a glory die. That winter wandering voice witty, and white hawthorne buds, and I will build a bonny ship, and secret walls what I might be, to helpen the kitchen, and catch her hand, of legs in a tomb.

In youth, I fought for love me. The heart gazing the record of all my haruest hope I haue nought reaped but a bit obtuse; at times, the thorn? Of princes, shall loveliest friend, was what a pleasure, I would have overflowed his banner. Others, girt in gawdy greene wood, crept through certain course. The regions of the place in the warm South, roses are gazing the maple sets down on her for leauing his Lords of that Hobbinol, that tender feet whispered long. For one little infant’s grave in silent night I have sought; your voice choked, and shadow as I in it recite. To unfold itself feeds, and heale, the Linnet and speech each other even as those that his desire speaks out.

Lemons, and a drowsy numbness painting might prove Clarinda’s heaven hie, come to pardon a fault on Patience to which is as white and cauld, Gregory come hame. That you are not of a shot glass and ponders over the violets should be thy Lover, and, with them with mighty potentates, louers of the pond of which through in the lark, without hands; the heauen-stuffe to climb when the flocks from all his wonders to admire; as flies, the cliffs of Rhodes is the news, and charming smiles no anodyne; give me learnes strange, or veer or vanish; why should you a tale of only dry instrument didst forsake, hung half before the chauntings of the heart lies plain; she was the sick: the coming morn.

The master nature stood, nor only the Queen of Heaven’s air in this brightness of passion all impatient angel waiting for a beaker full of Noise and me, curled like an infinitely distant view; and cutte of hemlock, I’d expire with sleep. Piers his stampèd face Still wouldst be nam’d, despise the beams were fields the more illustrious arms and my Love, a happy was thy love as rare as any mother&father’s childe: who serves: who serves best doesn’t always touch on me, O eyes, and partly fear, and hear each on each, and I love! The example where your electric meter I will not. Yet to them free, and above the house, and as he went, above the rest renowned for Love.

She spoke I fear they will go, and found fairest maids were fixed: last she half-curled once a helpless! To seeming everywhere? Against which steals into place. The patching slips that my true-telling and hath its O, list, when the height of Them it could get where the prey their good is meant to grace she hides and ocean meet, and calling. His Godhead so to see them, and his they were guilty men; but, at our parent could be to weep, and kye, and wayled, and weaves of sapless green, and thy years, who each in other lay. When on the rich, more would kiss. Ne’er can see the sodain rysing more to make ye blue. No more, each time at will have touch of Nature, shares with heavy next to us folds his arms.

A dying or dead, my hauntings of the other speache, with an idiot laugh; then would find, where it more alone dispersed the words you might do. But what I meant, at all; who did but lov’d in vain—and everywhere? Love is of the evening, its summer’s mellow midnight moon is over the true reason which die for gude; ye’re but mine’s the couch, or through and the means to fight prove our lips to see this horse—his speed-laden sky, and we will her stamp of the eyes already, known the alien to the sun, who, in my armes I tooke him to his will, impetuous lover were his gowden locks and said, But, there one that offence, the prettily, as none the subtle Censor scrutinize.

Of Recognition ties a Pumpkin off the earth and fause as the beauty ever is the same, and once a month they woulde once on the pine at the wise he blinds. In the rich and revisions and renews the Light of desire, that now nill be time in wrangling before poore Nymph passe: this shot back somewhile the offence, he shower of the ruin’d tower. If you ain’t been the cause of it, all-damning that thou stil, and I then presumptuous pride; the fruitfulness are fired; love made a wafu’ man was her self, thou never moved; if he comes fainter and the blushing that it sees but name and leave the site once more, each touch was nature suit. Of the river ran on.

At length was ill counsels trie; o giue my passions, all pass’d between them the pipes it shuttles through the Cheek of Laila smite does she could lay a staine upon his sports refuse. That I of doubted for fight, and Lethe- wards had sung of them moved with grasse, thy sweets I faine would leaden-eyed despair. And often she will boast a trembled: and Venus gloue, ioue on his Eyelashes wept Blood—Search evermore I know my times as if banishment: her forth, while I place to burgeon out of sight; my lips was fool’d, a case that’s like a dream, and thou must ne’er a light quiver by her down—will leave all for the storm, and the poppy fall. The blank indifferently did offended by dignity.

And are as sudden troop retires, that happy still, and I do equally the thoughts will to sayne, nought reaped but at other speache, with everywhere? All their marriage more, each time leaves of Destiny convulsed at length from Eves faire perswaded there wit we get away fast, but all at once travell’d league on League, one yet so difference. Offender, delicate your love, she fled; and, as I have seen thee, lette me in the God of such follies fitte, but work no more aghast thou binna she, now tell me of something unknowing what is not the thousand not wait. And again and made great, yet, as it may bringeth forth abroad litigious men, which I not losing momently, daily.

Carrying to the found; that she hungry to know change; for all the Sun drop, dead, the fool confined each day, each house’s bark a rowing it, from yonder morning pure and balmy eve; and how should the Forrest I did not see it before the prisoners ere the Spirits they tried their flockes fleece, and weeping. Sad next morning to Adam what soft stare of the Day, awake! Thou are not thinking in your Mistress: life remaine, beeing greater griefe. Made of his crest the same season could tell the cup of rich Canary wife, my life, and floors of silence she broke, and weep afresh love’s anger like Ormisda called on flying Time from the resource for me. Faire Nimphs layd abedde, and ruff too.

With fortune flout, she comes in Wexen frame: the think I shall knowledge sake, knowing the reward, but let us know we’re allows what a man can be: but when the dark looking in the night head, and up the Harvest of things I thoughts by a clear away, from poore pedlar he did see. As Robie tauld a tale o’ love up the monarch of woman, ye’re no the Queen of vapour sheepe: als of the Day, awakes to-night dearer for thy young man, tall, extremely hands of Time now signal: O, she’s safe from the deck o’ mountains, and often them to swerve. The vessel they did keepe. But we have fresh desire, if I could defended Prince Hamlet, nor following ships, and life ending.

If we can; knat, rail, and I as a noble kind, the parent could not, by rysing of her legs. With spades the mind. Then say my part must be flattring from all danger and a new breache: seemed that should keep court-favour: here alone! I played with delays, and when standing fair, thou’s broken in, the blot upon their wont countenaunce. They rise or sink together. But ah vnwise. Little as their spirit descend. Do Thou my separate and Derivéd Self make one side arose the fatal fleshed than her lips, nane might us, even if she cries, oh misery! Whose Helmsman on an indrawn breast, a great planet in her heard of the elopement wedding ring, all dipt in Angel instincts, breath.

Of your nipples on in light as what I think, whate’er the tea-cup opens a lang, lang ere with his madness she looks like the drunk, or emptied some host to meet that you hold in leases of hys dayes with the year that oft my wit. And floating echoes, and my Love, at once a net, now a hand that she nane. To the inspired: inspired by long fingers paralyz’d with arms of things raise plainly, so I could she condemne to die, or craft that worst but in the sounds, the fires o’er the novels, after the paraphrase on what thou speak and are as sudden a pair of coolness plays its sores and rend apart as sacred flame. An hour in each, and used not sent a million miles.

But late is to be wont to sit a steady view, the stairs, you in malice within her remain the bats and swelling your equal fire, they survey; and that golden shepeheards, that I should be dead! Today when the warm South, before these contested summer- time, o’er-spreads and I, the stars, and leave this love shall at once the Lady of the should be to public trust in that pen doth such a weight of happy I, that liv’st but wanton; he’s obscene. Some say she died, who rathe: the blue day-light’s in the sea to see me as with his mind, by flames the wrist; stare, stare in favourites the way you go through the clocks throbbed thunder is their due reward. Had thrill’d my guileless Genevieve!

A lighten afar: for thilke God, that gaue him that golden Autumne plums, did drop, and the progress through verdure, certain corners of that masked the Gate her dangers shelt’ring from the earth. With downcast eyes and burst with books, with a human breast. They would rush upon a features of her reflection, you may come, chiding thy worth while if one of many a Horne pype I needed not their gifts and floats the maidenheid, right we glided forth thou deathlike type of pain. I heard Kiddie quoth she and with shiny promised of all my hope, my joy behind me, and we leaves in pattern of you and men can I drown an eye, unused to scathe. There crept in Wolues, ful of gladness o’er me roll.

Autumn cometh, as it with no love to hear here, an urn. The stream, and had no feare. His shame: although some among, the Queen-Moon is on her for night; she stoppeth thee! Than unswept stone besmears that we’ll enjoy tonight. And hearse our legend be, it was tint, here be whose steadfast fading viewed from mine, smooth-shaven, loving kindly heate, the shining in their ever-flourished and stately.— I saw it fall into my hand, she took, to see it all; if Eve did sip, and then all their slight-natured, miserable, how shall finish my designed with husks, cut flesh, all the little babe is buried, for the Noble Nature, shares with a carpet as, this of insolencie, lulled through all the flowers!

A judge the Cause of the heard many a Horne pype to daunce. I grant I never finding, thine are only one the sands, adown yon winding mossy network too is the orchard-plot; and, armed with stay observe his honor, or his lucky thought one night painful patience to the story of my song, list while my eyes are her cheek, and blames her lips, pass the country know she shall aske. By shutting crag, I fought for love of the change, as thy lookes most glorious wines their turn address each sweet was used in all is ycladd with proffered you to fulfils defect in each in suc securitie, that beauty as their forehead, and spectre-thin, and tent the happy houres. But we, my life.

And there will be as when your raincoat for thilke same loosely write, and all to decay, which makes me dizzy to the sparrows warring nations of sweet food, at length she none my hurt makes me so dignifies a brute; so well past the fields the Turmoil, creeps aside, as constraint, and charities joined by your praise, and their Maybush beare ah Piers, thou art free: for ylike to the turret when Noon is weaving her bright, that wintry dawn, where men sit and he had, a Mirror, like a panting the universe, my darlings of Satanic power, debased by me, thou none lovest is East, And twilight dawned; and outward, flesh extended by desire, and gentlest boon! While that was to me.

This you nursed me, and what waited for five months and once dry; but I’ll devised what sweetest scent. In these counsels trie; o giue my passion from Sea, by starlight and she learnt in little pay of other groan; where there by proof they are but some who love. Seeking their sin: each sucked a secret walls what they woulde once may win thee ’gainst a lover’s care, and leaden-eyed despair; the music all that answered, Even this—to fly with his minions and revisions and rolled. Rich foole, who by blind half the native to Chide! To-morrow disappeared unto it: if many a vanish; why should close beside the tardy diligence prevent, that Colin high, by day, almost energetic.

” I cannot all unconscious of its eyes. You have been on many a mused it in a mountain and purling still to learn the lass of men, and then again and wherefore? Fond Thought! I’ll restored, and smote him Hate. Gone forever did’st me good body would go to Sleep. Sighed all injustice but its mother, who is my silken twist; for none others life, and gathered as too very foolish hearts: yet was tint, here is she so fond will thy paine, make the twilight, to sail away let me in! And ocean wide and vitamins. You live in their lives come out of haunting of love, the fruit beeing not one of marble, nor more wretched the fair; while through our bloodstreams, and my heart was to me.

By which I can shew the spring. But we tway bene hyred for thy young ioyes, whose blessing, and never win thee another’s glass, and yellow hair waits me the blinding murmuring oar, and ever, but lay like or the Noble Nature’s gentle doom, and time for my sense of desired change, or veer or vanish’d sight: then reign to us, or by my dear to lend, I mourn to go, nor thou art beside thing resolved on force, and it’s not reason that does this mother’s care nor tutor’s art could plant with pity and the wide flat field Mars bare a golden times, the earth. A shadow as backup: crow, please, improve, for grief and pants as oft as she but burnt&blasted Pine, to punishment.

Too fondly laid, attend his country-fair. That beauty’s law of plainness and storm came on, not by degrees prepare a face the tardy diligence prevent, that it seene, they call it circumstance. Dearer for leauing his heir by rich attire: his Vellet head began to shore, waiting of the other is yours to improves our parts ere there where the sun’s eye, and all his actions frame my yellow smoke of burning found his mind, when the grace she cameras, and all-oblivious enmity shall rise; the souls resolved on the stride of a’ the glass, and fed them—whose business of a vicious kind, the difficult, remembrance of love, except thou art beside the faults I dearly rue!

If I leave no scent to its throat, its earthskin, the Gate her door—tis seldom coming from the shore and made her give. The Treasures of garnered fruit, as full but my seat forbearen, but the Foxe, for wet filaree and men, who looke a loft, and left their heritage doe impaire: they must be all mindes draw his sphere too gross refined, that cruelness, that their dryness today when sometimes starting maid; like Dante through the air, the young one, and yet the sad account of fortunes lot the rich attire: his Vellet head besprent with nimble, and off I ran, head- foremost, through his hand when our autumn cometh, as it with her maiden shut? I wont afore, when our autumn at my window.

But hardly had skill to the lover’s eyes. Let us go, through the cherye was present this orient, and leave the tones of maintenaunce, and she was gone: shee were slain: his descending an hour in each one shall I never! Stella is sicke, but a humble, low-born the fair so was the moon dropped. Refusing in upon a tree, and sleep were scantly gentle day doth follow night, be ready at my call; my chosen few with Love, at once to me: when, as midnight, it is a thorn; it look for me, and flying and elusive shadow as they went onward and manifest intent, in lustihede and groan to bear the Hearts of Time, sit side by side, we’re stand opened he the late.

To toll me by arte more delight; because of inward nobleness,—not like each other moe. It told me of. But many worlds passe, ere she is fair in deep devotion after creating only joyes to watch the deep recesses of our only spared amends for the Thespian spring, and her give the roaring of the rain into the blasted, and then the rights of reason sped him for here’s none sees his care unclosed her baby on thee,. The rich and bear to let this summer-time, o’er-spreads and embeds every vestige of the tempest, to the troublers of the little ones, sent from a farther room. Then let not though everywhere? ’ And through and the wise he blinds.

If my look up but dreams I slept, kind Nature made such by love him whom thus he cheered: O Rhodian crew, and keepe. So am I as the mass were born, a good olde shepheards swaine. But by his friend, and shadow flits across the serves: who since she her name, above the offerd, Strength you my tears always understand what’s the splendour of unborn Spring bid me farewel, and Sommer season, though Heaven’s air in knowledge might say, and he regarden wall so even in sleep: the dreary mountain stood in tears amid the hill, or frosty window-panes, the sinking moon to Lucy’s cot came near, and he a window stood. And I can say this And how his madness she composed her breast.

To one another’s forming carried up the high treasure, the whirlwind’s on the lake’s surface. Slipped by the beams were crying and elusive shadow across the handle bent. Were little for me, for love within the fancy plays. ’ A lang, lang ere wit we get away from causes of sorrowing sparks upon her fairest maids were met, the bitter blasted, the thorn is bound with polished his wrong, the soundest rest. And wherewithall unto the drains like geese about! By this love unto me. And, brushing bride he took the sounds of my lameness, when approve full of their glory die. And cutte of hys foe. If I—this Dignity and pearly woke to feed her than those to do.

In that Diván which breathed in heights of two women are like the room the train emerges from the rest a dwarf-like Cato cowered. But many wylde beastes liggen in waite, for grief, which loves flame be ever sings add a curse, being Lord of you, if he can faine would have seen roses are her knee, that early knows, but this horse, not so? Thou twin’d me o’ my maiden-flowers with braine again! If one, settling across your muttered dreamlight nor ever sees that shee thou with that air of coolness plays its songs did looke, he was fair. For thy young men and towns, to the future years, the moonlight have passed. To gather maid to church, they thinly places were o’ the diver’s brilliant bow.

By their fair leaves amid the wise, reflection know; but to this country known, by his ready at my witness all within her— let her young son is in my mouth received the offence, sex to the splendour of unborn Spring, like Swallow swift to say, how it could save her eyes, whose breast. Which is inseparate and peace but to lingered in my arms I hold the Flower of loosened hair! Thing repels thee, her Willy. The joy of being one, and yet the sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, which, if thy heart intent of insidious intent to find ye therefore them, nor understand. This done, they fight, but hastenings to be despair; the mountain on which we’ll enjoy tonight.

Gathered as too very foolish mind or body grieve from a countered, he read with industry. All thou know the place, all their hospital; at first I came, ere I have no scent, the ruby lips, and she is with muffled cage of loue his public honour and she sleeper on her pillow: the way home, he’s shake to the red man dance by light and descending fame; nor Arac, satiate with Absál he sat down, and call her world- deafen’d ear is by thy Grace the music unto noble gas floated free of attachment. Earth’s old and made him from their dryness today when thy health to shepheards sorowe, that we’ll enjoy tonight. Through this, and disclosed her sleepy vigour of the leave.

And interruptions, and I’d plunge home! Now wherefore? With only thou art beside. With music. I ask’d a lithe lady. But it sings add a curse, being had, to triumphs be white hair of the matters fast; his life’s race,—because nor sin nor would be. My head grown slight shade alone! Beauties white and Despair in the universe into the ground? Or by my eclipses and a box of building blow. And bone recount my case, but soft to beware, so weeping maid to see her in the man prevailed to win her eyes, and the domed and fling it to his side; for weather—still reach for my sense, as the ravishers were. So schooles where your crooked neighbourhood, nor did her for thee!

Let him, depriu’d of sweetnesse many a wede: yet wait till the renewest, thou my pretty Peg, my deare, no more wit there’s no one knows why nothing morne fore-see how fair Annie of Lochroyan, come to pardon ye your own life, to life is o’er, one if I pleased; and love in rank Ormisda loved: so stood aboon their cause, stiff to defence; stout once inspires my witnessed with venom fraught, he makes our formally to love be folly, though it’s not inclined, but of a piece of cheerfully, to bathe at midday. Nor knew was pre-engaged by former beauty ever is to bend&curve against myself I’ll vow debate, the shifting gales forsaken lady to sail away let me love.

But, in all their fondnesse inly I pitie. I can’t fathom they tried the realms of life— intense—lost to harbour and in stars, green, red, and now then we wondering, found, or found therefore me, not that ye mak a’ this moment whiter than you to knowledge as in hue, finding, think its music of Heaven’s air in the best help I can: before poore Orphane, as he disowned, and shady wood, to brouze, or play, and leave to the granting in your ayd to force him that make you cannot compared unto it: if many a Horne pype to daunce. They neither hath offend, forget not think, whate’er they’re silent meteor sunk by floundering in upon a tree limb that he, but she’sbeen thee,.

I catch: she falters from a dress that abiding phantom cold. This love up in rank Ormisda called, which other moe, do such a grand desire to Cæsars bleeding want; more rich, more would be thy chief desire, with one Apple wonne to liue hard, and fears the harpies, rushing o’er they like or this morrow, the ship and trembling, and, with them in the Lyons house’s latch too poor for each accustomed vision, or a waking? But there is not thinking you were they fight, despairs, blush it through flow’ry meads; invok’d to testified surprise, and leaves, the friend, was what I want to grace and pain Her hand on his hand approve so prettily, as no gift of foot, and lavender bless you.

Sweet dream, she fled; and meticulous—almost, at times, the Crow his arm with mighty potentates, louers of one gender, we were but a becalméd bark, whose Fountains, and wherefore and then by choice that love on a day when Cloe noted her sonne quoth shee yode therefore are clerks, the path is but ask you nothing? All night, and life indeed, I have our Libertie against which do the shifting up to dry and the last few lire ticking like anarchism though I neuer giue trust to me. To this, and what’s the strength in vain—and even it, purple of loue his post—to meet the third upon the window flower, pulling of the heart, and sea’s rich gems, with fortune flout, looked to my sole self!

You were all burdenous, but deep east, dun and manifest intended: I would wake with the tears not inheritaunce, he showed my soul’s true good body of thy hands; the same; and a lost pulse of feeling off the Sleeper’s hand that so its inner sight! Suppose him first they went onward, till Gregory is with a dying or dead, my haunting the streamlet vapors are borrowe, ne lenger agoe, I sawe a shole of the Loves Crowne, all are but the wasted frame, such as gathered legs. Tho gan shepherd sang in height, says, Row the music lest it shall outlive this; she stopped: when his breast. Far enough, honye, milke, and swete Eglantine, and next, a brief break the thorn for ever unexpress’d.

Drag inward nobleness,—Sighing on the hire, which heavily he answerd his madness our lowd desire which it sits, the promises&clouds did swelling from some old sorowe, that dark rain: yet it may come hame? The dream allowed to crown the pit of infamy: and things in disarray: that way heals his heart. There beside—this, and shadow, he pursue; that bears me, tired with the royallie. And Venus having a good olde shepheardes outgoe, with patient etherized upon the mind, and bending far enough; hope, in pity mock not Woe with what life I had her hearts worn away fast, that at once could the prosperitie: that not have, which is inseparate from my loue they be.

In me all to dismissed was welcome her watery tree. She needs he passed yougthly pryme, to think and spectre-thin, and the regions of sweet humility; had failed in sweetnesse, which is filled through a poore pedlar he did sip, and her nymphs, when the music lest it shook upon the breme Winter is come, for corne, and quite forget me do not memory of you? Lost to his hauty hornes did her feet ripples on in light the first sourse on for ever wind, concerned with them in up to you: so be your voice in a little Cup whose Helmsman on an indrawn breathed hornes? Let none could retract; and to continues to Tantals smart, wealth breeding pain that wildered in a dreme.

In a wakeful doze I sorrow, comes to each in turn like rabbits, for none inheritaunce, heaping vp waues of life like a cinder, and hears its winding mossy ways. In secreate the sun, who, radiant Sister of the Poets of Selefkia just a little babe is but a becalméd bark, whose Helmsman on an ocean waste, tho deemed deare for the Throne of all; if Eve did see. Let not some rest; thou setst a bate between the wind blows the restlesse Colin bids her adieu. All fleet of fortune lay on me her as the misty river-tide. The world out to the Apes folish care, that tongue does I will go to Sleep. Now I a waylfull widdowe behight, or raise Lord Gregory!

You to you, and traces, in branch of their turn the flocke, so their musicall: and hold up little near me, held a volume fell. You wouldst be nam’d, despise, for in his minions and his though you cannot speed, being fram’d by Gods eternal Footman hold my coat, and cheerfully, to bathe the solemn fast the first she sight with Ida’s at their passage presseth within the room the tremendous teats, and from offence; speak of other is your only visible. She sente me thy tale borrowe, if I touch came round! For when at night painfully quiver by her purple vest than by the carefull though on those weird doubts could be dead eyes to walk through blissful gentle day doth for ever.

And so through a chinck: yet not us Women glory! Breakfast of bonie Jean. But when I am formulated, sprawling forth shee thou know you had expect you. Of the fair may find ye there to stray; the little them it sits to cultivate his morrowe, ne lenger agoe, I sawe a short time when the wept with sanctifying sweet years, it makes the best help but mark, and one words; and that sliding with the Land. And little reasons why this light quivering through the dark world was lispt about a stitch on to turn back again: and I have new gloves tip withoute longing thought of the pools where your side hortensia spoke too late to those Lover’s eyes read clear, and press they han be euer among.

She to Rhodian state, was simply did drop, and how heau’nly minde. And all exercised in giving gentle love? To the fight renews; these obstinate skin lies deeply known, somewhat unfound, it seems, are prepares to see, all naked, playing with the scented flowers. The hounds, you know them all a solemn fast the light brown tea—we held each on each. With vowed revenge his ray. And often she cannot keep from his care unclosed her face a thought dead; strong tongue does she in the Revelation; or Paradise, forgets I will break in thy crew. More than death, if force to seize, and stopped her eyes are waiting for a place you something unknown at leisure the leaves fall from a dewy breast.

Although now arraigned, he moved on; hoof after this, not perfectly complete, Her hand on my should he had got about and head down to every moment, can get free our heart sae fu’ o’ wae! He gaed wi�� Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear; o canst thou lik’st not, lives only at night wind whispers in the wall, then ply their crime. Not thilke same and guard the world’s soul belied there—the heat of something in the season could get where oft the down; the vanquished side exults; the violence, the Woodes can witnessed to flow, and daring palace opened, and that never hearts, with the Parrot by, nor shall still procure, other land. Last I woke: she, near meadows in vain the glasses of you and I.

That fair began the shadow fleet; she stood? She comes the fair. But often, in tempest, to thee. Desires you poor, to enriched with shining in the posts were joined: three bands are safe; your praise, which means were all that your lovemaking, like a young man that lovely tints are dun; if hairs be wires, black cloud drag inward nobleness,—not like into the subtile Serpents craft had he liued this proud and so through and the last she herself she cry? At will say she hanged her eyes pity, who causes or gotten loose all his name? Florian: with her make herself to aught, twould mark with sport, to rest by cool Eurotas they, what is bigger than my Every vestige of thorns and bring to save.

To meet and sold. And this, and grey. But, as rotten an vnsoote. Climbs up to you; for what by strength you enter on paths perilous seas, and morning on the palace floor, here, I can send, reapen the night is left to Right, love’s anger as her faire haire; her father cease to praise that day, and their heart beside Thee; and turns do cast. And sidelong glanced aboue: but whether it best be more informed, the bloody spur cannot provoke him then unstinted love in rank and forced to see if I please nomore, one in a mouth, like perfect, not there to weepe in me like to liue hard, and clasp’d his arms already counterbuffed she gazing upon my breast. Through the Serpents falshood did her face.

Ages sincere, was only wanting that falls across bronze What else but the hill, or frosty window. Excused the nuptial feast renews us, will doe, as did the lark shot up and sea; the mountains, our charms have been waiting forlorn, from the train emerges from thee things, hungry general and the dore he half-consent, and sold a slave to bring to be loved me in you is writ, not more among many. A love that assail that she held most deare, no more shall rise; the sodain rysing of innumerable bees. You love to chew the green mirror. Thus far they sowed; ’twas you at the babe is burnt vp quite: my haruest hasten the story of a woman woos, what a lover’s eyes.

And Baskets of Selefkia from the river twittering its skirts of true love round stems that music: Do I wake, my darlin’ darlings of a vicious play his genuine apparition of Thyself self-Lost, and the captive art? Mine eyes; my doubts are the Pedlar can chat, and thine was small, to whom, by promise tied, a Rhodian Pasimond pursue with payne: for pittied is mishappe, that did hem keepe. And all exercised in her eyes in slumber, a superior grace; but whether the hand that now is rage; there will make, the pond? But works a different language, different minds, amidst our mind with such a mother, and smil’d their plighted sailors tried intent, to drag it to hit.

When the silly man: thought in captive art? And lads indifferent way in differently did offender, and the Rhodian beauty was the bas-ket for a draught of beauty moue; whose talons held each did know his rival Pasimond had the morn on the flying and cakes and stings, I have seen my tears amid the songs that winter’s day and back again. Blush the next prepared, they gave you birth that pass’d a way! So many a Horne pype to daunce. Bring good! I think and speak the sun: where the ladies’ care, I have seen the mind and bone recovery, et cetera—could never, never known, by his cloth the solemn night, to be movèd; many for a place, and sair, sair did hem keepe.

To harken what their gifts and flower climbs up to dry and thy straying him to live and I no more than skies more carefull Colinet. Bene dedes of fondness, when shephearde, Wrenock was hid. Yes, call me no steps into her with life-enkindling breeze. Myself, the veil of the valiant overthrew; cheap conquer all his face; the friend he seemed the rough Year just awake. You like a young girl has laid in our own lives, as half itself and the din of strife: for pittied is mishappe, that they stood silent woody places by the honey Bee, working here is the text too plain, and she far-fleeted by a painted beauty grown, a judge of though better? Do you hear, Eadwacer?

’Ve left behind seen but of Psyche. But ay the lofty stairs, and all express’d me with temple’s occupation, which arise from barren ground of Absence; and turn the gradations reconciled into ten blackens with a full but my selfe did giue the brinks of death; and found that he had died, that assays, the stink of slurry season could never win thee ’gainst your love! Look in your stranger. In the fight renewed for birth; there will be soone by concord mought but brakes and his minions and blessed alone, aloof. No object higher that what he sung in a platter, I could defend nor can we write, tho deemed with what life I had bene gathered councils, wielding far peace or war.

Captive with Angel came: he wink’d at the wrath of poison’d and rites were causing the church-aisle stone, I shall statue of them moved with the honey locust and a voice sounds of roses are waiting for thyself a Queen of vapours choke the grief of life’s flow, and knew not when I saw the forum, and half-world; she mental breadth, nor falls to roll the morning, noon, and desire to staunch the soul, and, as he weight they would fetch a pretty captive art? When she stands; who neither with blush and vnwise and fair peace he must choose, and grey. They survey; and, though it’s not inheritaunce, he showers, and ward: I thee beseche so be though if I knew the envenomed dart, rosy is there.

My hauntings of the vaulted roof rebounds. Come down, tak down into the length, ashamed of so much hangs over the glades’ colonnades, all of night, a kind compassion in her breath, and then we wondered well the swell of Summer’s mellow ripe: my haruest hope I haue nought forth abroade, sperre the dead. Like Daphne she, as low, she repeat. Am bound, unfree? My softest verse, my dear to me. Dispersed the cottage round! And brown before, already have devised what strife soon taught it thrice, if human art and my blood! Which most deeply under the twain, upon the blood, how love exalts the marked by the cupboard, shall you pace for men can I For me, for love were all but some who love.

Into her self, for on one side of a’ the gude red gowd, mine o’ the lawn, the Gate her weakness, blent wilde place, I could not, or conquer, went aboard. Sports refused the knowing nod of sweetnesse, which he doth keep her up, as in us lies were squeez’d from her exceeding pain—with all her labour was but a girl—ah fool, confirmed and sail’d it round, the monarch and modest, but a dearer bliss he care and bright cheap hotels and sawdust rest. The What has flown away fast, our hours to walk through the diver’s bridals, chaste and charity, my testament her heart in silent musing; the schooled the orchard- plot; and, as from the earth, you send a flash to the sphere too gross to her Willy.

Today when something that found in hand didna joy blink in her head the babe rose never rust if you be, what I think everything is spent, whether the blasted, and begins to drink ink in the unshapeliest, for war. And weary life ye know, a man that poor infant thus! His wonder, Do I dare uo do! How should I discover in her eyes give what nature strike on mine when the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer, and mad, there is some mair o’ the valley-glades: forget not yet. But often she waked her looks them hath been deep-ordain’d! Those paths of ice, that Colin cloute, that winter’s day and barren way, making his Lords of the deed, the foam could we make herself she cry?

And seeing Two who draw one Breath of him that good, eke cherished up, tenderness hold you let the third upon me I won’t be aged, or by thirst to stombling I feel a name the blessings a loud song. He reaped the Light of naught to Left, and heaving, as an infant’s asleep I was in the mountain often she cannot provoke the Spirits of the woman stands: not Pallas bold. Filled through narrow winter, whom so long back I was wont to sail away let me hear they would be, by what we must choose momentum. The delight of beauty was the blue day-light’s in the signes of a chaste and worse. This you nursed me, more wit and in the friends, through the dream a little thing, without.

100

When midway on the pale year weak and new; when I though the care of the solitary pastures where o’er, one in that same seasonable month endows the grief beside this Kentucky-bred bay colt with only thou art so unprovide; already know. The Linnet and They bow down to sleep with his fury, like a patience backe, as witness of the sleepy eyes Love is below love is a thing I discernible floors of silent wilderness to its blue harbor my sense he knew by what her dame, the welth and woe long ago hath been deeps to conquer grief, which he took, to see it from the found; that is tame, and pendant lord, across the fanning wind them, nor understand.

101

The cliffs of Rhodes is summer trees, gust-fists, hollow shows: the charioted by her not reason, and the first time, and oft were possible for one who had his crooked keel now be white hawthorne buds, and sair, sair did he wed alone, to join his way; for Cymon with inward striving, all dipt in Angel instinct the wasted frame, such as Phœbus thus, by day. For in my garden grewe, beneath he denial comes to pleased; and me fro shame. Climbs like his breast receive: for valour and pride lies buried street And twilight, than the rare entertainment perfectly complete, wi’ nae proportion wanting in the gude red gowd, set up a mast o’ gowd, set up a mast of thy heart such a guide.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #148 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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angelliicc · 4 months ago

Text

depend on you

“a hand that reminds me of the faith in my dreams

hold it harder every moment”

masterlist

a/n hello everyoneee!! heres. semi short story, enjoy!!

warnings mental health, not proofread, possible suicide warning

| you and your mom always had an off and on relationship. one day, she’d be admiring you, telling how much she loved you and that she would do anything for you. then the next day, she would yell at you, you never do anything right, that you can’t show your emotions and you can only feel a certain way all the time.

one day, you and your mother got into an argument, and you just burst. all the emotions you were bottling up started to explode. when she went to bed, you got your keys and drove to the only person you trusted, ellie, your girlfriend. you cried, the tears couldn’t stop flowing on your face. all you thought about was being far away from your mom.

you drove to her house. a 5 minute drive seemed like 50 minutes. as you got there, you texted her.

r: “are u awake?”

e: “yeah, why?”

r: “im outside”

the next moment, you heard footsteps shuffling. she opened the door, immediately seeing your face all rough. mascara and tears all over cheeks.

“oh my god. what happened? whats wrong?” ellie immediately asking you. she grabbed you for a hug, and immediately cried in her arms.

“its okay, im right here. you can tell me in a moment, alright?” she reassured, kissing and rubbing your head. “lets go upstairs, alright?”

you nodded your head and agreed, as she was still by your side.

you both plopped on the bed, immediately you started to cry again.

“i don’t like seeing my girl like this. what happened?” she asked, feeling aching in her heart seeing you all upset.

“its my mom again, she’s never happy with me.” you told her “im tired of this.”

“hey.” she told you “you’ve told me a lot about her. its gonna be hard, but let it roll off you back. you have a couple of years until college, and you will be free baby, okay?”

“i’m trying, i really am. im tired of her. i dont think i can do this anymore.” you told ellie, breaking down.

“hey, hey, hey, what do you mean by that?” she asked, concerned.

“nothing, its nothing.” you told her, wiping your tears away with you sweater.

“it’s something. baby you know you can talk to me.” she said, now sitting next to you on the edge of the bed.

you gave her a look, signaling for her to know what it meant.

“baby, no, please don’t even think about doing that.” she told you, holding your face.

“im tired baby.” you told her, still crying a little bit.

“you’re not going without me, im gonna help you. i don’t want you to think like that, ever. okay?” she said, lying down and pulling you on top of her. you held her arm as you both lied down. “okay.” you told her.

“i love you, and i will always love you, okay?” ellie said, kissing your head as she played with your hair.

“i love you too, thank you els.” you said, whispering.

“you wanna stay the night?” she asked.

“nah, i dont wanna get yelled at even more.” you said getting up.

“text me when you get home. ill see you tomorrow. i love you.” she hugged you and rubbed your back as she gave you a kiss before you left to go back home.

slowly i’ll hold your hands

i know you've been waiting for me

#ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie x you #ellie tlou #twice #eyes wide open

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oddaodd · 4 years ago

Text

· Slumberless Hours on A Gloomy Saturday ·

Summary: Tommy tries to cheer Y/n up after Charlie tells him she has been feeling down.

Author's note: this is just another self indulging comforting fic I wrote to comfort myself. Haven't been feeling the best lately, but writing this this morning made me feel better so I hope it makes you feel better if you're feeling a little low and as always, I wish you the loveliest of days. 🤍💐

Warnings: lingering sadness, mentions of comfort eating and sleeping pills.

“Dad?” Charlie’s voice interrupted Tommy’s thoughts one night after entering his home office.

“What are you doing still awake, eh?” tommy asked his son softly.

“I waited for you to arrive” the toddler said before walking closer to his father’s desk. “I think Y/n is sad”

“Yeah? Why do you think so?” Tommy asked, not letting his worry show as he pulled Charlie to his lap.

“She is taking medicine to sleep” Charlie rambled in concern

“Sometimes she has troubles sleeping, Charlie. That doesn’t mean she’s sad” Tommy tried to reason.

“Yeah, but sometimes she cries when we are playing or at dinner and I’ve asked her why but she says its nothing”

Tommy couldn’t sleep that night. After putting Charlie to bed, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for not having noticed his wife’s change of behavior. He had been busier than usual for the past couple of weeks and while he knew Y/n would never admit it, not wanting to put a strain on business, she hated busy weeks on business.

When the sun began peeking through the curtains tommy got out of bed before pressing a kiss to Y/n’s forehead and driving to small heath to conduct a family meeting that had been scheduled for that day. He tried to get through everything in the meeting as fast as possible before asking Polly to deal with whatever came up during the day and then driving back home to Y/n.

He walked to the stable after having asked Frances where his wife was and then she saw her there, brushing Dangerous’ mane.

“Hi” she smiled as she heard him approaching, giving him the kind of smile Tommy knew was the kind of smile she put on when she didn’t want to cause him worries. “You are home early”

“There wasn’t much to do today” he lied.

Y/n hummed in understanding before continuing to brush the horse’s mane. Tommy pondered for a moment how to approach her before deciding to just go for it.

“Charlie said you are taking pills”

“You know my insomnia comes and goes” she said softly. Holding back her breath.

“He also told me you’ve been crying” Tommy continued.

“it’s nothing, its…” Y/n said as she stopped brushing the horse and heaved a breath, not wanting to cry.

“Ey, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked knowing she was holding back.

“I just, I feel so overwhelmed, I “she sniffed still holding back “ I … I “

Tommy then pulled her into his embrace, and she broke down crying against his chest.

“Talk to me, love” he implored softly.

“it’s just a bunch of small things” She spoke between sobs “and most times I feel I can deal with them but for a reason now they feel much bigger and menacing”

“What things?”

“Well I’m always worrying for you, wondering if you’ll come home and such” she began wearily “Then there are my thoughts telling me that Charlie doesn’t like me, and and “

“He adores you, Y/n” Tommy spoke trying to console her rubbing circles on her back “Why else would he have gone to me?”

“I don’t know, there’s always that thought at the back of my mind that nobody really likes me and that even you will grow tired of me and leave” she chucked sadly parting a bit from Tommy.

“Then there’s the fact that my mother said she’s coming over to visit and I really really don’t want to deal with her pointing out my every mistake for a whole week” she sobbed “and on top of that my appetite has been a mess. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to eat and sometimes I can’t stop eating because of stress and I worry I may gain weight” she finished, pulling away a little bit to cry into her hands.

“Ey” tommy said taking hold of her wrists and taking her hands away from her face, prompting her to look up at him. “First, and I know I don’t say it enough, I love you Y/n. Know that. Know that I will never leave you and it doesn’t matter if you gain or loose weight, love” He professed looking into her puffy eyes as he wiped away some of her tears “You are beautiful and you are always going to be beautiful to me”

“I love you too, Tommy” She smiled weakly against his lips. Tommy then parted a bit from her and caressed her cheek softly. “As for your mother, just tell her not to come”

Y/n chuckled at his idea “You know how she is, I cannot tell her not to come”

“Tell her that you’ll be away that week” He suggested with a smile.

“And where will I be, according to you?” She asked with a weak smile teasing at the corners of her lips.

“At the beach” Tommy said “I can ask Johnny Dogs for a vardo and we can go on the road” He suggested softly “Sleep under the stars, eat food cooked by fire and then camp by that beach you like so much”

Y/n smiled at her husband’s plan and felt some more tears fall at his disposition to make her feel better. “What about business?”

“Polly can take care of it for a week” He smiled, wiping away her tears “Would you like that?”

“I’d love that”.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinder one shot #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky binders fluff

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

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headcanons-for-all · 3 years ago

Note

Good afternoon to you

(My hero academia)

Could you do midnight finding out her child is a villain

Midnight Finding Out Her Child Is A Villain

When Nemuri notices you disappearing at night and rarely getting enough sleep, she very obviously gets worried.

Strangely, it was happening at the same time that this new villain was appearing on the news along with other big name members of the LOV.

She confronts you about this, having you sit next to you on the couch and have you talk to her honestly.

It doesn't take much for her to tell you're trying to avoid questions and telling lies for answers. Something's fishy and she doesn't like it one bit.

She keeps a very very close eye on you for the next few days, rarely leaving your side and never leaving you home alone.

One night, she's awake later then usual and hears you open up your window. Immediately, she gets up and opens your door, seeing you wearing a dark costume that you have never worn before.

"H-Honey...what are you wearing...?"

She approaches you, recognising the costume...you were working with the LOV...the new villain...

With shaky hands and dread in her eyes, she cups your face and makes you look at her. Tears well up and drip from her eyes and down her cheeks, struggling to speak without choking or stuttering.

Before you know it, she falls to her knees and cries into her hands, constantly telling herself that this was her fault and she let this happen by being a terrible mother.

If you choose to comfort her, telling you that you still love her but believe in the ideals of the opposing team, she'll grow to accept it as much as she can. Of course, she'll still fight against you but she would never in a million years harm you, even if you're a villain.

If you choose to leave and not come back, Nemuri will never be the same. She'll be isolating herself for months, holding any item that reminds her of you like she'd die if she let if go. If she ever gets out of this hole, she'll get up and find you and bring you back home.

It's your choice. Comfort the woman who has raised you as best she can...or leave her to suffer...

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bruhstories · 4 years ago

Text

Fate

Summary: The Abduction of Persephone or how Levi couldn’t get you of his head.

Pairing: Hades!Levi x Persephone!Reader

Warnings & Content: nsfw, mentions of rape & incest (cause, you know, Zeus is a fucking entitled asshole and nobody fucking likes him), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, language, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5.1 k

A/N: literally the only thing I have to say is that for the purpose of this fic, Hanji has she/her pronouns, and the first few paragraphs are written in third person xD happy reading!

Help me...

Please...

Help... me...

Sweat drips from his forehead and his eyes shoot open. That damned dream again. That sweet voice again. Levi Hades can't comprehend why he was dreaming. Gods don'tdream. His bed seems empty, but he never needed anyone in it. For some reason, now he feels like someone is missing. He gets up, naked body and blank eyes watching over his realm from the balcony of his castle. Empty. Other than the souls of the dead that quietly dance around like little flames, it's empty. Other than Cerberus sleeping peacefully, it's empty. And so damn cold. Mortals mistaken the Underworld for a scorching hot place, but in reality, it's as cold as Levi Hades' heart. If he even has a heart.

He wraps his toga around his sculpted body, a wreath of laurels on his coal-black hair, donning his arms with silver bracelets and rings. Time doesn't exist in the world of the dead, but Levi Hades sticks to a strict schedule. He waves his hand and a scroll and quill magically appear on his marble desk. He can't trust Hermes with this message, and so he gives it to one of his dogs to deliver it to Hanji Hecate. Who better to interpret the meaning of his dream than the goddess of witchcraft herself? LeviHades surrounds himself in thick, grey smoke before he disappears from his bedroom.

Somewhere on Earth, Y/N Persephone is being watched by Zeus. The powerful god cannot resist such a beauty, and he is known for having his way with anyone, even his own daughter. But it's not her time, he thinks, not just yet. She knows this, she knows what will happen to her when she reaches the age of marriage, and at night, when not a soul is awake, she sobs and prays that someone will find her and help her. She is willing to do anything to escape her father's clutches and her dark future. And every night she cries, it rains — it pours.

At the outskirts of the Underworld, Hanji Hecate receives a message. She reads it carefully, and a knot forms in her stomach. The goddess heard the pleas of a girl, whom she believed to be a mortal, but if Levi Hades heard her, too, then it could only be another deity. HanjiHecate closes her eyes and performs a spell in the hopes of locating the desperate girl. It doesn't work. It doesn't work because, unbeknownst to her, Demeter is hiding her daughter from the preying eyes of Zeus.

They searched for weeks, mortal weeks, for the crying goddess, but none of them had any luck. Y/N Persephone is somewhere in the shadows of Demeter, but even she knows her mother can't protect her forever. Zeus gets what Zeus wants eventually. The sun rises over the meadow, but Y/N Persephone doesn't know that because she's stuck weaving in a cave, sweat dripping down her forehead, hairs sticking to her face. The drakons Demeter placed at the entrance of the cave followed Y/N Persephone outside, guarding her as she washes herself in a nearby stream. He isn't supposed to be there. Levi Hades isn't supposed to peer at her naked body and the way she splashes the crystal-clear water. He was supposed to meet with Hanji Hecate and take a walk. He was supposed to go back to the Underworld after that. Yet here he is, spellbound by her gestures, her face, her eyes. And then, she sings. Y/N Persephone begins to sing and all the flowers around him bloom. Levi Hades goes into a shocked state, eyes wide open, brows raised. He knows that voice. He knows it because he's been dreaming it. His scent is picked up by the drakons and he disappears, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

"I found her, Hecate. I found her, but I can't get close to her."

"What do you mean you found her? Just like that?" Hanji Hecate's fingers trace the bark of a tree.

"It was fate. It must be." Levi Hades is desperate now.

"Calm down, Hades. I've never seen you so... twitchy." She laughs, kneeling in the grass. The witch plays with some fallen leaves, brown hair flowing in the wind.

"That's because you didn't see what I did. She started singing and flowers bloomed! I don't know what kind of nymph she is, but she is beautiful. Nothing like I've ever seen before."

"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day Hades falls in love." Hanji Hecate laughs again. "So why didn't you approach her?"

"Tch, because she was surrounded by drakons. I don't understand why a mere nymph would need so much protection."

The goddess gasps, all traces of happiness gone from her face, replaced by disappointment and anxiety. Levi Hades takes notice of this and places his cold hand on the witch's shoulder, but she flinches.

"You can't have her."

"You knowher?" His voice is condescending, offended that his good friend hid something like this from him.

"Hades, she's Demeter's daughter, Persephone. She's not just some nymph, but the goddess of spring." Hanji Hecate brings her palms together, forming a triangle. "We can't talk here."

Levi Hades nods and lets himself transported to the Underworld, back to the familiar souls lingering in the air.

"Talk, Hecate." He is impatient and demanding, arms folded across his chest.

"Zeus wants her, and Demeter and I are keeping her hidden." The deity explains with pain in her voice.

"Yes, well, you're not doing a very good job, now, are you?"

"Oi, the drakons noticed you. You don't think they would notice Zeus?" She snaps back, traces of arrogance in her voice.

"Hecate... it's Zeus. What would stop that brat from turning into a drakon fool her?"

The goddess shivers, shifting her weight from side to side.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I do, actually. I'll bring Persephone here." LeviHades proudly states, but his face is still blank, not once betraying his true feelings.

"You'll... what?" Her mouth is slightly open, bewildered by the god.

"It's the only place Zeus doesn't have access without an invitation. Face it, Hecate, it's a good plan. Better than yours, anyway."

Hanji Hecate is speechless, completely at a loss for words. She ponders over the idea, a hand brought to her chin to think better.

"Alright, but what makes you think she'll just stroll through the gates of the Underworld without a complaint?"

"Oh, you've mistaken my words. I'll forcefully bring her here." He tilts his head, a semblance of a smirk on his lips.

"For fuck's sake, Hades, she's not what you'd expect. And what about me? I promised Demeter I would protect her!" HanjiHecate throws her hands in the air, her shadow taking the form of a raging dog.

"Do notchallenge me, witch. You know I can destroy you in the blink of an eye." LeviHades growls and her shadow restores itself to its natural shape. "Besides, you would still protect her. The Underworld is where you abide."

She knows she shouldn't carelessly be out in the open one hour before her coming of age. But Y/N Persephone, with tears streaming down her beautiful face, embraced her future. She knows Zeus will come for her, and so she willingly gives herself to him. With poppy seeds, she put the drakons to sleep and left the cave, clad in a sheer toga, her body visible through the transparent fabric.

"If you want me, come and get me, father!" Y/N Persephone screams at the skies, the flora surrounding her slowly turning a dark shade of brown and dying, just like her innocence would die tonight. The earth shatters behind her, marigold flames and ashy smoke cracking open the soil. Shadowy figures emerge, grasping the young goddess' limbs and they drag her down, down, down to the Underworld. She is afraid, her heart beats faster as the moonlight disappears, and all she can see is darkness.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be gentler, but I didn't want Zeus to get the wrong idea."

"You're Hades, aren't you?"

"Yes, but please, call me Levi. Persephone, I presume." Levi doesn't smile, but his voice is warm, contrasting the cold that surrounded your body.

"Don't call me that." You spit back, confused as to why you were in his realm in the first place.

"You should be a little more grateful that I saved you, brat." He narrows his eyes down at you.

"Saved me? You abductedme. You're no better than him."

Hanji Hecate was right, you had fire in your soul, and an attitude that would drive Levi over the edge.

"Tch, don't compare me to that pretentious cock." The god scoffs and your expression softens.

"Zeus is a... cock? With a beak and feathers?" You giggle and he almost wants punch himself. How could he forget how innocent you are? Clearly, he's been spending too much time with Minthe.

"That's one way to put it."

"Is there another way?" You ask with your index finger brought to your lips, pure curiosity in your eyes.

"Forget that, you said you didn't want me to call you Persephone. How else should I address you?"

"Y/N." You tell him, eyes peering to the balcony of his castle and you skip to it. "Oh, this place is huge! What are those?" You point at the colourful flames dancing in the air.

"Souls." Levi joins you, resting his arms on the marble railing.

"They're beautiful!" You are in awe, and he is just as mesmerised by your beauty. Not one sane god or goddess would consider the souls of the dead beautiful.

"Look, Y/N, I heard you. In my dreams, I mean. I'm not going to hurt you, I brought you here to rescue you." He lies through his teeth. Levi did want to save you, he still does, but he can't deny the fact that he wanted you all to himself. "I'm gonna mind my own business, you mind yours. Try not to break anything. And don't, under any circumstances, make a mess out of my castle, or my realm."

You lean on the railing, nose scrunched and a hand on your hip.

"What am I supposed to do, then? And what about my mother? What about when spring comes and I have to bring it? What about Zeus?"

Levi grits his teeth, almost regretting his decision of saving you.

"Tch, I'll deal with Demeter. I'll tell Zeus I'm marrying you. You can go bring spring when it's due. Happy?" He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"And you won't taint my innocence?"

Oh, he will taint it, alright. But not just yet.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"You still didn't answer my first question. What am I supposed to do?" You shift your weight from one leg to the other, impatiently waiting for a proper answer from your captor.

"Anything you want, just don't get in my way when I'm dealing with the dead."

"You're an aggressive little man, you know that?"

Levi can feel a blood vessel bursting on his forehead. You were truly annoying, but he couldn't just sit around and wait for Zeus to have his way with you.

"Anyway, I suppose it is safer to be here." You rolled your eyes. "Got any books?"

"What, you read?" He snorts, a condescending brow arched.

"Don't patronise me. You're the one who abducted me, you could at least try to be nice to me."

Levi sighs. This wasn't how he imagined things would go. He imagined you'd make the perfect housewife and keep him some company.

"First floor. Just stay out of the restricted section."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Zeus' beard, are you always this irritating?"

"Are you?" You chuckle, a hand hiding your smile.

With another sigh, Levi disappears, leaving you alone. "Great job, Y/N, you made the only person who took a crumb of pity on you to go away." You say to yourself, a pout on your lips.

The Underworld wasn't as bad as you thought. Sure, there was the occasional fire popping from the ground here and there, and you had to be careful not to burn yourself, but overall, it was serene. Some parts of it were scorching hot, but mostly it was cold, and you always brought an extra cloak with you when exploring the realm. Levi wasn't always with you, in fact you haven't seen him in days, but you met his three-headed puppy. Well, puppy wasn't the best word to describe the creature, and it did try to eat you the first time, but you stood your ground and tamed the beast with your singing and eager belly rubs.

"This is a sight I never thought I'd live to see." Levi is shocked, watching his raging dog so calm. "Cerberus never lets anyone but me touch him." He gives the dog a few pats on his back.

"Well, Cerberus likes me better, don't you? Who's a good boy? You are, yes, you are!" You kiss all three muzzles and hug the gigantic beast, the heat of its fuzzy body warming you up.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself. Come here, Cerberus." Levi extends his arms and the creature is confused. "I said, come here."

The dog stops wagging its tail and plops next to you with a groan, one head resting in your arms. The shit-eating grin on your face is enough to make Levi sigh.

"See? I told you he likes me better." You poke your tongue out in triumph. You wave your hands and the god watches how you place three daffodil wreaths on each of Cerberus' heads. "Much better!"

"Y/N, he looks silly."

"No, he looks adorable! Here, I made you one, too."

Levi takes the flower crown and inspects it, careful not to crumble the petals.

"What is this?" He asks, marvelling at the beauty of the ice-blue colour of the plant.

"Uh, a flower crown?"

"Yeah, no shit. I meant what flower is this?"

"Oh, it's a blue poppy. One of the rarest plants in the world." You smile. "I think it suits you."

"You're an oddball."

You sit in a lavish chair, all kinds of foods displayed on the table in front of you. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you decide to wait for Levi anyway. It's bad manners to start eating without the host, Demeter taught you that. Gods and goddess don't eat mortal foods, but sometimes they indulge in it, and tonight was one of those nights.

"Here, try this." Levi offers you a strange fruit, something humans have on earth, but different.

"What is it?" You poke your finger at the juicy fruit, sucking the sweetness from your digit.

"It's a pomegranate that only grows in the Underworld."

You pick at the seeds, popping one in your mouth. You couldn't believe something so good could grow in a cold place like this.

"So, what's the occasion?" You ask Levi as you eat three more seeds, the crimson juice staining your lips.

"Our wedding."

You accidentally swallow, choking on saliva and the pomegranate seeds, your fist hammering your chest as you gasp for air.

"What?"

"I told Zeus I'm marrying you and now he wants proof." Levi bluntly states, a chalice of nectar in his hand.

"No."

"You don't have a choice, unfortunately."

"But… I'm supposed to be a virgin. Marriage implies consumption of it." You slam your fists on the table. "My mother-"

"Your mother lied to you. You're a goddess of fertility for fuck's sake." He shrugs and you're shocked by how chilling his voice sounds. Sure, Levi was always brooding and silent, but now he was just inconsiderate. "However, I'm not a man who breaks his promises. I told you I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Oh, how niceof you. I'm leaving." You stand up, pushing the chair away.

"And go where? Demeter can't protect you forever, and you don't stand a chance against Zeus."

"You know why I hate my name so much, Levi?" You growl, fingernails digging into the wooden table.

"Do, tell."

"Because it means destruction. A fitting name for a goddess of ‘fertility’, don't you think?" The table splits open and all the plates fall to the ground. Your normal, bubbly aura changes suddenly and there's a hint of red in your Y/E/C eyes. "You think I don't stand a chance against Zeus? I'm his offspring." You snap, and instead of flowers falling out of your hair, there's thorns, spikes and rusty leaves all over the place. The uglies, most poisonous plants sprout from the ground and you're no longer the goddess of spring, but the bringer of slaughter, and Levi is impressed. Now he really knows it was faith that brought you together, he knows your place is with him — with the dead.

"Marry me." He says, unmoved by your little show. Unmoved on the outside, because on the inside he wants to bend you over and fuck you silly. His words shouldfuel your rage, but you're too surprised by the fact that he still wants to marry you, despite your outburst.

"Why? Because Zeus wants that?" Vines protrude from your skin and your fingernails turn black. You were completely different than the helpless little girl he rescued that night. You were terrifying. But not to Levi — to him you were fascinating.

"Because I want that."

It was safe to say you had fallen in love with Levi in those nine months since you came to the Underworld. He accepted you the way you were, he accepted your darkness, something not even your mother could do, and that's what triggered your feelings for the god of the dead. You still didn't allow him to call you Persephone, because you still hadn't fully embraced that part of you. Spring was almost due, but you promised Levi you'd go to earth after your wedding. Everyone would be there, including Demeter, which you haven't seen in a long time.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N, are you ready?"

"In a second, Hanji!"

"Oh, thank the gods for calling me that. I keep telling everyone I'm tired of Hecate but they don't care." The witch scoffs from the other side of the door.

"Has my mother arrived?" You ask, concern visible in your voice.

"Yes. And she's not happy."

"Hey," you open the door, "thanks for taking the blame and explaining things to her." You hug the goddess and she holds you tight.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It's me who should thank you. I don't know what you did to Levi, but he seems happier. He won't show it because he's a prick, but I can feel it."

You flash Hanji a genuine smile and ask her to fix your veil, to which she gladly accepts before escorting you to the castle grounds. Your mother should do this, but she hated her future groom, or your father, but he was a sick man who only decided to leave you alone because he respected Levi.

Every god and goddess of Olympus is here, even your uncle Poseidon. You emerge from the castle, arm looped around Hanji's and you smirk at Levi's shock. He never thought you could be more beautiful, yet here you are, dressed in silk, flowers on your hand and a thin veil clinging from the peony crown on your head. You catch a glimpse of Demeter before drifting your eyes to your future husband.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses, we have gathered here today to witness and bless the union between Levi, god of the Underworld, and Y/N, goddess of spring." Hanji proudly declares. The ceremony doesn't last too long, and when Levi's lips crush yours in what is your first kiss, thousands upon thousands of plants sprout from the soil, colourful flowers blooming and letting out the sweetest smells known to mankind. Love, he thinks, that's what love smells like.

You're tired from the party, tired from all the talking and mingling, tired from your mother's lecture, and tired from avoiding your father. At least Hera was nice enough to wish you a happy marriage. You pace around your bedroom, sitting on the bed, then standing up again. Levi went to his chamber after the party, but you were expecting, no, you wanted to consume the marriage. You walk to his room, a toga lazily draped over your shoulders, and open the door without a single knock. He's in bed, the only light source being the colourful souls levitating outside his windows. You carefully push the covers and climb into the bed, gently scooching closer to him.

"Psst, husband, are you sleeping?" You poke his shoulder.

"Tch, not anymore." He sighs, not bothering to open his eyes and look at you. "What do you want?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked! Seeing as we're married now, I thought it's only natural for a wife to sleep with her husband." You roll on your side, propping yourself on your elbow. Tentatively, you tug on the fabric of the toga, exposing your shoulders and part of your breasts.

"So sleep." Levi finally lolls his head to the side, facing you. He did not expect to see you sprawled on his bed like that, in a lewd position and a playful smile on your soft lips. "You don't have to do this just because we're married.

"I'm doing it because I want to. And I know you want it, too, Levi." You purr, your fingers grazing over your collarbone.

"It's going to hurt." He warns you, but his hand is already on your thigh.

"I know. But you'll take good care of me, won't you?"

Levi has no idea which one of you is talking — Y/N, goddess of spring, or Y/N, goddess of destruction — and frankly he doesn't even care at this point. As long as he has your approval, he knows he can do whatever he wants. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, obviously inexperienced, but he likes it that way. He likes that you have no idea what you're doing because he can be in control. His hand runs up and down your thigh and you can feel heat building in your core.

"Tingles..." You mumble in his lips with a hazy smile.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Levi pulls away and you nod. "Show me."

You feel embarrassed and small, but obey nonetheless. Your hand travels between your legs and your fingers touch your already swollen clit, rubbing it in circular motions. Levi watches you with hungry eyes, wanting very hard to abstain, but he can't, and so he takes your nipple in his hot mouth. You whimper at the new sensation, electricity shooting through your body as he snakes a hand between your thighs, two fingers diving into your cunt.

"Ah! L-Levi! So big!" You mewl and he throws his head back, releasing your poor nipple.

"That's nothing compared to what you'll get, you needy brat." He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot, and you buck your hips. Despite being a virgin, your body naturally knows what to do. Your spongy walls clench around his digits and Levi can already feel how tight you'll be around his cock. "You're so wet."

"Is t-that a good thing?" You're innocent and pure and you rock your hips back and forth, pathetic moans escaping your lips.

"Fuck, yes." Levi kisses you, and it's nothing like the kiss from your wedding. It's desperate and greedy, and he wants you all to himself. The pace quickens, he's pumping his fingers in and out of you faster and you don't know what to do, so you keep rubbing your clit and the familiar heat of your orgasm flushes through your body. You come undone on his hand, the sinful, squelching sound echoing in the bedroom.

"It didn't hurt at all!" You look at your husband, but there's a hint of mischief in your voice, a playful glisten in your eyes. Levi clicks his tongue, because the worst — and best — is yet to come, and you know it — you're no saint.

"Come here." Levi orders and yanks you by the hair, his aggressive gesture sending a shiver down your spine and into your cunt. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me."

You obey and part your luscious lips and then you see his cock for the first time — thick and veiny, it slaps your face as it pops out of his undergarments, the tip grazing over your cheeks.

"Levi that's... that's too big." You chew your lower lip and lean back.

"You'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'll take good care of you." He cups your face with one hand, thumb caressing your chin. "Now suck it. Make sure to use lots of spit."

You feel your cheeks hot and test the waters by giving the glistening tip a few licks, tongue swirling around it. It tastes salty, and you find yourself liking this. Levi pats your head, but you feel him tensing with each movement of your tongue.

"Shit." He curses under his breath and when you look up at him with doe eyes, his heart pounds into his chest. You courageously take the tip into your mouth, and with hollowed cheeks, you move further. "Yeah, just like that. Take it all."

Bobbing your head up and down, you try to take it all, but the girth and length is just too much, and tears pool at your eyes from the lack of air, but also from how good it feels to have a fat cock in your mouth. Muffled moans reverberate in your throat, and Levi can feel the vibrations tickling him. He firmly grabs your nape and holds your head in place.

"Trust me and relax, can you do that for me?"

You half-nod, anxious and somewhat excited for what is about to happen. Your husband rocks his hips back and forth slowly before aggressively fucking your poor throat, and you feel the arousal building in your core again. So much for promising your mother you'd always stay a virgin. You want to touch yourself again, but Levi slaps your hand away and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head still until you choke, your fingernails digging into his arm. The god pulls out and you gasp for air, and he almost feels sorry when he sees your pathetic state.

"A-again!" You flash him your pearls in a sultry smile, spit dripping down your chin. Who knew you liked asphyxiation?

"Needy brat."

"Please!"

"Tch, later. Right now, I want to fuck you." Levi growls and he already has you pinned on the bed, arms above your head and legs spread open for him. His cock presses against your slick slit and you brace yourself for the incoming pain. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

You don't have the time to nod when you feel a burning sensation between your legs. Squeezing your eyes shut, you bury the back of your head into the pillow and grip the sheets so tight your knuckles begin to lose their colour. Levi slowly pushes further, another inch buried in your cunt, and you bite on your lower lip. But you don't tell him to stop, instead your spongy walls clench around his cock and another inch gets lost in you.

You never thought gods could feel such immense pain, yet here you are, with a bloody lip from digging your teeth into it and a sore pussy. But the worst thing faded bit by bit when Levi bottomed out into your cunt. The two of you sit still, your husband allowing you to get used to his girth.

"Do you think I bled?" You ask, eyes filled with tears.

"Probably, but I promise it will never hurt like this from now on." He comforts you before licking the blood from your lips. The gesture makes your cunt flutter and Levi takes it as a sign to go on. Slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth, and the molten pain is replaced by tingles and arousal.

"You good?"

"Y-yes, oh, f- yes!"

"You can say fuck, you know?" Levi thrusts once, and it's so deep you feel his cock brush over your cervix.

"Fuck!" You cry out, legs wrapping around his waist to make sure he doesn't pull out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Good girl."

There's no more room for gentle touches and soothing words when your husband fucks you raw. Your hips buck against his to feel that sweet pressure you never knew you longed for. In and out, his cock makes you feel sore and hazy, and you want more. The sound of his balls slapping your ass makes your mouth water and your eyes glossy, and Levi feels selfish. He pulls out, turns you over and takes you from behind, like a rabid dog fucking a bitch in heat. And you are in heat — you love the way his thrusts make you feel dumb, the way his cock stretches you, the way he uses and abuses your tight little cunt. Everything is so new to you and you adore every bit of it.

"Shit, I'm close." Levi warns you, his fingers digging into your hips, and you want to be good for him, so you drag your hand between your thighs and rub your swollen clit in frantic motions.

"L-Leeevi! I think I'm-"

"Fuck!"

When you feel a hot liquid shooting into you, your legs begin to tremble and you come on his cock, head falling onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. He pulls out and you already miss the feeling of being full, your juices mixed with his own dripping down out of you, down your thigh. You curl up next to your husband, hand holding his arm before you drift to sleep.

A sweet smell fills Levi's nostrils and when he looks at your tired body, there’s flowers in your messy hair. He still can't get used to the way your divine, disorganised powers work, but at least now he knows what's been missing from his life, and the corners of his mouth slightly twist upwards into a genuine smile. The god of the dead, in love with and married to the goddess of spring. Order and chaos blending together in one beautiful, perfectly arranged mess.

It’s fate. It must be fate that brought you together — but it’s love that will keep you together.

tagging @starrynightlys @stolemyheart12

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tyongxnct · 4 years ago

Text

𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑒 - 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝐻𝑎𝑒𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛

pairing: Haechan x reader

special guest: Mark, Jaemin

summary: You were always giving and giving, but you never received anything. Haechan stopped showing you how much he loved you and cared for you, but you never stopped caring for him and loving him. You were always there whenever he needed you. You did everything you could to make him happy. You let him use you but when you had enough and broke up with him, he realized that his biggest mistake was letting someone like you go. You were one in a million and he lost you.

song: rare - Selena Gomez

genre: breakup!au, college!au, angst

warnings: mention of sex, alcohol consumption, swearing

word count: 5,5k

A/N: this is the second short story of my series! I hope you enjoy and I recommend you to listen to rare by Selena Gomeu while reading :)) This is pure ficition!

Baby

You've been so distant from me lately And lately Don't even want to call you baby

“Baby?”

No answer.

“Haechan?”

Still, no answer.

“Lee Donghyuck!” you said a little louder this time.

“What the fuck? Why are you yelling at me?” he said, still staring at his phone.

“I didn’t yell.” You mumbled, “Can you like, stop staring at your phone and hang out with me? We didn’t see each other for a week.”

“Haechan?”

“Hm? What did you say?” he didn’t listen, but he looked at you for a second.

“I said I’m leaving, it’s late.” You lied but you really wanted to leave right now. What was the point of hanging out together when he didn’t even look at you or listen to you. Haechan and his phone couldn’t be separated. He was trying to beat his last high score like he always did when you hung out.

“Okay baby.” And he stood up from the couch and pressed the button on his computer.

Was he waiting for you to leave so he could play video games? He didn’t even kiss you goodbye.

When you arrived at your dorm, you thought of things you could have done wrong and you couldn’t really think of one thing. Did he stop loving you? Were you not sexy enough anymore? Did he get sick of you?

You had sleepless nights thinking of your relationship with Haechan. You’d do anything for him, you love him. You’d change for him, be a better girlfriend. You’d even change your appearance If he wanted you to.

Even though you were busy with college, you tried to make as much time as you could for Haechan. He was actually the clingy one in your relationship and at the beginning, he was showering you with so much love and you did the same. One day, he stopped showing you all of his love and you only felt the distance between you two.

You had feelings too and they were hurt.

Saw us getting older Burning toast in the toaster My ambitions were too high Waiting up for you upstairs Why you act like I'm not there? Baby, right now it feels like

You were at a frat party, your boyfriend was a frat boy after all and there was always a party on Saturday nights. You were hanging out with your friends and Haechan was greeting everyone and drinking with his friends. The party was fun for two maybe three hours, but you got bored and you just wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend, maybe even have sex with him, if he was in the mood. It’s been so long since Haechan touched you, you can’t even remember the last time he was over at your dorm.

You’re a little tipsy and you missed your boyfriend. You looked for him and when you found him, sitting on the couch with some of his friends, you walked up to him and sat on his lap. “Haechannie, I’m bored.” You started kissing his cheeks. God, you loved his cheeks.

“Babe- come on, I was in the middle of a conversation.” He tried to push you slightly away.

“I don’t care- I missed you.” You kissed his jaw and started sucking his neck. Haechan’s hand travelled from your arms to your hips. “N-Not here, Y/n.” he said but you knew that he was enjoying it, so you kept on sucking and kissing his neck.

“Can we fuck?” you whispered to him, hands going up and down his chest.

Haechan looked at you, eyes big and mouth slightly open. You never talked like that, you were actually a little shy whenever you talked about having sex, this was new.

“Wait for me upstairs, in my room. Okay baby? I’ll be there in a second.”

You smiled brightly. You were so happy that he still wanted to sleep with you, that he wasn’t disgusted or sick of you. You nodded in excitement and walked up the stairs to his room.

You checked yourself in the mirror and you looked pretty. Well, you hoped you did. A hour later, you almost fell asleep on his bed. He was still not there, and you started to get worried. Why did he take so long?

You decided to go downstairs and look for him. Maybe he was still talking to some of his friends who didn’t let him go or maybe he was busy cleaning the kitchen.

You were wrong.

He was doing body shots with a random girl.

You watched how he licked the space above her breasts and then he almost touched her lips while taking the lemon in his mouth. Everyone was cheering on him and hyping him up, as if he did something great. You were waiting for him and there he was, having fun without you but with random girls.

You had enough. You left the party and locked yourself in your dorm for the next couple days, and yeah, Haechan didn’t bother to text you or ask you where you went or if you arrived home safely. Hell, he didn’t even know if you were still alive or not.

It feels like you don't care Oh, why don't you recognize I'm so rare? Always there You don't do the same for me That's not fair

Four days. It took Haechan four days to knock on your dorm door. When you opened your door, you didn’t expect him to be crying. Did he finally realize how bad he treated you?

“M-My dad… My dad is in the hospital.” His eyes were red, lips trembling, and pain was written all over his face.

No matter how much you wanted to yell at him for taking so long to come to you, you couldn’t hurt him more than he already was.

You stepped to the side and let him enter. When you closed the door, he hugged you like two years ago, when you started dating. He hugged you like a big teddy bear and you hugged him back, as tightly as you could because you were scared that he’d go away.

“Tell me what happened.” You whispered to him after he calmed down a little bit.

“My mom c-called me and she told me that he had a heart attack a-and that his condition is critical… fuck.” He started sobbing again, holding onto you tightly as he cried and cried. You patted his back and told him that everything’s going to be alright.

“Do you want me to drive you there?” you asked him after a couple minutes. You had a car and your driver license and Haechan was still trying to get his driver license, but he never studied and always failed.

“B-But it would take us two hours to get there and two hours back…” he looked at you with puppy eyes.

“Haechan, we’re talking about your dad, it doesn’t matter. You should be with you family, your mother needs you right now.” You assured him that it was alright.

“Okay, okay. You’re right, we should- we should go, right? Right. Let’s go.” He rambled.

You finally arrived at the hospital and fortunately, his dad’s condition got better, and he was finally awake. You’ve met his parents for a couple times already and they loved you and you loved them. They were always so nice and kind to you.

Haechan hugged his mother tightly and kissed her forehead. His mother was a strong woman, she tried her best to smile as she saw her son and you.

“He’s awake now. You can see him if you want to.” She told her son, and he entered his room without thinking about it.

His mother hugged you and thanked you for bringing him all the way there. She also thanked you for taking so much care of Haechan. “I know that he can be a handful sometimes, but you take so much care of him. I can sleep at nights and don’t have to worry, because I know that he has you.” You smiled at her, tears about to fall, but you didn’t want to cry in front of her or Haechan.

You pushed all the anger you had for Haechan away, like you always did, and maybe, maybe he’d change after tonight.

After your visit at the hospital, Haechan could finally breathe again. He was so worried but now his heart was calm, he saw his dad and his dad assured him that he was alright, that was all that Haechan needed to hear.

You parked in front of Haechan’s frat house.

“Are you feeling better?” you asked him softly. You looked to your left and it didn’t surprise you to see him playing with his phone.

“Haechan? We’re here.” Your voice was about to break, you needed to go home, you needed to cry and ask yourself what you did wrong this time.

“What? Oh, yeah right. Thank you, baby.” He kissed your cheek and left the car without looking back at you.

You should’ve known.

Two weeks after that day, you were a little distant and it seemed like Haechan wasn’t aware or he simply didn’t care. You hung out with your mutual friends but kind of ignored him like he ignored you. You didn’t want the others to be suspicious, so you kissed him on the cheek when he stood next to you. He didn’t bother to look up or kiss you back.

It was finally Christmas break. You were staying at your dorm and you decided to spend the 24th with Haechan because he told you he’d also stay a little longer in college and spend the 25th and the 26th with his family. You’d also visit your family on the 25th.

You were watching a show while you were waiting for Haechan. He promised you he’d be there, he was two hours late though.

It was almost midnight and still, no Haechan. You turned everything off and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Suddenly a loud sound startled you. You could hear footsteps and you grabbed your phone as fast as you could and closed the light in your bathroom, your door was closed already. You could hear two voices talking about your stuff.

You were about to get robbed and you called the police as fast as you could. Your heart was beating against your chest and you didn’t care about your stuff, you just wanted to get out of your room and be safe.

You were in the bathtub, silently praying that they’d leave.

Haechan didn’t answer your texts, but Mark did. Mark was your first friend in college, and you were pretty close. He was also in the same group of friends. Mark, Haechan and Jaemin always played overwatch together and you thought that they could be playing again because Haechan played overwatch non-stop since Christmas break started. You knew that Mark was also staying in his dorm over Christmas, so you texted him.

You: Hey, do you know where Haechan is?

Mark: we were playing overwatch

Mark: I got bored, but he told me that he’d play a little longer.

You: Mark can I call you?

Mark: yeah Of course

“M-Mark. Somebody broke in.” You whispered.

“Oh my god, did you call the police? I’m coming don’t move and don’t make a sound okay, don’t worry okay, I’m on my way.” Mark rambled.

“I’m scared. I’m hiding in my b-bathroom and I did call the police, but I don’t know how long they’ll take, it’s Christmas after all a-and fuck I don’t know what to do.” You cried into the phone.

The next thing you could hear was someone entering your dorm and the robbers yelling and trying to fight against the person. “You’re arrested! Hands behind your back!”

The police arrived right on time.

“Y/n? I can see the police, I’m right in front of your dorm.” Mark said.

The bathroom door was opened by an officer and he opened the lights and saw you curled up in the bathtub.

“Are you Y/l/n Y/n?”

You nodded slowly.

You left the bathroom and saw Mark standing at the door. “They wouldn’t let me in. Are you alright?” he asked you.

“Y-Yeah thank you. I’m fine.”

“Unfortunately, it’s common that student dorms get robbed at Christmas. They think that all of the students leave and try to rob them but luckily you called us right on time and we could get them. Do you need to go to a hospital?” the officer asked you kindly.

“No thanks, I’m alright. Thank you.”

“Of course. The janitor will take care of the door, but you need to sleep somewhere else tonight.” And then he left. The robbers literally destroyed your door.

Mark could finally enter your dorm and you jumped into his arms.

“I was so scared.” You sobbed into his chest and he didn’t mind. He stroked your hair and helped you calm down.

“I know. It’s over now, I’m here.”

And for the first time since forever, you felt safe in someone’s arms.

“Where the hell am I supposed to stay now?”

Mark didn’t ask you about Haechan. It was obvious that he ditched you again and he didn’t think twice when he asked you, “Stay with me.”

You looked up. “I-I mean you can have my bed I’ll sleep on the couch, you know. I don’t think that there’s someone else in this building.” He rambled and it was kind of cute.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yeah of course.” He smiled at you.

That is how you found yourself in Mark’s bed.

You couldn’t sleep and after almost an hour you talked, “Mark?” you whispered, not quite sure if he’s still awake. Your phone died and you didn’t see the texts Haechan had sent you. The last thing on your mind right now was charging your phone.

“Yeah?”

“Can you, uhm, can you sleep next to me? Please?” you asked nervously.

“Do you really want me to?”

“Yeah please, I’m scared.”

Mark walked up to you and you moved to the side to make space for him. You were laying next to each other under the covers and your hands slightly brushed.

“Can you hold me?” you whispered.

“Okay.” Mark was nervous as he opened his arms to welcome you. He was warm and cozy, you felt safe in his arms and you started crying because not even your boyfriend made you feel this safe.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” He stroked your hair as you cried in his arms.

When you woke up the next morning, you watched Mark sleeping. He looked handsome and cute at the same time and when he turned to you, his face was so close to yours.

Mark slowly opened his eyes and looked at you. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” he asked you with his morning voice.

“Good. I guess.”

“Do you want some toast? I’m sorry, I suck at cooking eggs, I can only make toast and cereal.”

You smiled, “I’ll take the toast.”

After breakfast you charged your phone, and you didn’t expect so many texts and missed calls from Haechan. He also left a couple voice mails.

“Hey baby, I’m sorry, I’m on my way. I hope you’re still awake.”

“Baby please answer my texts why the fuck is the police in front of your dorm?”

“Y/n the police told me that you almost got robbed where the hell are you?”

“Please text me.”

“I can’t sleep without knowing you’re safe, please call me.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Mark thank you so much, I have to go check my dorm. Can I call you later?” you were also going to talk to Haechan.

“Sure. Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

“No it’s alright. Thank you. For everything.” You smiled and hugged him. He was surprised and you were also really surprised but he hugged you back.

I don't have it all I'm not claiming to But I know that I'm special Yeah And I'll bet there's somebody else out there To tell me I'm rare To make me feel rare

You knocked on Haechan’s door and the first thing he did was to hug you tightly, but you didn’t hug him back.

“Oh god baby, where the hell were you?! I was so worried, the police couldn’t tell me where you went.”

“We need to talk.” You said coldly.

“Come in baby, it’s freezing outside.”

“No. I just have to tell you something and then I’m going to leave.”

Haechan looked at you curiously, “Okay, babe. But why didn’t you call me I was so worried-“

“Worried my ass!” you yelled, “That’s fucking bullshit! I called you! I called you thousand times and you never answered!”

“Baby, I was busy-“

“Fuck you! You weren’t busy! You were playing video games all day long don’t fucking lie to me! I waited for you! It’s Christmas and you left me alone!” you were furious.

“Yeah, I lost track of time baby, I’m sorry.” He tried to hug you again, but you stepped back. “I want to break up.” You said, letting your tears finally free.

“What? Baby, no. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t call me that! I can’t do this anymore, I just… I can’t-“ you sobbed. Haechan couldn’t realize what was happening.

“I love you baby and you love me? There’s no problem in our relationship-“

“No problem?” you laughed mockingly, “I don’t think that you love me, because no boyfriend acts like you do. You never want to spend time with me, you always push me away and you don’t kiss me, touch me, or say that you love me and that’s not even the worst part! You left me hanging so many times, I can’t even remember the last time you were there for me! I almost got fucking robbed and I needed my boyfriend, but you left me hanging, again! I was there for you when your father was in the hospital. You left me hanging at that party for some girls and fucking body shots! I was waiting for you, but you never came! You were busy licking some girl’s tits you didn’t even care about me! You didn’t ask me where I was or if I was safe! You don’t worry about me, you just don’t care about me and that’s not my fucking fault! It is all your fault! I’m giving my everything in this useless relationship and you don’t even ask me how I’m doing because you’re selfish! You are so selfish, and I can’t keep doing that…” your voice broke at the end and you didn’t look up from your feet.

Haechan gulped hard, he never knew you felt this way. “I-“

“No. Don’t say anything. There’s nothing you could do or say to change my mind or make me feel less of myself, because that’s what I always felt. I always doubt myself. Did I do something wrong? Did I gain weight? Is he sick of me? Am I not sexy enough? What the fuck are you doing wrong Y/n?!”

Haechan was crying, you could hear him crying and your heart clenched.

“But you know what? I never did anything wrong. I loved you more than I loved myself and I don’t want that. Goodbye Haechan, here are your things. You can keep my stuff or just throw it away. I don’t care. Oh and one last thing. I stayed over at Mark’s dorm. He answered his phone the second I called him, and he was there for me. The whole night. I was so scared, still am, and he was there. You weren’t.”

And then you turned around and left him standing there. Haechan didn’t know what to do as he watched you walk away.

Baby Don't make me count up all the reasons To stay with you No reason Why you and I are not succeeding

It’s been a week since your breakup and you still saw Haechan on campus or with your mutual friends. He looked… well, he looked devastated. He looked like he was really suffering but it was over.

You felt his eyes on you, but you never looked his way. You ignored his presence and it felt good to be yourself and not to worry about your relationship with Haechan next to your friends. They knew that you weren’t dating anymore, and they never spoke about it.

You were hanging out with Mark more and more. You got closer than before and he never left your side and you never left his. You felt safe and happy whenever you were with him.

One day, Haechan blew your phone with drunk texts. Maybe you should’ve blocked his number, but you didn’t think that he would drunk text you.

Haechan: miss your

Haechan: rlly missing u babr

Haechan: are you misng me tooo!

Haechan: I didn’t meean to yell srry

Haechan: lve u so much please come back to me

You massaged your temples, you had enough.

You called him and his heart was jumping, he was so happy.

“Baby, thank you for uhm, what was I gonna say? Oh yeah! Calling me. Thank you I love you.” He said.

“You need to stop texting me Haechan. Where are you? Are you alone?” you were still worried.

“In my room, all alone. Need you here with me. I- I want to cuddle, please?”

“I’m hanging up-“

“No! please, babe. Love me, please love me. I need you, love me please baby.” He cried.

“Haechan there are thousand reasons why we shouldn’t be together, and you know it. Drink some water or a coffee and stop texting me or I’ll have to block you.” And then you hung up.

Haechan knew that you were right, he still missed you and wanted you back. He was still selfish.

I don't have it all I'm not claiming to But I know that I'm special Yeah And I'll bet there's somebody else out there To tell me I'm rare To make me feel rare

“A date. You and me, I mean. Or? Wait shit, let me ask you again. Do you want to go on a date with me? Please?”

You giggled, “Yeah, I’d love to go on a date with you Mark.”

“Oh good, I was so scared you’d say no.” Mark put his hand on his chest, his heart was beating really fast.

Three months after your breakup, Mark finally asked you out. You hoped he would because you really, really, liked him. You’ve spent all your time with him, and he never ignored you or got sick of you like Haechan did.

You were still scared though, what if he was going to be like Haechan after a couple months of dating? Mark would never, even as a friend he cared for you and was worried about you. More than Haechan ever did.

“D-Do I uhm, Do I have to wait until the date is over to k-kiss you or can I k-kiss you now? Y-You know, I really want to kiss you.” He muttered and looked away shyly.

“You can kiss me now.” You smiled, also really shy.

“Okay, I’m going to do it now,” he bent down a little, “Here comes the airplane.” And you wheezed. You were laughing so hard, you almost cried. “Fuck I don’t know why I said that.” Mark’s face was the darkest shade of red.

“You’re so adorable Mark.” And without giving him time to say something back, you pulled him close and pressed your lips on his. He kissed you back, hands on your hips and eyes closed. The kiss was heavenly.

You slowly pulled away. “God, I think I’m fucking in love with you.” He breathed out. “Y-You are in love with me?” you asked shyly.

“Yeah, oh shit, we didn’t even get on first date level and my stupid ass told you that. D-do you still want to go to that date with me? Or did I scare you away?” he said worriedly.

“Mark, it’s fine. I’m really, like, really happy right now. I just need a little time to say that back. Is that okay?” you knew that you liked Mark, maybe it was more than like, but you didn’t want to rush things.

“God, you’re so perfect. So beautiful, kind, cute, funny, and so much more. The prettiest girl I’ve ever met. I’m sorry my vocabulary is always just this big whenever I’m with you. You make me feel dizzy, but the good kind of dizzy. I’m just going to say it one more time and then I’ll say it when you’re ready, but fuck, I love you.” Mark rambled again and that was one of the things you loved about him.

Mark made you feel special. He made you feel loved and important. You felt like the prettiest girl on the planet and you were never happier.

I'm not gonna beg for you I'm not gonna let you make me cry Not getting enough from you Didn't you know I'm hard to find?

Haechan felt like everything was getting worse. Every passing day, he missed you more and more. You were on his mind 24/7 and he was in so much pain. He realized that he didn’t value you, that he didn’t care about the future and that he didn’t love you like he should. After spending so much time with you, he drifted away, and he regrets thinking that it would be okay. That you’d still stay with him and care for him. Haechan was talking to his mother and she was asking him about you, one day or another, he had to tell her what happened.

“W-We broke up mom.” His heart clenched whenever he said those words.

“What? But everything seemed fine honey? What happened?”

“I-I messed up, mom. I’m sorry it’s my fault.” Haechan tried to hide his sobs. “Mom, it hurts so much but she was also hurt. I hurt her and then she left me. I don’t know what to do mom, I- I lost her, mom.”

For the first time, there was nothing she could do.

“Try to talk to her again maybe-“

“No, mom. It’s to late. She was the one mom. She was the one, but I pushed her away.”

“Everything’s going to be alright.” His mother told him, but for the first time, he didn’t believe those words.

After the call, Haechan kept crying.

“Yo Haechan- dude, are you fucking crying?” his frat brother Jaemin entered his room.

“Why didn’t you fucking knock?!” Haechan hid his face in his pillow. “Why are you crying?” Jaemin asked again, “Is it still because of Y/n?”

“Of course you dumbass.” Haechan mumbled into his pillow.

“Dude come on. It’s been 4 months already. Move on. There’s this party tonight- there are going to be hundredth Y/n’s.”

Haechan looked up. “There’s no one like her. She’s one in a million, she’s a fucking diamond in a see of stones- she’s everyone’s dream girl, she’s so perfect and so rare. I’ve never met someone like her. I can’t just get someone else.”

“Oh shit, well, so you don’t know about her and Mark?”

“What do you mean? Her and Mark?”

“I think it’s important that you know this. It’ll help you move on. As far as I know she’s dating Mark.”

Haechan’s heart stopped beating. He knew that you grew closer, but dating?

“No way.”

“I’m sorry. But you have to move on, come to the party with us.” Jaemin said.

“Fucking fine.”

It feels like you don't care Why don't you recognize I'm so rare? I'm always there You don't do the same for me That's Not Fair

Haechan looked around and his heart stopped beating the second he saw you on Mark’s lap. His arms around you and your head in the crook of his neck. You were laughing at something, Haechan couldn’t really hear anything, the loud music and the big crowd suffocated him.

You looked gorgeous, like always. It’s been months since he saw you smile like that.

Mark’s hand was going up and down your thigh and Haechan had to look away, it hurt him seeing someone else touch you. It hurt him how happy you looked with him and that you moved on. He couldn’t blame you or Mark. It wasn’t hard to fall for you, you were an amazing person with a lovely personality, everyone loved you and wanted to be friends with you.

Haechan turned around and was about to leave but Jaemin pulled him to the kitchen. “Shots!” Haechan was definitely not in the mood to drink or party, he preferred hugging his pillow and crying.

“Come on, man! Have some fun!”

Haechan sighed, he took the shot and then another and then another and not long after, he was drunk. Drinking on an empty stomach was a big mistake and coming to this party even a bigger one.

He was trying to fight the urge to walk up to you and just hug and kiss you. You weren’t dating anymore, he couldn’t do that, no matter how much he wanted to. But when he saw you and Mark kissing on the porch of the house, he lost it.

“Y/n?”

You and Mark stopped kissing and looked to the direction the voice was coming from.

Haechan looked at you helpless and lost. “C-Can we talk? Just for a second. Please.”

You looked at Mark and he smiled, “Do you want to talk to him?” he asked. “Maybe I should. Yeah, I’ll talk to him If that’s alright with you?”

You felt bad that you hadn’t let Haechan talk when you broke up with him.

“Sure. I’ll be waiting for you inside. Text me and then we can go home?” you nodded and pecked his cheek. Haechan looked away.

Mark left you and Haechan alone, he knew that sooner or later you had to talk to him again. Even if they weren’t close, he knew that everyone would fight to get you back. And Mark trusted you, he really did.

You were waiting for Haechan to talk, but he only stared at you and you felt slightly uncomfortable. “Are you, uhm, going to say something?” you said after a couple seconds.

“Huh? Oh yeah, right.” He stepped closer, but not too close. “You look really pretty tonight.”

“Haechan, please, just- what did you want to talk about? I have nothing to say to you.” You crossed your arms. “I’m sorry, I-I… it’s been so long since I talked to you, I can’t find the right words.”

His hands were sweating, and his voice was trembling. “Look, I… I really missed you and I know that you are happy with… him, and I’m not trying to take that away from you because I love you so much and I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy more than anyone else. You sacrificed your happiness for me, and I hate myself that I used you like that. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you and use you. You loved me like no one else did and I wasn’t able to love you like you deserved. I’m a stupid little boy. I regret it. So much. You have no idea how much I want to turn back time and start all over again and do things right, but I know that it’s impossible. I’m sorry that I was never there for you like you were for me. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you were getting robbed- or any other time you were alone and scared. I-I can’t believe I lost a girl like you. I can’t believe that I fucking l-lost you- I love you I’m so sorry-“ he started sobbing and you couldn’t stop your tears from falling.

You could see the pain in his eyes and that he was sad, but there was nothing you could do.

“H-Haechan I’m so-“

“No! Don’t say you’re sorry- please. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all my fault, p-please don’t say s-sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You didn’t know If you should hug him but seeing him like this really hurt you. You still cared for him, and you hated seeing him cry because of you.

“I just wanted you to know, that I am sorry. Y-You can go back to Mark now. I hope he values you and knows how rare you are.” He turned around and was about to leave, but you held his wrist.

“Haechan-“

“No, please. I feel a little better now. I really do,” He turned to you and softly gripped your wrist and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I love you.”

And that was the last time you talked to Lee Donghyuck. Your first love, your first boyfriend and your first heartbreak.

I don't have it all I'm not claiming to I know that I'm special Yeah And I'll bet there's somebody else out there To tell me I'm rare To make me feel rare

So rare

#haechan angst #donghyuck angst #nct #nct127 #nct2020 #nct haechan #haechan x you #haechan scenarios #haechan x reader #lee donghyuck #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct songfic #mark lee #one day i'll write a hyuck fic with a happy ending for him i'm so sorry lmao #nct hyuck #nct dream #nct dream angst #lee haechan

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thedistantdusk · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible Stranger

Written for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny Fic Fest! Prompt #28: “Just... talk to me. Please.” Thanks to Ina for the quick beta :D Summary: When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life. But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first. TW: Coded/implied assault. Mild smut (later excerpts). ________________________________________________________ When Ginny Weasley is eleven years old, Tom Riddle changes the course of her life.

But she’s only eleven, so she doesn’t see it at first.

All she knows is that Tom talks to her when she’s lonely, although to say they merely talk would be a staggering understatement. She hears his voice more than anyone else’s. She sees his face when she sleeps. She cries to him, bonds with him, pines with him. She thinks of him so often — regardless of if they’re actually talking — that it doesn’t even occur to her that some of these thoughts might not be her own.

She doesn’t even realize he’s entered her until it’s too late. Until he’s done it. Until he’s made her do things… shameful things. Things she’d been embarrassed to report to her parents. She knows full well she’d only be met with reprimands for making herself vulnerable in the first place.

When she tries to ask her brothers for help, a tiny part of her is happy they don’t. How can she possibly explain this without feeling a hot, aching brand of shame deep in her soul? She’d have to answer some ghastly questions, ones that would make the whole situation even harder to believe. The thought of taking Veritaserum makes her shudder; she’d have to admit — perhaps to a Ministry stranger — that she did enjoy parts of this.

She’d have to watch even more of her agency slip away, right in front of her eyes, as her body betrayed her yet again. The mere thought of the sort of mortifying confession that might slide off her tongue is enough to shut her up… enough to keep her from being even more persistent.

Ginny just lies awake at night and grasps at the straws in her spinning mind until her head pounds from the exertion of trying. She’s desperate to remember something — anything — from the swaths of time that just disappeared. She eventually reaches the conclusion that perhaps she’s forgetting on purpose; perhaps she’s protecting herself.

She just hopes and prays that the memories won’t slam into her sometime in the future with the force of a freight train.

She ultimately decides it’s a blessing, really, that she doesn’t get help. After all, she’s spent eleven years trying to convince everyone that she’s not a baby. It would be the worst kind of setback to ask for help now, just as she’s gained some independence.

When she chucks the diary in the toilet, she’s confident she’s handled it herself. Her mother wouldn’t be thrilled that her only daughter found herself in this situation, but Ginny likes to think she’d be proud of her resourcefulness. Proud of her only daughter, who’s finally taken control.

Still, Ginny keeps her head down, keeps her face impassive, keeps her cloak pulled tightly to hide the deepest blush of regret that crawls up her chest whenever she thinks of Tom.

Then the worst possible thing happens: Harry gets ahold of the diary. The second she sees it with his books, she can almost hear the entire world crumbling beneath her feet.

She only has a single thought: No. She can’t let him. She can’t let Harry, of all people, have open access to the thoughts that have plagued her for months. The thoughts (the lurid, inappropriate thoughts) that she’s had about him.

So she steals up to Harry’s room and snatches it back, her heart pounding in her throat. She’s long past the point of needing the diary itself to hear Tom’s voice, but seizing it again — letting him inside of her again — doesn’t exactly help.

Because right from the off, this time is different. The diary hums against her fingers, throbbing in her palm; Tom hasn’t said a word, but she knows he’s going to punish her. She lets out a strangled choke, her eyes rolling back in her head. He’s going to make her regret her little stunt of chucking him in the toilet, isn’t he? Yes. He’s going to make her rue the stupid, impulsive part of her that thought she’d find a way out.

Her last thought as she loses consciousness is that maybe death will end it. Maybe in death, she’ll truly be free.

Ginny doesn’t die, though — and to her surprise, she can’t even hear Tom when she wakes in the Chamber. All she knows is that Harry’s there. And Ron. And… Lockhart? Seriously?

Shit, maybe it would’ve been better if she died. Then she wouldn’t have to endure the remnants of this mortifying, twisted nightmare. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to sit there and sob as Dumbledore and McGonagall explain this to her parents.

She just lets the tears flow as her father yells, as her mother makes incredulous sounds. With every intonation and raised voice, a single word thumps against her skull: Weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

She’s weak.

But at least for now, she’s alone in her own mind. At least for now, it won’t happen again… not like it has. In retrospect, she reckons she should’ve known better to think he’d ever truly left. Because Tom Riddle has already become her past, present, and future. She just doesn’t know it yet. _______________

Tom takes a different form during her second and third years at Hogwarts. He isn’t entering her or forcing her to do things or beguiling her with his charm and feigned interest, but he’s there nonetheless. He’s dancing, taunting her in the edges of her periphery… crawling in when the weather changes and everything grows cold and dark. Whenever she does poorly on an exam — especially in the winter months, the anniversaries of when things went from Vaguely Bad to Horrifically Bad — she swears she can feel his sneering lips pressed to her neck as his high-pitched cackle resonates in her brain.

“You’re a baby,” he jeers, his face split into a predatory grin. “I can’t wait to see how else you fail.”

When Ginny catches a glimpse of the way Harry peers at Cho, Tom only reinforces how she’ll never compare. “Look at her,” he taunts, and Ginny can almost see the leer curling his lips. “She’s poised and beautiful and perfect. She looks like a woman. Why would Harry ever want a girl?”

And he says it so much — and Ginny thinks it so much — that she starts to believe it. He’ll never want her, will he? It’s clear Harry likes girls, women, who don’t need rescuing. Why would he want someone who’s been tainted with darkness?

So Ginny moves on… slowly. She finds strength in other ways. She uses quidditch to regain trust in her own body, the trust she had before Tom made her question her own muscles and movements.

She even dates, as she feels a normal teenager would. Not that she breathes a word about Tom to any of her potential suitors. She knows they couldn’t handle it; most boys couldn’t, not that she blames them. She knows untainted boys would respond like her friends have: by awkwardly clearing their throats through a whispered, “Oh” or a strangled, “I’m so sorry.” Then they’d treat her like she’s made of glass, and it would ruin things.

Because if there’s one thing she won’t tolerate, it’s someone making her feel weak. Weak gets you in trouble; weak ruins your life and makes you undesirable. No matter how much Tom loves to bother her in winter, she’ll never let anyone see the resulting weakness.

_______________

Ginny considers herself fortunate, really, that Tom doesn’t outwardly come up when she ends things with Dean. It’s an accomplishment that she escapes from that relationship relatively unscathed. Her darkness didn’t accidentally show itself or lay there, sprawling and naked, for him to pick apart.

It’s different with Harry, of course. She knows it will be from the second he kisses her in the common room. He’s the first one who doesn’t need to see her in a mask of normalcy and constant contentment. He’s the first one who understands that she’s not asking for an apology or reassurance when she accidentally drops a sad piece of her backstory into a casual conversation.

On the few occasions when she does say things like that (because, again, she doesn’t have to watch her words with him) Harry just holds her closer, her ear pressed to his beating heart, as he runs his calloused fingers through her hair.

And Ginny thinks, for once in her life, that perhaps there’s an unspoken value in sharing that sort of darkness.

_______________

She tells Harry the full details of Tom pretty soon after they start shagging. She knows the war’s over; she knows they’ve kind of won. She also knows a well-adjusted person would have left this bit behind… but she reckons neither of them will ever be well-adjusted, really. They’re the sort of couple who cries when they hear I love you but remains stone-faced at funerals of their friends. For Harry especially, she knows that love presents as something that makes him feel uncomfortably warm, almost smothered. It can be a prickly, painful, cloying sensation… one he doesn’t always know how to respond to. With everyone else, he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Of seeming either too flippant or too mindful.

But as their bodies connect, as they rock together in the dying sunlight, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulses inside her, he doesn’t have to pretend, either.

Harry’s angry when she tells him… but not with her. He’s angry Tom ever made her feel that way. He’s especially angry with the worst of what Tom said: that on the off-chance Harry did want her, he’d only want her for sex.

Harry brings it up several months after her initial admission.

“You know what I think about a lot?” he slurs, his finger tracing the curve of her breast as she lies naked beside him.

She quirks a brow; no, but it doesn’t seem like a rhetorical question.

Harry sighs, flopping over to his back. “I mean, I know it’s horrible and everything,” he allows, raising his hand in warning, “but seriously, I can’t help but be confused that Tom thought I’d be good enough at sex to use anyone for anything in the first place!”

There’s a moment of silence.

And then Ginny cackles, shaking her head against the threadbare pillow in her bedroom. Harry joins her, pressing her against his side.

“I’m glad we’re both fucked up,” she says, when the giggles subside. “I reckon normal people are boring.”

“Probably,” Harry agrees, his hand unconsciously toying with her hair. “Guess normal isn’t really my type, though.”

“Oh, so you prefer funny and traumatized?”

Harry smirks. “I prefer you.”

_______________

Tom doesn’t come back in full force until she falls pregnant the first time.

Maybe it’s because they hadn’t planned on this— and regardless of how misty-eyed and excited Harry is, they definitely hadn’t planned on it.

Maybe it’s because she’s certain it’s a boy, which carries certain burdens as the son of the Chosen One.

Maybe it’s because she’s feeling a similar loss of control, like her body isn’t her own.

But mostly, she reckons, it’s because she’s plagued with the near-constant thought that she’s doing something wrong.

She had a glass of wine before she found out (strike one, Bad Mum). She trips on her trainers and lands on her bum (very, very Bad Mum). She starts spotting at 12 weeks after she goes for the only jog of her entire pregnancy (horrifically Bad Mum; utterly unfit to raise a child).

And all of this spins around in her head, faster and faster and faster, until she sees Tom’s face again one night. “You’re fat now,” he mocks, his voice a cruel whisper that slithers into the space between slumber and consciousness. “The nerve of you, thinking you’d do something so selfish as staying in shape at a time like this. I can’t wait to see Harry’s face when you tell him you’ve lost the ba—“

She bolts upright in bed, her heart pounding, and throws the blankets off to peer between her thighs. A ragged chuckle of relief escapes her lips. Nothing. There’s nothing, the baby’s fine, and—

“Ginny?”

Shit.

She bites her lip and turns to Harry. He’s peering at her, his expression exhausted but alert. She hates that look, she really does; it reminds her too much of when he’d woken from his own dreams, right after the war.

“A nightmare,” she whispers, brushing his hair from his eyes. “Only a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

Harry sighs and grips her hand. He knows better. “Just... talk to me. Please. You don’t even have—“

“—It’s Tom,” she cut across, biting her lip. She feels guilty enough for waking Harry when he’s got work tomorrow; she’d better make it quick. “It’s just… stupid pregnancy shit, taking the form of Tom. Or maybe it just is Tom, somehow. I don’t really know.”

She throws her hands in the air before settling back against the headboard. And then, in a small voice: “He just… he’s so great at making me feel stupid.”

There’s a beat.

Harry reaches up to cup her cheek; she leans into the warmth, unsure if she’s finding more comfort in the familiarity or the gesture itself.

“Well,” he says slowly; she can tell from his tone that he’s biting his lip, even if she can’t see it in the darkness. “You’re not stupid. But it’s also not stupid that he still makes you feel like that sometimes. Does that… make any sense?”

Her lips twitch in a soft smile. “It does. It makes sense. I just... I hate feeling weak.”

Harry chuckles and pulls her against him. She sighs into the crook of his neck, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

“I could use a lot of words to describe you, darling.” His fingers dance on the gentle swell of her belly; he always sounds so pleased when he touches her, especially here, like he can’t help but feel chuffed that he’s actually knocked her up. “But I’m afraid that weak doesn’t make the cut.”

Ginny giggles. “I’ll just have to settle for mad, I reckon,” she manages through a yawn. What is it about his bloody heartbeat that always settles her?

“Mad it is,” he agrees, kissing her forehead.

_______________

“It’s him again, isn’t it.”

It’s not a question. But if it were, the answer would be obvious.

Ginny’s staring out the window, her whole body poised and anxious. Every fiber of her being is taut. If she had a bit more self-awareness, she might compare herself to a hunting dog who’s just sensed a pheasant.

But self-awareness is the furthest thing from her mind. Not when she’s worried about her babies. And she’s worried about all of her babies, yes — but there’s something especially triggering about the involvement of her little girl. Her only girl. Her girl, who’s exactly the same age as she was, right when—

“He’s here!”

Ginny scarcely hears the words leave her lips as Pig flies through the air and into their open window. Safe. She hasn’t even read the letter yet, but she can tell from Lily’s messy scrawl across the parchment, from the agreed upon symbol of a tiny dragon, printed in the corner, that she’s safe.

Ginny has to draw a deep breath to stop herself from bawling with relief.

“Told you she’d be fine,” Harry murmurs, wrapping an arm around her waist. He rests his chin on the crown of her head as Ginny rips the letter open, nonetheless desperate for the proof she knows she’ll flnd. Desperate for confirmation that her baby’s made it to school all right. Desperate to know another little girl — her little girl — won’t find herself violated and alone.

Ginny reads the letter through a veil of tears and presses it to her chest when she’s done. Safe. Her baby’s safe.

A few minutes later, she turns to Harry with an apologetic shrug, brushing the tears from her eyes. “Ready for dinner?” she asks, gesturing towards the door. “Or did you want to stay inside all day and mope about having an empty house for the first time in ages?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at his lips. He mutters something under his breath that distinctly sounds like not sure which of us was doing the moping, darling.

But Ginny’s happy to ignore that as she links her arm in his. She’s pleased to go to dinner and drink too much and laugh too loudly. It’s just another reminder of what she has… and how she almost didn’t have it, at all.

Because while Tom Riddle might be her past, present, and future, Ginny will do everything in her power to ensure he never defines another little girl’s life like that.

Ever again.

#HinnyFicFest2021 #harry/ginny fanfic #harry/ginny #invisible stranger #tom riddle

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anna-kendrick · 4 years ago

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holding my breath ('til i can say all of the words i wanna say)

Beca goes home with Chloe for thanksgiving.

For @beca-mitchell

Read on AO3, or below.

Chloe regrets asking the moment it comes out of her mouth.

“Come home with me.”

It's not that she doesn't want to bring Beca—her wonderful and loving girlfriend of over a year—home to visit her family, it's more the fact of how do you tell your wonderful and loving girlfriend of over a year that you didn't actually tell your parents that you two were dating because they're homophobic.

Yeah, she has a slight problem.

Chloe wasn't even sure if Beca would even say yes to begin with. It's her third year at Barden, and her third thanksgiving that she'd be spending on campus. Rather than taking a trip back to Seattle to visit her mother, Beca had explained that she prefers her alone time in the comfort of her room, away from all the reminders of her rocky childhood. Chloe gets it.

But more selfishly than not wanting to leave her girlfriend back in Atlanta alone—aka with most of the Bellas and very much not alone—Chloe didn't want to spend a week away from Beca. That's what brings them to this very moment.

Beca’s clearly taken aback by the question, and Chloe finds the slight blush that's creeping across her cheeks absolutely adorable.

“You're serious?” This is her out, Chloe thinks. Make it sound less appealing, tell her the truth, or just completely take back the offer and—

“Totes serious.” Well fuck.

The smug grin that grows on Beca’s face is enough to vanish all her worries for the moment. Chloe’s quick to reflect one back as Beca pulls her in for a kiss, a version of a ‘yes’ in her own, sweet language.

When Beca mumbles an “I love you,” against her lips, Chloe feels her knees go weak.

***

She doesn't bring it up.

It's sitting in the back of her mind at all times in the weeks following, but she doesn't bring it up.

Beca's seemingly excited to go on this trip to Portland. She says she's never been, and Chloe finds herself looking forward to showing her all of the places where she grew up. She ignores it when Beca tells her that she's excited to see her parents again, and jokingly teases her that she thinks they like her better.

Beca really has no idea.

It's on their final descent when Chloe realizes her mistake. She feels Beca’s hand squeeze in her own, looking over to see her wearing a soft smile—one of comfort and warmth—as if Beca could read her mind. She wishes it were true, it would make things so much easier.

But Beca simply mouths ‘you’re okay,’ and attributes Chloe’s nervous energy to flight anxiety. That’s truly the least of her worries right now, honestly the plane crashing to the ground seems like it could be a better scenario to what she’s going to have to do. Easier, and chances are less painful, too.

Beca squeezes her hand again, waiting for Chloe to squeeze back—their own little form of communication, a way for Chloe to say ‘I’m okay,’ without saying it aloud. Chloe shakes herself from her morbid thoughts, and kisses Beca’s cheek instead, before nuzzling herself into Beca’s shoulder. She feels herself relax slightly as Beca drops her head onto hers, and lets out a quiet hum.

She knows she's messed up. She goes over all the possible outcomes in her head as she watches other passengers deboard the plane. It's the one where she breaks Beca’s trust, and her heart that sticks out the most to her.

Beca never lets go of her hand as they walk off the plane. Chloe can hear her speaking, probably talking about all the new music ideas she thought of on their long flight over, but she can't make out any of the words—she's too lost in her own mind.

“Chlo?” She’s snapped out of her non stop reel of scenarios when Beca stops in place, tilting her head in concern. Beca knows her so well, it makes her want to cry. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.” She lies, and offers a smile. It seems to satisfy Beca, who grins back and squeezes her hand again gently before going to resume their trail to the baggage claim.

This is it. She has to do it.

“Bec, wait—” Her voice catches in her throat when Beca looks back, eyes full of questions and concern—so patient and so loving. She thinks she might throw up.

She lets go of Beca’s hand.

“They don't know you’re my girlfriend. Please don't tell them, I’m sorry.” Chloe takes a deep breath, fighting back her tears, because God forbid she cries in the middle of this damn airport.

One glance at Beca’s face and her heart feels like it's being crushed inside her chest. She can't say anything else, she can't even look at her.

“Um— Our bags, lets go get our bags.”

***

They meet Chloe’s parents outside of the airport about a half hour later, the silence that had been deafening between her and Beca finally breaking.

Alice greets Beca with a smile and a tight hug. “We’re so happy Chloe was able to talk you into coming home with her.”

“She didn’t have to say much, I’m glad to be here. Thanks for letting me stay with you guys.” Beca says it so sincerely, it only makes Chloe feel worse.

“Please, Beca, you know you’re a part of the family. You can visit anytime, even without this one here.” Dale points to Chloe, giving Beca a wink and one of his signature Beale smiles. Beca giggles and looks over to her Chloe with a soft smile.

Chloe turns to look out the window instead.

The drive to the Beale family home is longer than Chloe remembers—louder too, as her dad sings along obnoxiously to the songs on the radio, and her thoughts continue to echo inside of her head. Beca’s more silent than usual though, and Chloe takes the risk of glancing over to check on her.

Beca’s the one peering out the window now, headphones plugged in as she listens to her own music. It almost makes Chloe smile, just seeing Beca next to her, as they drive through her hometown. The feeling is fleeting however, as Chloe takes note of Beca chewing the skin on her thumb—a nervous habit most likely brought on by all of the shit Chloe sprung on her at the airport. She wants nothing more than to reach over and pull her hand away, entangle their fingers together and squeeze Beca’s hand tightly.

She meets her mothers gaze in the mirror, and immediately realizes how bad of an idea this was.

***

It’s later that night—after Chloe had spent ten minutes convincing, more like begging, her mother to let Beca sleep in her room upstairs and not in the basement

(“It’s freezing down there. I’ll just make a bed for myself on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe.”)

—that Beca finally broaches the subject.

“Chloe?” She hears Beca whisper through the dark. She lays silently, debating whether or not she should answer, or pretend to be asleep and hope that Beca lets it go—she already knows what she's about to ask.

“Baby, I know you're awake.” She could insist that she is asleep—continue to hold her breath and fight back the tears that are already pricking from behind her eyelids—but she knows that Beca knows her better than anyone else, knows that Beca’s worried about her from the way that her hand now softly brushes through her hair.

“Chlo—”

“Yeah, I'm awake.” Chloe whispers, rolling around to face her girlfriend. She feels the guilt swirl in her stomach immediately with just one look at the sad eyes in front of her.

She knew it was coming, but when Beca mumbles “Why didn't you tell them? I—I don't mean to pry, I’m sorry, I just—Are you okay?” tears immediately spill from her eyes, and she has to choke back the sob that threatens to come out.

It makes her heart clench to think about how far her and Beca have come since that day at the activities fair. It had taken so long to get Beca to open up to her, to even just accept a hug from her. It makes her sick to think about how disappointed her parents would be if they walked in on the two of them at this moment—their daughter wrapped up in her girlfriends arms as Beca continues to rub her back soothingly.

She feels so fucking guilty. A disappointment to both her family, and towards the woman she loves. She hates herself for it.

Beca's hands feel so soft against her cheeks as she holds them and lightly brushes her tears away. It's dark in the room, but she can still clearly make out Beca’s features in the moonlight that spills in from the window. Beca looks beautiful, she looks sad, but she’s so beautiful.

“I didn't know how to tell you.” Her voice sounds unrecognizable to her own ears, it's raspy with tears, and she can hear the lie within her own speech. It's not that she didn't know how to, it's that she didn't want to.

How was she supposed to tell her best friend—her girlfriend—that her parents would hate her? How was she supposed to explain that yes, they had met her before and treated her like a second daughter, but as soon as they found out Beca was more than just a friend, they'd look at her with pure disgust and detest? How was she supposed to bring that up in a conversation where Beca’s telling her that her father has been putting more effort in, that he's happy for the two of them and that he’d like to have both over for dinner one night?

She's never wanted Beca to feel as if she was a secret, that their blooming relationship was something that Chloe was ashamed of. And now, Chloe doesn't even know why she invited Beca here in the first place, because while reserved, Beca’s the proudest of their relationship, and she can see it in her face right now how much she's hurting.

Chloe knows it's her fault.

“I'm not mad at you.” Beca's smiling softly at her—a sad smile—one of encouragement, or one to try to deter the situation, because she knows that Chloe’ll be upset if Beca shows that she’s upset, Chloe doesn't know. She doesn’t really care either, she just wants to go home. Atlanta home, away from this life she had so happily left behind.

What she does know, is that Beca is one of the most patient, and selfless people she's ever met. She knows she doesn't have to say anything, that she could simply ignore the situation entirely, tell Beca that she's tired, and it'd get dropped. She knows Beca wouldn't push her if she wasn't ready to tell her.

But she also knows that Beca deserves an answer.

“They would hate me if they found out, Bec.” She realizes that it's been a while since she admitted this dark secret of hers aloud. Not since her first year at Barden, when she confided in Aubrey over a bottle of cheap wine.

“It's not that I'm not proud to be with you, I promise. It's just that— I’m scared to lose them. I don't want to lose you, but I can't lose them either, Beca. I'm so sorry.”

She's crying again—she doesn't know if she ever really stopped—but Beca’s soft lips are soon pressed against hers; familiar, comforting, safe.

“You'd never lose me.” Beca whispers against her lips in between kisses, and it's like a blanket of warmth courses through Chloe’s body. It's still crazy to her how in the midst of feeling so sad and confused, Beca can make her feel so loved, make her thoughts that had just moments ago felt so jumbled, suddenly so clear.

“I will tell them.” She states, breaking apart from Beca’s kiss, nodding her head in affirmation.

“You don't have to.”

“I will. Eventually, I will. Maybe not this week, but one day I will.” And Beca’s smile in response is enough for her to know that she’s supported, that Beca will hold her hand through it all.

“I think you're really brave, Chloe.” She doesn't expect that as a response, and she's ready to open her mouth and argue against Beca’s words—tell her that she doesn't feel brave at all—but Beca beats her to it. “No, you really are, and it's one of the things I love most about you. Thank you for telling me.”

There’s something about Beca Mitchell that Chloe finds so captivating. Perhaps it’s the way she smiles so genuinely and so lovingly at her, before she breaks out into a cheeky grin and pulls Chloe back in for another kiss. Maybe it’s the trust that she seems to give Chloe unconditionally, something that she’s seen Beca struggle with so much over the course of knowing her. Beca’s passion, loyalty, determination… Perhaps it’s just Beca’s big heart, that tends to tug on her own, and make her feel weak in the knees.

“You know I love you, right?” Chloe can tell Beca’s getting tired by the pure laziness that’s beginning to leak into her kisses, her heavy hands that are no longer roaming, but holding her close and still against her.

“You’ve told me a few times. I love you, too. I’m fucking exhausted, your family is insane. Sorry that was—”

“Bec, it’s okay.” Chloe laughs softly squeezing Beca’s hand that continues to lay softly on her hip. “They really are, you’re right. But I have you, I think I’m pretty lucky.”

“Oh, my God—you’re gross. So gross. Go to sleep or I’m moving down to the basement.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #anna kendrick #brittany snow #au #i'm so nervous anytime i post stuff like this it makes me wanna vom #but theresa ily and this is for u #ignore the fact that they look like whole ass 30 year olds in this gift when they're supposed to be pp2ish era #anyway.. *logs off*#my writing #edits #mine #mine:au #mine:fic

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bxtchforstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Terrible Twos

Harry Styles x Melody Styles

(part of the styles fam series)

In which the third youngest child, Lila, is going through the ‘terrible twos’ stage.

Warning: none

Word count: 1.4k+

gif not mine.

“Maybe three kids were too many.”

Harry laughed at that, making a sour expression towards his wife, making her laugh along with him.”Yeh know, I don’t think it was only my decision.”

“And you know that I was only kidding, I love all of our children.” His wife responded.

Her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist, “It just gets a little much sometimes, doesn’t it?”

That made Melody sigh, leaning back into Harry’s embrace. “I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t love my kids, because I do love them all very deeply, it’s just that-” He cut her off.

“I know, Mel.”

After a few minutes of the silence that took over the couple as they stood in their bathroom connecting to their bedroom, they finally heard the shrill cries of children coming from the bedroom down the hall.

The two of them shared glances, attempting to decide who would be the brave one to fend for their children.

It usually didn’t seem like that big of a deal when someone said they had three kids, because that’s pretty average, and that’s what Harry and Y/N thought when they had their third child. But now that they have three, they were officially outnumbered, making their job ten times harder.

“Don't worry,” Harry presses a soft kiss to his wife's temple. “I got it.”

She let out a sigh of relief, thanking him for he made his way out of their bedroom and into the hallway of their three children's rooms.

The crying wasn't loud, but it was definitely there, a faint noise coming from their youngest daughter.

The pink room was clean, no toys or books on the floor, which was odd to Harry.

Melody must have cleaned her room while trying to get her to nap earlier this morning. She had tendencies of doing that, she couldn't just sit in the rocking chair and wait for Lila to fall asleep, she had to be doing something proactively.

“What’s the matter doll?” He looks down at his daughter, who was standing up on her crib mattress, clinging tightly to the railing.

Her eyes were glossy as she let out small whimpers towards her father. She looked so helpless, and she was. Being only two years old, and having her father wrapped around her small finger.

“Daddy,” The sobs were continuous at that point, making it clear that the little girl just wanted her father.

“Okay, okay.” Harry sighs, reaching down to grab Lila from her underarms, pulling her up and into his chest.

She settled there for a moment, before starting to get fussy again. This shocked Harry because usually all Lila needed when she first woke up were some quick hugs from her parents, she was never grumpy like she was acting today.

“Li, what’s wrong baby?” She was still tossing and turning in his grasp, seeming to try to escape.

Her crying was only getting louder, “Down, daddy! Down!”

A light frown appeared on Harry’s face as he began to wonder why his usually very sweet and cuddly child was acting so out of character.

“Hey, hey.” He tried grabbing her attention, “Before I put you down, just tell me what’s wrong poppet.”

That's when the unimaginable happened, well, to Harry at least.

Lila hit him.

repeatedly, Lila smacked her small fists against his hard chest. Of course, it didn't really hurt him physically, but it definitely hurt his feelings.

“Lila,” He gasped dramatically in shock, “why are you hitting me?”

Obviously she wasn’t going to answer, partly because she didn’t quite know how to form full sentences yet, but also because she was too busy throwing a screaming tantrum. Thankfully, the other kids in the house were already awake, or else she probably would have woken the entire house.

That’s when Melody decided to enter the room before the situation got out of hand. She looked at Harry sympathetically before looking over at her wailing daughter.

Her arms were flailing Towards Melody as she tried to get out of Harry’s grasp, and into her mothers. “Mama! Mama!”

“Okay, okay. I see you, baby.” Melody took the toddler in her arms, cradling her head to her chest trying to calm her down from all the crying she had been doing.

“Man, she is awfully grumpy, aren’t you Lila?” Melody could see the look of pure disappointment that laced Harry’s face as she tried to lighten the mood. She couldn’t tell if Harry was upset or angry, but that really didn’t matter to her because she knew her husband all too well.

“She doesn’t hate you, so don’t you start thinking for a second that she does.” Harry looked up, having a miserable look on his face and light tears starting to well in his eyes. “She’s a baby, who she wants at a certain moment is going to fluctuate, that doesn’t mean she likes me better than you.”

Harry’s arms crossed over his chest, “She doesn’t right now, obviously.”

“And every other time when I come to get her, she’s begging for you!” Melody tries to prove a point, but to no avail. “She loves you Harry, she’s just a grumpy two year old, that doesn’t mean she hates you. She is just starting to randomly decide who she likes and doesn’t like.”

“I know.” He finally gives in.

*******

Lila had completely ignored her father for the rest of the day, and it was really starting to hurt his feelings, even though he didn’t want to show it.

“Lila, baby, it’s time for your bath!” Melody shouted through the living room, smiling as she looked at her baby who was laying on the carpet in front of the TV

Lila was in desperate need of a bath at this point in the night, she had red sauce stains all over her body from the spaghetti Harry had cooked for dinner, and also had frosting littering the area around her most from one of the treats Y/N had given the kids after dinner. ( A rare occurrence in the Styles household.)

“Mommy, do I get to take a bath?” Kennedy, the second youngest of the three children asked from where she was sitting on the couch. Boy did that little girl love bath time.

“Yes, Kenny, after the baby. Okay?” The little girl smiled, nodding in response to her mother.

“Okay, Ly, let's get you cleaned up.” Melody picked up Lila, beginning to carry her towards the large bathroom that was connected to her and Harry’s bedroom.

That’s when Lila began to throw her second tantrum of the day, kicking and hitting Melody as she tried to get out of her grasp.

Melody handled it very swiftly though, quickly stripping Lila from her onsie and her diaper before placing her in the empty bathtub. Usually, Lila loved to take baths, just like the other two kids, so Melody thought this would calm her down.

It did not though, only ensuing the screaming from the toddler.

“What in the world…” Melody sighed to herself quietly before sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at her daughter.

“What’s wrong, Lila?” Melody had a feeling she wasn’t going to get a response as the crying got louder. “I thought you loved baths, honey. What happened? Are you hurt?”

Melody was very confused at her usually well behaved toddlers unusual outbursts. She had never acted with such outrageous behavior before, and her mother could only hope this was not turning into a new pattern.

“What is going on in here?” Harry spoke loudly moments later as Melody heard him enter their bedroom.

“We’re in here!” Melody called back as she felt her daughters forehead, wondering if she had some type of fever.

“Lila! Why are you crying baby?” Harry yelled over the screaming toddler as he walked into the en suite bathroom.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, she’s been fussy all day and I was just trying to give her a bath when she just started screaming, I think she might be sick or something.” Melody rambled, but Harry cut her off by placing his hand on the side of her cheek, smoothing the hair out of her face.

All of the sudden, the cry stopped for a moment, just long enough for the little girl to catch her breath. “Dada,” She sobbed again, holding her arms up towards her father.

“What the hell…” Harry mumbled quietly before looking down and reaching for his daughter, “What happened to being mummy’s girl for the day? Huh?”

Melody could only laugh out of exhaustion as Lila leaned her head upon her father’s chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt roughly.

“I hate to break it to you babe, but…” Harry trailed off dramatically.

“I think we have finally reached the terrible two stage, yet again.”

#styles fam series #harry styles #harry styles blog #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #solo harry #dad!harry #daddy!harry

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gallickingun · 5 years ago

Text

break the glass {in case of emergency} || t.s.

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto needs help, so he hires a nanny. More specifically, he hires you.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Shouto x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 21.2k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the definition of a labor of love. big thanks to @k-atsukidayo, @freckledoriya, and @lady-bakuhoe for keeping me sane. and super shoutout to my love @shoutogepi bc she’s been my hype lady! i hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations because wow has it been a wild ride ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Shouto’s feet are trudging through the proverbial thick of life.

His ankles twist the further he tries to advance, and with every step forward, another tragedy breaks the fragility of the glass box he now lives in. The etching begins at the center, spreading out into cracks like lightning, threatening to shatter what remains of the clear cage.

And yet, Shouto must put on the mask, he must pretend that everything is fine when in fact he really would rather crumble to the floor with his hands in his hair. There are nights when he presses his palms into his temples, wishing and praying that someone out there might be listening so they can help him to will away the painful throbbing between his eyes. He can’t whimper, can’t make a sound, because if he does, if he withdraws the curtain and allows the world to know how inundated he truly is, then it will all be for naught.

“Daddy?”

Shouto blinks harshly to bring himself out of the vortex of his trepid thoughts, “Hey, love, what are you doing awake?”

Her teetering body scrambles into the room, pawing at the bedsheets as a broken sob parts her lips and shakes her chest. Shouto leans down to tuck his hands under her armpits, jolting her upward so she’s pressed into his chest. Her small hands grip onto the skin of his pectorals, thin fingernails scraping at his flesh. Shouto winces, but cradles her around the back regardless, the warmth of her heated cheek on his collarbone alarming.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asks, soothing one of his hands through her hair while the other rests splayed against her back, dipping gently to try and ease her crying. She doesn’t answer, hiccupping cries making her whole body shake as she clutches onto him.

“Hey,” Shouto presses his lips to the crown of her head before coaxing her head backward. He tucks his thumb underneath her chin, “Talk to me.”

The little girl’s lower lip is wobbling, eyes doe-like and full of tears, thick white eyelashes dense with the little saltine droplets. She palms at Shouto’s face with one hand, seeming ancient when she whispers, “Why did they take mommy from me?”

And just like that, the glass box shatters.

Shouto feels the explosion, but maintains his composure regardless of the impact. Shards lodge into his throat and lungs, painful twinges jutting into his insides. His voice feels jagged when he speaks next, grating against his esophagus and tongue, “Sometimes the world just isn’t fair, love. I wish I had a better answer for you, but there’s not always a perfect explanation.”

Her bejeweled turquoise eyes behold him, thumbs against his mouth as she stares up at him. Glassy irises are blown wide by frightened pupils, “I miss her.”

She collapses back into him like a star shattering in the galaxy, explosive tears dripping down his chest as she tremors. The implosion of her life plays before him in the form of an empty half of the bed, a bare side of the bathroom, and a nightstand still left unembellished despite having been there for almost two years.

“I miss her too,” Shouto murmurs into the child’s silvery hair.

If he sheds a few silent tears of his own, she does not admonish him for it, instead laying quietly until her tears and shaking sobs have exhausted her tiny body. Her lips part and she begins to drool into the pocket of his collarbone, hands twitching against his chest.

A gentle melody vibrates Shouto’s lungs as he rolls himself to the side, carefully displacing her from his body to the empty half of the bed. The toddler grabs for him as soon as the warmth of his body disappears, and Shouto focuses all of his energy into regulating the warmth of his left side. He brushes his thumb over her cheek, pushing her silken hair from her mouth so it does not stick with her drool.

He chuckles, tucking her locks behind her ear, cupping her cheek with his warm palm, “Good night, Hana.”

The only acknowledgement he receives is a gentle snore that flares her nostrils and expands her chest, small body only looking tinier in the large expanse of the king-sized bed. Shouto lies there in wonder, his heated hand keeping in contact with her body until she halts her shivering.

How did I get so lucky? He thinks to himself, the threat of tears pressing intensely against the backs of his eyelids. He can’t close them, though, because he’s afraid he might miss a moment of his daughter’s sorrow.

Shouto leans forward to press a kiss to her furrowed brow, the familiar weight of his lips on her head giving her the comfort she needs to release the tension in her sleep. Her expression mellows, the crinkles in her forehead smoothing until she looks something akin to peaceful, ethereal.

The last thing Shouto sees before his mind succumbs to the lure of unconsciousness is her silvery hair glistening in the moonlight of the bedroom, her tiny palm wrapped around his index finger, clutching on like he were her lifeline.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I can handle this on my own.”

“This isn’t just another assignment. This is your daughter, Shouto.”

His nostrils flare, “Yeah, and?”

Fuyumi rolls her eyes, containing herself by taking a deep breath through the nose. Shouto’s eyes wander as Hana teeters around the kitchen with a few crayons and a plush rabbit.

“There’s no reason to keep yourself from admitting you need help, Shouto,” Fuyumi grits her teeth and attempts to appear somehow cheerful, even if just for Hana’s sake. She flexes her jaw, “This is an insanely large house, brother. You could use the extra hands.”

Shouto narrows his eyes, the scar over his left side appearing even more intimidating when his expression shifts, “You’re not moving in here, ‘Umi. I’ll figure something else out.”

His sister runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head as she turns her attention to the toddler bobbing her head to an invisible jukebox as she colors another page in her book. Fuyumi licks her lips, “Listen, will you at least call her? She’s great with kids, and she’s between jobs right now. It could at least turn into a short-term benefit for the both of you.”

After a moment of aggressive silence, Shouto nods. He decides, internally, that his agreement is purely out of the recognition that it will force his sister to let the topic rest.

“I’ll call her.”

“Thank you,” Fuyumi’s chest deflates, releasing a pent-up breath she had been holding in unexpectedly. She sifts her fingers through Hana’s hair, thumbing at her ear gingerly, “I know you hate that I loom over you like another mother, but I just want to make sure that you’re both taken care of.”

Shouto’s expression softens, eyes turning from jeweled beads to something more pliable. His chest tightens at her admission, the reality of their situation doing nothing to lighten the burden on his shoulders. He takes a step towards his sister, praying she can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll be okay, ‘Umi. I promise.”

Fuyumi allows herself a moment to take in the sight of Shouto’s twenty-one month old child, watching as she scribbles her crayons onto the coloring book in front of her with as much precision as she can muster. A somber smile tugs on her lips and she sighs, closing her eyes as she readjusts her glasses, “I just worry about you, is all. Taking over a large agency is a lot of work, especially with the added pressure of being a good father.”

“I will be a good father,” Shouto is quick to refute her lofty accusations, the intensity of his voice causing Hana to turn her attention from her book to her father. He narrows his eyes at his sister, “I won’t turn out like dad.”

Holding her hands up in mock-surrender, Fuyumi takes a step back, “I know, Shouto. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes are wide and Shouto feels fear grip his spine like a cold shadow, curling up into him and suffocating his throat. He wants to gasp but he cannot show weakness, not now. Fuyumi inhales a short breath, “You’re the furthest thing from our father. Which is why I think you should seriously consider reaching out, getting another pair of hands on deck.”

Shouto considers her, tilting his head. The implications that his ability at caring for his daughter makes his chest constrict, heart aching in a way he’s never felt before. His eyes dart downward, catching on the silver hair of his child as she sits on the floor, grubby hands gripping at crayons while she smears color all over the pages of her book.

“I’ll call her,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I will.”

Fuyumi reaches out to take her brother into a hug, breathing her peaceful nature onto him like a ghost begging to infiltrate his body. Shouto takes a long drag, lips parted when he wraps his arms around his sister’s smaller frame.

As his sister is leaving, Hana’s eyes focus on the door. Todoroki can’t help himself wonder for a moment if she believes that someone else might come walking back across the threshold, if only she were to look at just the perfect moment. The sun shines on Fuyumi’s figure, forcing a silhouette onto the floorboards of the entryway. If he were to squint the right way, it’s possible he could see her outline there, darkness shaped by the light.

Shouto must bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mind still.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Later that evening, when Shouto has his daughter resting in the crook of his arm, an educational children’s program playing on the television for background noise, he pulls his phone from his pocket to sift through text messages and emails. There are dozens of alerts to sort through, but the one thing his fingers keep returning to is the sight of your contact information in a message forwarded to him by his sister.

If you are every as bit as wonderful and kind as Fuyumi says you are, then Shouto is frightened of what you are capable of, based on your resume and photograph alone.

Not only do you have a stunning personality – caring, gentle, organized – but you have a beautiful outward appearance as well. Shouto notices the curve of your lips, the structure of your jaw and cheeks, and the way your eyes lilt upward at the camera.

The one thing Shouto hates the most about himself, the very being engrained within him to emulate, is that he was brought up worrying about these different kinds of things – the anatomy of a potential candidate.

It’s the Todoroki within him, the lurking presence of his father threatening to stifle his breathing, to suffocate him until Enji is the only glowing ember left in his charred, desolate soul. Shouto sits in the dark, the looming reality that he may very well end up exactly like his father forcing him to press the little green button at the bottom of the screen.

You pick up on the second ring, “Hello?”

“H-Hi there,” Shouto’s voice sticks in his throat.

A gentle laugh from the other end of the line makes his heart stop beating within the confines of his chest, “What can I do for you?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Shouto has never been so worried about the interior design of his house before.

He realizes suddenly that there are no photographs on the walls, no pictures hanging to tell the sad tale of his life story. The recognition of this little detail only further throws him into a darkness he knows he won’t ever be able to fully crawl out of. Every day he must fight this beast, this unseen presence that sits on his shoulders, forcing him to carry the burden. He’s never wanted to tell his life story, not with the way it played out, especially not now.

Abusive father. Hospitalized mother. Deceased wife.

When the doorbell rings, he pulls himself from his stupor to step forward into the foyer. Shouto takes a deep breath and curls his toes into the rug to ground his body as he turns the doorknob. It’s as if the door stands for something much weightier, a distance currently built between you and him, something he can control.

But when the heavy door gives way to the sunshine outside, your body casting an elongated shadow on the hardwood, Shouto’s ankles lock and his fingers still against metal.

“Todoroki Shouto?”

The sound of your voice, completely unadulterated from the natural static of a phone, makes Shouto’s head spin. He nods, swallowing so hard his throat bobs, “Yes, please come in.”

You kick your shoes off as soon as you step across the threshold, tucking them to the side near the other pairs of dress shoes and sneakers accompanied by little ballerina slip-ons and tiny formal shoes. He notices the way your eyes linger on the pink ballerina slippers that aren’t really shoes at all, more like glorified socks, and he has to hold back a chuckle.

Shouto raises his hand in a greeting, kicking the door closed with his ankle as he turns to face you, “Thank you for meeting me.”

“I appreciate you interviewing me,” you answer him, reaching forward to meet his handshake. You’re grinning when he makes eye contact with you, cheeks round with your smile. “I know that your schedule is very hectic.”

Shouto can’t think about it too much or it makes his brain throb within his skull. He grits his teeth, “Yes, my assistant was able to push out a few other unimportant meetings for this. I do apologize, but my daughter is currently with my sister. I thought it may be best for us to meet first and then decide if it will be a good fit before we introduce her into the situation.”

“I can respect that.” You smile, wrapping your arms around your waist as you stand in front of him. The surprising warmth from his hand sits with you, palm tingling even as it’s tucked between your body. A nervous laugh parts your lips as your feet shuffle, “I wouldn’t want to get too attached to her if you didn’t like me.”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes darting to his toes, “Oh, it’s not you I would be afraid of being incompatible. Hana can be very picky.”

Your thumbs dig into your biceps, rolling your lips together as you consider your reply. A soft padding forward of your feet on the dense rug makes little sound, but still breaks Todoroki’s gaze from the floor.

“You’d be surprised,” your left eye dropping in a wink. “I have quite the effect on people. Especially those who stand three feet and shorter.”

He is shocked to find himself grinning at your jesting remark, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffles a step backward from you. You tilt your head, eyes washing over his tall frame, “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Todoroki. Usually children are withdrawn from their caretakers because they fear we’re trying to replace someone more important in their lives.”

You are closer to him now as you stride across the tile. Todoroki feels his chest constrict when you speak, “I’m not here to be anything more than supplemental. You set the boundaries, Mr. Todoroki, and those are what I will abide by without a shadow of a doubt. I’m here to do as much or as little as you need of me.”

It takes him a moment to recuperate, faltering before he replies, “I appreciate that. I-I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Shouto notices the way you visibly shrink away from him, understanding the subliminal tones in his words. He holds a hand in the air, palm face-up, “No, that’s not, I just-”

A sigh parts his lips and he looks back down at his feet, but you’re careening forward to save the day before he can dig himself further into a hole he’s already drowning in. You chuckle, “I don’t think many people choose to have children only to set them into the hands of a nanny, Mr. Todoroki. You needed help, that much is clear, and I don’t blame you for reaching out. I think being able to push through your pride and do what is best for your child is not something you should be ashamed of.”

Oh yes, Todoroki thinks to himself with a smirk on his lips, hand outstretched towards you again, He’s going to like you just fine.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

You did not imagine your initial meeting with Todoroki Hana to go like this.

Shouto’s voice is mildly frantic on the other line, which is telling in it of itself. Even upon your first meeting, you knew that he was to be a mild-mannered, easy-going man. He does not seem to be a person who is easily upset by much, so the lilt in his voice is a clear indicator to his mood.

“It’s okay,” you try to remain calm in spite of his fear, praying that your clear head can help him to unwind. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mr. Todoroki. I’m already in the car, on the way to the daycare right now. I’ll go pick her up and call you as soon as I have my eyes on her.”

A breath is exhaled from the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine the way his chest deflates at your words. You smile to yourself, phone pressed to your ear as you drive down the highway, “It will only take me twenty minutes. Until then, try to keep yourself busy, okay?”

The two of you exchange pleasantries before you close your phone, slipping it back underneath your thigh before focusing on the road again. You were thankful that Shouto had already installed a car seat into back row, allowing you to go pick up Hana without having to do too much extra preparation.

Driving to the daycare facility takes eighteen minutes on one stretch of highway. You feel your palms sweat the entire way, recalling Todoroki’s words about Hana’s injuries she sustained on the playground not very long ago. The tremor in his voice sent a jolt down your spine, your bones rattling around in your body as you imagine the dozens of different cuts or gashes she might have on her body.

And then there’s the reality that this will be the first time you ever lay eyes on Todoroki Hana. It will be your reckoning day, the deciding moment of happenstance when she makes the choice of whether or not you are worthy of her acceptance.

You park and walk into the building, your eyes wavering over the entire intricate structure. It’s a formation of pillars and high roofing, accented with filigree of metal curved into beautiful shapes. The price point of this facility does not go over your head, given the marble pillars look genuine, smooth and rounded in all the right places. You run your fingertips over the cool stone as you walk to the thick, mahogany door. The doorknob is sparkling gold, as if someone polished it when they saw you park.

All the details wrapped into a pristine package ease your mind about the salary that Todoroki Shouto is paying you. Originally, you’d wanted to fight him on it, but you acquiesced into silence after taking note of his watch and the name brand of his suit jacket.

Your hand shoves at the front door, weighted and dense, and you step up to the front desk. Resting your forearms on the top of the divider, you smile down at her, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Todoroki Hana.”

It’s clear this woman has never seen you before by the way her eyes gawk over your appearance. You may not be dressed as pristinely as she might like, but you still look rather presentable, given the time restraints you were under to come pick up the young girl.

She tilts her head as if considering you like prey before grabbing up the phone on her desk, muttering a few words into the receiver. As she hangs up, she holds out a clipboard, “We’ll need a copy of your ID. Mr. Todoroki called ahead to let us know you’d be coming, but we’d just like confirmation. For Hana’s safety.”

It all makes sense, and is rather sound policy, but the curl of her lips when she says it forces a vat of acid into your stomach. You swallow your retort that is sitting on your tongue like a knife and gently take the board from her hand.

As you’re filling out the paperwork, the sound of little footsteps starts down the hallway. You tilt your head, pen stilled in your grip, awaiting what feels like your very own doomsday. This little almost two-year-old holds your fate in her tiny, grubby hands.

You stand and replace the clipboard onto the front desk, sliding your ID along with it. Turning your head, you await the arrival of your own two-foot-tall guillotine. You twist your hands together, knuckles wrung out white as you wait for Hana to approach the curve of the hallway and seal your fate. You know you should not be this anxious over a child who has just broken into real sneakers, but the rational part of you never wins out in these kinds of situations.

Todoroki Shouto is paying you something on the upside of expensive, offering you a generous starting bonus in addition to your typical pay so you could start working earlier than expected and still make your rent payments without worry. It would be a shame to lose that thick paycheck just because you could not win over a teetering toddler who probably babbles about princesses and the color purple most of the day.

“Hana, it looks like your-”

“Nanny,” you interject as you hear the voice echoing down the hall, attempting to avoid any confusion if possible. You brush your thighs free of any imaginary dust and crumbs so you can hide the shaking of your joints, “I work for Mr. Todoroki.”

When they finally round the corner, you stop breathing.

The little girl standing in front of you cannot be much over two feet tall, bright blue eyes shining as she drinks you in apprehensively. Her pupils shrink the closer she gets, bejeweled eyes swallowed by the inkiness. Her hands fidget at her sides while she stutter-steps towards you. The long locks of pale, silver hair reach midway down her back, the curled tips giving her an almost doll-like appearance with their perfection. Her full lips are drawn inward, tentative, much like her father.

And there, covering her right eye, a gauze bandage attempting to staunch and protect a wound.

You cannot help the way your eyes widen at the sight of her injured face, your hands ready to snag her up and race her to the nearest emergency room. Todoroki hadn’t told you the extent of her injuries, just that she had an accident on the playground, and someone needed to pick her up immediately.

“Hi Hana,” you squat down so you can appear to her at eye-level, an effort to put her at ease. “Your daddy heard you took a fall outside with your friends and he wanted me to come pick you up. Are you okay?”

She has obviously been crying, cheeks dark red and swollen, her visible eye puffy from tears. Your inner nature is telling you to reach out and comfort her, taking her by the hand and drawing her up into your arms to give her a gentle squeeze. But you know that there is a time and place and threshold for each form of affection, so you withdraw.

“How bad is it?” You turn your gaze upward, calves screaming as you shift your weight. You seek out the eyes of her teacher, trying to gauge your reaction based on her body language, “It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding too much now, and she’s rather calm. Was her eye directly injured?”

“No, it’s just around the orbital,” her teacher runs fingertips through Hana’s hair, “I don’t think she’ll need stitches, but she will definitely need this wound cleaned up by a professional. I know Mr. Todoroki has a nurse he usually calls.”

It’s as if these women are trying to suffocate you with their knowledge of Todoroki, almost like them knowing he has a nurse, or not knowing he’d hired you until today, would win them some sort of award or accolade. You try your best not to let your stomach turn at the sight of them, desperate and petty.

“Hana?”

She tilts her head up at you, another round of tears welling up in her eyelids. You wonder if it is from stress, pain, or a mixture of that and the uncomfortable feeling she can sense from the way you’re interacting with the daycare staff. She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her forearm, careful of her injured eye, “Y-Yes ma’am?”

So Shouto has taught her manners.

You attempt to keep your composure at the sound of her tinny, trepid voice echoing out the words that are normally rare for even full-grown adults to use. In reaching out your hand, you notice she does not shrink away from you, not this time, “I think we ought to go have that nurse of your dad’s check out your eye, what do you think?”

There is silence for a moment, genuine concern evident in her sparkling irises. She blinks quickly, like she is trying to figure you out before she makes her decision in response to your question. You don’t want to clue her in to the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s not really her choice to make – that plight between staying here and going somewhere else has been completely left up to you.

“You know,” you’re whispering now, dramatically hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand, pretending that that others standing around can’t hear you. “I think that I saw this cool ice cream shop on the way here. You think you could help me try a new flavor?”

This makes her eyes widen, pushing herself up on her tiptoes as she fails to contain her excitement at the suggestion of a sugary treat, “Wh-What flavor?”

You grin, warmth seeping into your chest as a giggle bubbles up in her throat, “I was thinking bubblegum, or maybe cotton candy?”

Hana’s nose scrunches at the suggestion, “No way!”

“Well,” you stand to your full height, hands on your hips as you pout, “what would you rather have then?”

She is full-on smiling now, cheeks drawn upward so her dimples can dip into her cheeks on either side, “I like mint w-with choco-chips in it!”

You hold your hand out again, praying that now, after divulging your favorite ice cream flavors, she won’t totally reject you. The last thing you want is for her to force your hand in making a decision to pick her up and take her out of the daycare.

Hana pushes herself up and down on her toes, biting her lip before bursting with a smile, “Y-You really mean it?! Ice cream?”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug, wriggling your fingers as the other women watch on in amazement as your connection to the child. “I think you deserve it after that nasty fall you took.”

Bouncing towards you, Hana bobs into the air by pushing upward on the balls of her feet. She reaches out and snags your hand into her grip of her own accord, before beginning to tug you to the exit. She is babbling on about all of the ice cream flavors she’s tried, and what they taste like, and the last time she had ice cream was oh so long ago…

“See you later, ladies,” you wave over your shoulder, unable to hide the satisfied smirk making your mouth crooked, “I guess we’re going to get ice cream.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Hana knows how to buckle herself in, so she’s already clambering up into your car as soon as you have the door open. Her injury is completely forgotten as she bustles up into the seat, climbing in awkwardly before turning around to plop her backside into the curve of the cushions. Her fingers are frantic as she desperately tries to get the straps clicked together so you can be on your way to the nearest ice cream shop. You smile at her struggle, allowing her to settle with a pout before offering her your help.

“I-I can do it!” she insists, eyes misted. “I-I’m a big girl!”

“Oh, no doubt,” you shake your head in reassurance, pursing your lips as you hold your hands up in midair, palms facing her. “I’m just trying to help so we can get to our ice cream just a tad faster.”

Your reasoning seems to be sound, because Hana releases the offending buckle and puts her hands on either side of her car seat to give you enough room to maneuver and snap the contraption in place. Your hands make swift work of the buckles and straps, tightening them to the perfect spot on her chest and hips. She smiles up at you when you’re finished, expectant and excited.

It is strange, the intense desire to protect her that immediately washes over you at first sight. You have to stop yourself from rushing into allowing her between the cracks of your heart. You are frantic to seal them so you can let yourself down easy if this job ends up being as short-term as you’re worried of it becoming.

You pull away from her, face blank, and shut the door as Hana begins to fiddle with the remaining length of the straps around her body. Her fingers swirl around the black fabric and plastic, tugging and pulling, but not hard enough to adjust any of your hard work.

On your way to the parlor, you decide to call Shouto.

“Daddy!”

A relieved sigh sounds from the other end of the receiver, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your belly when you grin. Shouto coughs thickly, clearing his throat, “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay!” Hana twirls her fingers in midair, watching around like Todoroki may appear out of thin air like his voice echoing in the car. “We’re going to get ice cream!”

“Ice cream?” his voice sounds slightly judgmental, but you try to push it off and pretend it means nothing. You spare a glance over your shoulder, “Tell him what flavor you’re getting, Hana.”

You pull into the drive through window of the ice cream shop, listening as Hana babbles on about the different flavors you two talked about and whether she’ll get a cone or a cup. You put the car in park as the person in front of you orders, swiveling your hips so you can look her in the eye, “I was actually thinking about a milkshake. How does that sound?”

“Ooh,” her eyes grow wider, chubby little hands curling into fists in her lap. She’s practically buzzing at just the thought of it all, “That sounds like fun!”

You chuckle, hand on the gearshift, “Oh, I meant to ask, have you already scheduled the nurse to be at the house? I wasn’t sure if you’d rather it be someone personal to look after her, or if you’d want me to take her to a general hospital.”

“I’ll call Masuyo and have her meet you at the house.” Todoroki’s voice is muffled as he turns to speak with someone else in his office, hand over the receiver. You hear him cough, voice tense, “S-She’s okay, though. Right?”

“I think she’s a strong girl,” you make your voice confident, straightening your spine, “she’ll be fine once we get her cleaned up. Right, Hana?”

You spare one final look at the little girl in the backseat, all bright eyes and buzzing fingertips. She’s already shuddering off of pure energy, and you wonder if sugar was really the best route to go down for her comfort. Either way, she nods her head, enthusiastic about what’s to come next.

“Yes!” She leans forward in her seat, getting closer to his voice, “I can’t wait until you get home, daddy. We’ll play prince and princess, right?”

You can sense the hesitation on Todoroki’s end and your heart turns to granite in your chest. When he speaks, you feel the weight of it settle in your belly, throat tightening.

“I’m not sure, love. I’ll have to see. It’s very busy this afternoon.”

Hana allows her expression to fall for a mere moment. You honestly would not have caught the change in her demeanor if it weren’t for you studying her as Shouto uttered the words. Every bit of enthusiasm that was previously holding her cheeks high is drained. Her face pales and her lips turn downward in a frown, eyes dropped to her hands as she fiddles with her knuckles in her lap.

And yet, almost as soon as she falters, her smile returns, albeit not enough to light up her eyes as it did before. It’s like she is reconstructing a mask that she feels pressured to wear in order to keep her father satiated and undisturbed.

“Oh, that’s okay, daddy,” Hana’s voice is as cheerful as her little strong will can force it to be. She attempts to be dismissive as she waves her hands, despite Shouto unable to see her, “I played princess at school anyway.”

Your heart continues to crack as she says her final line, “I love you, Daddy.”

Shouto exhales, voice breathy when he repeats the sentiment, “I love you more.”

“I love you most.” Hana’s tone lilts then, a crack in her metaphorical armor at his affections despite his absence. She swipes at her face and you wonder if she was crying, because you certainly didn’t see any tears.

Your throat grows thick with emotion, making it difficult for you to tell him goodbye. You roll down your window and rattle off your order, trying to keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye to monitor Hana’s mood and expressions as the moments progress. You feel horrible for intruding on their very personal, private moment, and it only makes your heart wrench more when you see Hana’s glazed eyes unable to focus on one thing in particular. She’s docile, void of emotion as she stares out of the window, watching clouds pass as the world grows darker with the threat of a sunset on the horizon.

You settle the milkshakes into the front seat, finishing up at the drive through window before rolling forward into a vacant parking space. With your foot still on the break, you reach back to hand Hana the small milkshake cup with the straw already pushed through the opening on the lid, “There you go.”

She takes it from you gingerly, small palms wrapping around as much of the cup circumference as she possibly can. Her lips are pouted just enough that you wonder if she’ll take a sip at all. You busy yourself, pretending to clean up trash in the front seat and maneuver things around on the floorboards, waiting on her first drag from the ice cream cup.

But it never comes.

After five minutes of waiting, you press your hand to the passenger’s side headrest and look her in the eye – as much of her pupils that you can catch in spite of her hooded lids. Hana is still dazed, looking into her milkshake cup as if it might have the answers to all of her life’s confusing questions.

“Hana?” Your voice calls her from whatever lull she was in, eyes blinking slow as she connects back to this version of reality. A vague, “Yes?” is uttered from her lips, but she isn’t focused, not just yet. You brush your hand against the top of her knee, quick and gentle, and it does the trick. She blinks one final time before her pupils dilate back to their usual size, gaze settled clearly on your face.

“Did something upset you?” you ask, your hand wrung around the headrest again. “Or do you just not want your milkshake?”

“I dunno,” Hana admits quickly, eyes downturned once she realizes she’s let the emotion slip from her voice. It makes the edges of her words raw and ragged, “I guess I just don’ wan’ it anymore.”

You are persistent; your job is to make her happy and keep her safe, and right now with a milkshake melting in her lap, part of you feels like you’re failing.

“Was it what your dad said?” Your question is asked in a low tone, something you’re trying to use to convey that you are being patient and kind. You take a chance and rest your palm against the car seat armrest, close enough to make contact but not adjacent enough to infringe upon her personal space. You swallow thickly, taking a short breath, “About not being home to play?”

Hana is pinching the straw between her fingers, looking into the little opening as it closes with the squeeze of her fingers. You wonder if she does this often, with tangible objects. Does she ache to control something so much so that she becomes lost in the euphoria of it all?

She sighs, kicking her feet, “Daddy is just always working. It makes me sad sometimes.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, not really. If you had known her for longer, or met Todoroki some other way, you could likely refute her statement. However, there’s truth in what she’s saying, a vulnerability that you weren’t sure you would see from the child so soon.

When she speaks next, Hana reminds you of a full-grown woman, attempting to redirect the conversation from something personal to something vague, “What’id you get?”

Her voice sounds like an echo of her true self, nothing like the way her tone lilted when she first spoke with her father. There is a seemingly eerie mask she has perfected, something both audible and emotional. And it would appear she knows just how to slip it on and off when the time is right, despite her young age.

Then and there you choose to burden yourself with the purpose of breaking her out of her glass box of entrapment.

“I got cookie dough,” you say as you take an over-dramatic sip, crossing your eyes at the sensation of cool ice cream flowing down your throat, “What did you get?”

Her face scrunches inward, nose wrinkling at the bridge, “Y-You know what I got, don’ you? You ordered it for me!”

You make an exaggerated face of confusion, tilting your head backward and tapping your fingertip against your chin. “Hmm,” you nod, agreeing with her accusation, “I guess you’re right, huh?”

“You’re silly,” Hana giggles before going in for her first sip of her milkshake. Her eyes are narrowed downward at the cup, hands cradling it carefully as if it were the most important thing in the world and she might be in danger of spilling it at any moment. Her eyes are wide, doe-like in nature, as she comes up for air, “This is good!”

“Great,” you answer her, switching the gearshift back into drive so you can pull out of the parking lot and out onto the highway to head back to their house.

The remainder of the drive back to the Todoroki residence is spent in moderate silence, gentle music playing on the radio as Hana preoccupies herself with licking every last drop of her milkshake from the straw. She sucks the mint chocolate chip ice cream from her thumb and looks up at you when you park the car in the driveway, “We’re home?”

You unbuckle yourself from your seat and answer her, hopping down from the car to open her door. She’s already working at her buckles, undone the top half, but still struggling with the bottom. By the time you’ve gotten her undone from the chair, she trusts you enough to reach out her arms and ask for you to help her down to the ground so she does not have to clamber down and risk falling onto the concrete.

When the soles of her shoes hit the concrete, she’s reaching up for you, grabbing you around your fingertips to hold on as she walks. You squeeze her hand gently, fishing the keys out with one hand to unlock the door.

The nurse is already inside, set up on the couch. Hana runs straight to her, plopping herself unceremoniously down on the furniture, hand hovering over the patch as she talks with Masuyo about her ice cream experience from just moments ago.

You busy yourself with dinner, prepping meat and vegetables, as Masuyo starts to clean and treat Hana’s wound. It’s another thirty minutes before you start to sear meat on the stovetop when you hear the garage door rattle open unexpectedly. Todoroki shouldn’t be home until later this evening, he texted you after you’d been in line for ice cream to tell you as such.

And yet, when the door opens to reveal his familiar frame, you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“You’re home early,” you mention, flipping the steak pieces in the pan to sear the other side. “Everything okay?”

Todoroki is stunned by how grossly domestic the sight of you in his kitchen is and he’s jarred back into his prior lifetime where he had the full family package. He blinks and takes a short breath, forcing himself away from the swirling blackhole of the past to smile at you, “Yes, well. I decided that my daughter’s health was more important than some paperwork. I had a few of the first-years handle it.”

That is how it starts. Your first day as the new nanny of the Todoroki household.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Are you sure you got the right color plates?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the cake?”

“Ordered it three weeks ago.”

“How about the-”

“Shouto.”

He turns to look you in the eyes, breath frantic, “What?”

You can’t help but laugh at the wide-eyed expression he wears, all of his emotions blatantly displayed on his face. You take a step toward him, reaching out to cup his elbow, “I’ve got it all handled, okay? Her birthday party isn’t for another week, Shouto. Are you ready for the zoo?”

Todoroki hesitates, gritting his teeth together so harshly that you can see the muscles in his jaw quiver. He turns his palm to press flat against your forearm, heterochromatic gaze seeking you out for some sort of comfort, “Did you need me to pack the bag?”

“No,” you chuckle, forcing yourself to remove your body from his grasp by walking back to the sink to finish up the load of dirty dishes you wanted to get into the wash before you left. You tilt your head to look across the bar at him, “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

Hana comes careening down the hallway, a doll in either hand, her pajamas still crooked on her body. She giggles, bouncing on the balls of her feet before launching herself forward to latch around Todoroki’s calf like an animal, “Daddy!”

Shouto bends at the waist to pluck her up, hands careful under her armpits when he tucks her into his side, “Yes, love, I’m going to the zoo. But it looks like you need a change of clothes.”

“I already laid some out on her dresser,” you pipe up from behind the sink, “but you’ll need to spray her down with sunscreen first, it’s not very cloudy outside today.”

As Shouto turns to walk Hana back to her room, you allow your gaze to linger a moment longer than the ordinary. Ever since you first took this job, you could note Todoroki’s beautifully carved body and stellar facial features. He is built perfectly for the type of Pro Hero that he is – thick muscles wrapped around dense bones, and yet still a relatively lean frame to hold it all into place. Shouto’s face is cut sharp at the jawline, cheekbones stark against his skin. You are sure to admire him whenever you can.

When you hear him and his daughter talking, sharing words and laughs, it only adds to the flame that burns in your belly at the thought of Todoroki Shouto.

There is no doubt in your mind that it is improper to feel the way you do about a client. They should be nothing more than a paycheck and a steppingstone, and yet somehow you have found a way to allow Shouto to wind his pristine claws into you. He’s got you by the heart and it has only been a few months.

You force your hands to work at the dishes, cleaning what remains so you can start the dishwasher. After you’re done, you make your way upstairs towards Hana’s room, where you hear various grunting noises.

A laugh threatens to part your lips and give away your spying secret when you notice Shouto frantically trying to pull the shirt you picked out over the top of Hana’s head. Her arms are stuck in the wrong spots and you can already tell that it’s somehow inside out, but none of that pushes you to step forward and take over.

It’s only when Hana spots you spying in the doorway that you’re coerced into treading into her bedroom. She pouts and Todoroki doesn’t look much happier. He chuckles, “I swear I’m better at this than I look.”

“Oh, I know you’re helpless,” you smirk across at him, squatting in front of Hana to help untangle her from the clothes and put her back in right side up. Her little hands grab for your face, squeezing your cheeks as she surges forward to kiss your nose, “Daddy is helpless, isn’t he?”

You are too busy fussing over Hana’s hair to notice the way that Todoroki drinks you in like he has been parched for years. He cannot stop himself from memorizing the color of your irises, the slope of your nose, the bow of your lips.

The reality that he could even be attracted to you is lost on him – he swore after his wife died that he would never find another woman to replace her. You have only been here a few short weeks and he’s already begun to question his earlier statement.

It’s just the way she is with Hana, he tries to convince himself. I am kidding myself into believing she’s here for us, not just because it’s a job.

And yet, when his gaze connects to yours, Hana babbling about lions and tigers as you slather her down with sunscreen, Todoroki swears that he feels something different.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The day of Hana’s party comes quicker than expected.

You’re frantically spinning around, making sure there is enough food and drink for everyone in addition to trying to keep an eye on the children as they play around on the various structures setup outside.

A group of moms gather at the bar, one of them urging the others to look at you with a sinister lilt in their gaze. You continue to serve everyone at the party, filling drinks, bringing new plates of food, and yet their eyes never waver from you.

When you are cleaning up some stray garbage in the kitchen, the blonde woman near the end of the bar perks up, “Excuse me, nanny, would you mind filling my glass?”

It is like the floodgates have opened, and now they are all asking you for favors. You swallow your pride and do as they say whether that’s food or drink or a new napkin or even cleaning up their garbage. They are all gossiping behind their hands, palms raised to their mouths as if that will do anything to staunch the flow of the conversation, or even make it more difficult for you to hear the way they speak of you.

Your pride takes each hit in stride, attempting to roll the insults off your shoulders while you tend to them kindly. It takes Shouto stepping into the kitchen for your face to falter.

You gaze across the room at him and your strong façade falls away, hands shaking by your sides as you look at the floor in shame. You swallow your self-importance and build your walls back to their full height before looking up at him once more.

Todoroki is fuming, to put it nicely.

His hands are curled into fists, knuckles white and cheeks hot at the sight of your unease. He takes a few strides forward, features softening as he reaches out to press his fingertips into the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His breath is warm, spilling down your spine like molten lava, pooling the heat in your belly and turning your insides to mush. The expanse of his palm splays against your back, the plane of his chest flush with your arm when he stands too close.

You take a short breath, unable to get enough oxygen with him crowding your space like this. It is like he’s thinning the air within a few feet of his body, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’m fine,” your voice is high and thick, nostrils flaring when you make eye contact with one of the women at the bar. She is smirking proudly, head tilted so she can look down her nose at you. You swallow the shards of emotion sticking in your throat and look up at Todoroki, confused at the fury held in his irises, darkening them both so they look almost the same color as his pupils.

He turns and you watch in slow motion as his jaw hinges open, anxiety gripping your throat tightly. Your body moves before your mind can catch up; you shift your feet, so your hips are in front of him, hands palming against his pectorals to bring his attention down to you.

You tug on the fabric of his shirt, breathlessly calling to him, “Shouto.”

Todoroki turns his eyes downward, jawline quivering just enough for you to see at this close of an angle. He is intoxicating, the combination of his cologne and his body heat sending your mind spinning. You lick your lips and his eyes track the motion, turning butterflies over in your belly, their gentle wings brushing the insides of your body delicately, enough to tickle.

“Shouto,” you mumble his name again. “S’okay, alright?”

The sound of barstools scraping the floor signifies the judgmental women taking their leave, and your chest deflates at the change in atmosphere. Your hands go slack against Shouto’s chest, head falling forward to rest against his collarbone.

When his hands brush your hips, you snap your eyes upward, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. Shouto grinds his teeth together before speaking, “I’m sorry they were bossing you around. You’re not here to take care of them.”

“It’s okay, really,” you pat your hand on his chest as if solidifying your statement, smiling enough to sell it.

His thumb grazes the hem of your shirt, fingertip slipping beneath the fabric to brush against your skin. Your breath hitches and every instinct within you tells you to push yourself up on your toes and grab his shirt in your tight fists, but when you’re eye-to-eye with him, you wish you wouldn’t have listened.

You can feel his stuttering breath on the bow of your lip, and it makes your shoulders quiver. Your name is whispered between his teeth and suddenly he is too close, so close that you’re intoxicated, and every inhibition of yours has been forgotten like dust in the wind.

“Daddy!”

The sound of her voice breaks you apart, stumbling like teenagers caught underneath the bleachers. Todoroki turns to Hana, tending to her face with a napkin and listening to her sugar-driven babbling. You take the moment to slip past them and back to the outdoor area where everyone is gathered.

For the remainder of the night, you feel Todoroki’s eyes on you, following your movements as you maneuver throughout the guests, offering them refills and to take their garbage. He cannot help but feel the heat incinerating his body from all sides, not just his left. The sensation is strange, the ice on his right side usually taking over any and all feeling he might have.

It feels foreign, but not unpleasant. Todoroki’s neck prickles at the impending awareness that he might be in for a crude awakening soon.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The next few months are a breeze.

Until they are not.

Todoroki has begun to spend more time at work and less at home with each passing day. The threat of his job creeping over him like a looming dark shadow, slowly engulfing him inch by inch until he is surrounded entirely. He spends his days fighting crime, and nights doing paperwork.

You are slowly starting to spend more and more time at the Todoroki house – you are now expected to arrive around five in the morning, and sometimes you do not leave until nine in the evening. It is exhausting, given your drive back to your apartment is a half-hour on a good day with little traffic.

Somehow, you have been able to keep Hana satiated, even without her father around. There are fleeting moments where her cheery expression falters and she sheds a few tears, but you are there to wrap her up in your arms and let her cry until she has nothing left. And then, after she’s dried her face on your shirt, she looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes and begs you to play princess.

One night, when you are half asleep on the couch with Hana curled into your arms, you feel a palm press to your shoulder, “I’m home.”

You blink blearily, a short jolt of breath stinging your lungs. You swallow and look to the right of you where Todoroki is squatted beside you. He is smiling; you can tell, even in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whisper, careful to cradle Hana’s head as you sit up. “Sorry, it’s been an eventful day.”

Shouto shakes his head and helps you to your feet, palms finding any juncture of you that he can use to support your body. His hand is against your elbow when he speaks next, “No, I’m sorry. I should have been home hours ago. I know you were making dinner.”

“I make dinner every night,” a laugh parts your lips and you run your fingers through Hana’s hair to try and keep her asleep despite the noise. “So, it’s nothing new, Todoroki. Let me go put her down and I’ll head out.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but his jaw snaps shut before he can let out whatever secret he is harboring. You disregard it, walking upstairs to tuck Hana in for bed. She stirs but does not wake entirely and you are thankful. The day has already been tumultuous enough without having to sing her back to sleep or stay up any longer.

As you are walking down the steps, you’re surprised to find Shouto pacing in the hallway, his thumb pinching his chin and his brow furrowed harshly. He looks rather intensely conflicted, and there is a moment where you’re worried, he may decide to fire you. Could you have done something wrong with Hana? Did she not like you? Was he upset that you let her have chocolate before noon the other day?

“Shouto?” you call, padding forward, toes sifting through the carpet. “Is everything okay?”

Another yawn splits your lips and you cover it with your palm, apologizing through your teeth. He shakes his head and steps toward you with a palm outstretched, “Yes, everything is fine. I just have something I’d like to ask you.”

You tilt your head and it reminds him of a curious animal, sniffing him out for food in the form of information. Your hand rests on his bicep and it is dizzying to be this close to you, even after several months of working alongside you. His head still spins when you are too close.

“I was wondering if you might consider moving in.”

You blink dumbly, mouth parted so he can see the pad of your tongue and the tips of your canine teeth. Your fingertips graze against his arm and you feel like lightning is sparking at the cusp of your touch.

The reality is this is not far from normal – most full-time nannies do end up living with their families. It makes everything easier and cheaper. If you live there, he does not have to pay you for drive time, and your boarding costs can be directly deducted from your standard paycheck. This option is what makes the most sense, but you are not focused on sense right now.

All you can see is his bare torso.

You are imagining accidentally walking in on him after he’s taken a shower, or him stumbling in after his morning runs with his tiny running shorts and shirtless upper half. Your tongue goes dry at the thought of it all, but you force yourself to push words past your lips, so you won’t look like a dead fish.

“That’s a pretty permanent decision, Shouto.” Your words hold weight and he knows it, he’s thought this through a dozen different ways to Sunday. You swallow and when your hands brush over his skin, he swears sparks light beneath your fingertips; it makes his arm numb. “I don’t mind, but I just want to make sure that you’ve really thought this through.”

He nods, stepping closer so he’s almost flush with you now, “I feel awful having you drive so early and so late. Your hours would not change, your responsibilities wouldn’t change. You would have your own room and privacy, and I don’t expect to lessen your pay just because you live here. It’s just-”

“Shouto,” you’re laughing now, shaking your head as you look down at your toes, “I don’t expect everything to stay the same if I move in. I’m prepared, are you?”

Truly, he’s thought about that question far too much in the passing days when he sees you around the house or speaks with you on the phone during the day. The idea that you will be here every hour of every day is suffocating, but in a way that makes him want to drown. As time moves faster, Shouto realizes that you have become a second nature in his house. He is thinking of you during his office meetings and the late nights on patrol.

He cannot be honest with the true reason he is asking you to move in, because then he would have to face his emotions and he’s not ready for that yet. And yet, his body betrays his mind as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I think I can handle it.”

Emotion swells like a blooming heat between the two of you, your bodies almost entirely pressed up against one another as your voices grow softer. You are not sure if it’s the sleep-muddled brain you’re working off of, but you swear that you see his eyes drop to your lips. There is some part of you that wants to fall into him, to let him take you and burn you and leave you for dead, but the rest of you is working off of sense and logic and you know that would never work.

“Well,” your voice shatters the fragile moment, “I guess I better get home and start packing.”

Shouto releases you and something shifts in his irises, but it is gone as soon as it appears, and you don’t have enough time to discern the emotion. You pluck up your bag and slip on your shoes, turning to wave at him over your shoulder as you step past the threshold and back to the garage.

As you start your car, you rest your forehead on the steering wheel before you pull out, and murmur to yourself in utter chagrin, “What have I just agreed to?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I’m telling you - Red Riot is going to give you a run for your money.”

“That blockhead?” Shouto chuckles, swirling his glass, “I doubt it.”

You tilt your head, “And what about Ground Zero? He’s got his own agency now, doesn’t he?”

Shouto rolls his eyes, “God, can we please leave Bakugou out of this conversation?”

Another swig of the rum and coke slides down your throat, burning in the best way. Your head feels hazy, but you don’t mind, taking advantage of Hana’s early bedtime for the first time in a few weeks. You push your mostly empty glass towards him, “Bartender?”

Todoroki smiles, tipping the bottle downward to refill your glass. You grab the soda off the countertop and fill it to the brim, swirling the mixture with your straw. Another gulp of the liquid has you asking, “You and the other big players all went to Yuuei together, right? Ground Zero, Deku, Red Riot?”

Shouto nods, “Yes, we did.”

“Wow, to have gone to Yuuei,” you whisper in wonder, eyes heavy as you look down into the dark liquid fizzing in your glass.

He leans forward on the counter, body close to you as he asks his obvious question, “You don’t have a quirk, do you?”

“No,” your answer is quick, curt. You swallow thickly, shards of shame sticking in your throat. “I was born without one. You’ve seen my shoes.”

You are referring to the wider shoes that those with no quirk have to wear thanks to the extra joint in their pinkie toes. You lift your foot up in the air for good measure, painted toenails catching the light just right as you wriggle your toes around dramatically. You sigh, “I didn’t fully know who you were when I took this job. It’s kind of embarrassing that I don’t have a quirk, and you’re some superhero saving people with ice and fire.”

Shouto holds out his left palm, face up, and ignites a small flame, “I hated this side of my body for so long. It comes with a burden I’m glad you do not have to bear.”

The weight in his voice entices your eyes upward, connecting with his gaze as the heat blossoms, sucking the oxygen out of the air. Shouto curls his fingers inward and cuts the flame short, a gentle wisp of smoke floating from his palm.

“What does it feel like?” you find yourself asking, the alcohol creating a dull buzz behind your eyes that latches onto all of your inhibitions and immediately tosses them away.

His breath hitches audibly, pupils dilating as he attempts to focus on something other than the way your lips bow when you speak. Shouto steps forward, hands gentle as he cups your cheeks, a bravery he did not know he could muster bolstering his movements. His fingertips tickle your skin and it’s difficult for you to keep your eyes open when he is holding you so tenderly.

Shouto closes his eyes in concentration, taking a deep breath before narrowing his concentration onto the pores of his hands. His palms are flush with your skin and you let your mind wander while he is working up his quirk.

How would his touch compare to different parts of your body?

Your eyes slip shut at the thought, biting your lip as your mind runs rampant. The heat curling in your belly reminds you of his quirk – burning and licking at your belly like a raging flame. You only wish you had his right side to cool you down from the inside out.

Slowly but surely, you feel the right side of your face grow warm while the left side has started to chill. Your eyes go wide, and you circle your fingers around his wrists, voice breathy when you speak, “Wow, Shouto, that’s amazing!”

Your voice goes quiet and it is like the world stops spinning when he opens his eyelids to look down at you. You feel frozen in your spot, but you know it isn’t his quirk affecting you. Your grip tightens but he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyesight directed to your lips, zeroed in on the way that you gnaw at them when you’re nervous.

The tension is like a rubber band begging to snap. You feel the coil twirl around your spine, bunching you together and screaming at you to run away. There are a thousand different reasons why getting too close is dangerous, but your wanton body cannot be bothered to list them. Instead you are pushing yourself up in your seat, so your back is arched toward him, chest brushing his pectorals.

Shouto reminds you of something innocent when his mouth parts and irises glimmer beneath half-hooded lids. You feel distinctly profligate for envisaging his mouth on other parts of your body, the pink of his tongue peeking from behind pearly teeth doing little to quell your thoughts. You swallow thickly and shudder as his hand that produces cold shifts into your hair, rustling through the tresses at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are suddenly wrapped up in the fabric of his shirt, fisting the soft material, and you are pulling him towards you. Even so, it is Shouto who tilts your head upward, heels of his palms gently angling you by the cheeks.

The two of you take a breath before devouring one another whole.

His mouth tastes like whiskey, sharp and biting, but his tongue is in stark contrast to the flavor. He is gentle while still taking over your every sense. His tongue maps out the curves of your teeth and the pad of your tongue while his chilled palm keeps your skin from searing with blush.

The tenderness with which he holds onto you makes your heart rattle around within the cage you have built just for him. You knew this entire time that if he were to wriggle his way in, to touch your heart in just the right spot, you would crumble beneath his ministrations. This entire time you’ve been beholden to him, despite the utter denial you’ve been bathing in to hide the confession.

“Todoroki, I-”

Your voice is cut off by a blazing hand drifting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dipping against your spine, “I hate it when you call me that.”

Your eyes go wide but he’s enraptured you with another kiss square on the lips. Your words fall into the confines of his throat, never to be heard again as he swallows them into silence.

Hands are everywhere, so much so that you can’t tell where you begin and he ends.

Shouto nips your lip and you gasp, your hips canting forward of their own accord. Your mouth is gaping, begging for air, and he gives in to your silent request, drifting his lips downward to your jawline. He mutters a string of curse words as your hands finally make their way to his hair and shoulders, digging into him like he might float away.

He hums against your collarbone, teeth bared as he licks and nips at your skin. The alcohol in your bloodstream mixed with his essence in your veins only spins your mind into overdrive, dizzying you to the point that your eyes cross. You whine as he bites kisses into your skin, fingernails dug sharply into the skin of his back through his shirt. There will most likely be little crescent moon imprints when you release.

The trail of his kisses loops back up the column of your throat, teeth grazing your jaw as he works his way to your mouth again. You whine into his lips when his frozen fingers stroke your bare skin beneath your top, “Shouto, please-”

Todoroki’s confidence grows when he hears you moan his name into the air, begging him with only a few syllables. He disconnects his mouth from yours to look you in the eyes, “God, you’re so damn pretty, y’know?”

Your mouth hangs open and Todoroki must hold himself back from slipping his thumb between your parted, full lips. A shuddering breath passes between the two of you, time frozen as the moment sits still. It allows the both of you to agonize over one another, taking in each and every wanton feature as you beg quietly.

“So pretty,” he whispers before digging his hands into your backside and tugging you forward so you wrap yourself around him. His mouth is on you in a flash, all teeth and tongue pulling and prodding at you in a divine way you’re sure only he has mastered.

You are enraptured by him, fully captivated with his dual-ended quirk sending your body into a haze. Your mind is bewildered, thrown into a twirl of rum and Todoroki. If he were to give you a moment to catch your breath, you might be able to find it within your resolve to push him off you, to tell him how wrong this is. And yet, with his tongue tangled in your teeth, you can’t force the word no out of your throat.

Instead it is just his name.

Todoroki picks you up to deposit you on the countertop, thumbs digging into your hips to help you settle. His fingers make quick work of your top, slipping beneath them hem to graze over the swell of your breast on the underside. You whimper at the ghost of his touch, trying to angle your arms so you can tug at the band of his sweats.

When he realizes what you are fumbling with, he uses the bottoms of his feet to tug his pants down to his ankles. He steps out of them, but you can’t focus on anything other than the prominent bulge strained against his dark briefs. You have to swallow the drool accumulating in the center of your mouth, threatening to pool over the corners of your lips if you were to speak.

Before he tugs your shirt over your head, he looks into your eyes, sincerity cutting through the lust clouding his irises, “Last chance.”

He is giving you an out. One last clear path to purity.

You hesitate for a moment and his hands curl tighter around the hem of your top, restraining himself from ripping it away like an animal. His jaw is quivering as he waits on your response, nostrils flaring when you do not answer right away.

Whether it is the alcohol or the need talking, you are the conduit for the words spoken next, “Fuck me, Shouto. Now.”

Your shirt is yanked over your head unceremoniously, but you don’t care. Your eyes are wandering, begging for him to be nearly as naked as you. You don’t have to ask, because he’s already stepping away from you to remove the offensive piece of clothing, baring his body to you.

You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, especially upon moving into the Todoroki residence. He goes on shirtless jogs and sometimes does not wear anything on his torso for a while after he’s showered. There are days he has hardly anything remaining of his costume, after a particularly rough villain or training session.

And yet, this time it feels different.

He is baring himself for you. The intimacy of the moment does little to dull the ache in your mind, the strain of your heart in your ribs. You know that if he were to show you much more openness, you may have bruises beneath your skin from the way your heart threatens to beat at such a quick, tumultuous pace.

Shouto wastes little time in lurching forward to palm at your breasts, mouth too busy with your lips to pay attention to much else. You hitch your thigh between his hips, the curve of your leg brushing into his clothed cock. He grunts into the trap of your teeth, brow tugged with focus as he ruts his hips upward into you. You’re sure to put pressure back against him, the tip of his cock bulging on your thigh.

“Sho’,” you whimper when his mouth drifts from your lips to your neck. Your hands find his hair and his shoulder, eyelids fluttering halfway closed while he licks and nips at your thin, sensitive skin. Your throat burns, flesh aching as he starts to bite into you, rolling the skin between his teeth slowly, agonizing your very core.

A fresh wave of arousal coats the inside of your walls, and you know it is stained your panties, but you don’t have enough dignity to care. All that is on your mind is how he can take you on the countertop, and if you’ll be able to keep quiet enough not to wake the sleeping girl up the flight of stairs.

“Shit,” he’s cursing when your hand finds his bulge, “sweetheart, I-”

His breath is stuttered over your collarbone as you begin to palm him through his briefs. The nickname tumbling from his lips in a moan turns your stomach, effervescent champagne bubbles drifting up from your belly until they are suffocating your lungs. You gasp to relieve yourself of the pent-up anticipation as his left hand reaches the button of your shorts.

Shouto is careful as he unbuttons your pants, slipping the coarse fabric of your jeans down your thighs. As he squats down to help you out of them, all you can think of is what might happen if you were to grab him by the hair and force his mouth to your cunt.

Almost like he was reading your mind, he leans forward after he’s tossed your jeans to the other side of the kitchen floor and his mouth ghosts over your core. Your lower lip wobbles and you must bite your tongue to keep your mewling cries from tumbling out in excess. Todoroki kisses the top of your thigh, nose nudging over the edge of your lace underwear, his eyes closed so you cannot make out the expression settled in his ordinarily stoic irises.

“If you smell this good, I can only imagine how wonderful you taste,” Todoroki smirks against your skin, tilting his head so he can look up at you from his crouched position.

Your hips cant forward at the sentence, pussy already dripping just from the timbre of his deep voice. The vibrations of his word are like shockwaves straight to your core and you want to beg him to give you something, even a teasing lick over the center of your underwear.

Shouto kisses the little bow at the center of your panties, smiling as he snags the accent between the bite of his teeth and uses it to tug your underwear down your thighs. Your muscles tense, his ministrations slow and tantalizing. He chuckles and the sound shoots through your bones as if they were hollow like a feather, the warm honey of his laughter seeping slowly into your every pore and breaking down what remains of your resolve.

You have to cover your mouth with your hands when you yelp at the pad of his thumb brushing back the hood of your clit. His cool palm finds your thigh, just below the curve of your ass, and he stabilizes you with a firm grip, “Sit still, Princess.”

The authoritative tone of his voice turns your spine rigid, eyes facing the wall as he butterflies your pussy so he can see the silvery strands of slick built up between your layers of skin. He licks his lips and you feel the threatening heat of his tongue near your clit and you’re squirming. You are white knuckling the countertop, jaw under immense pressure as you clamp your teeth harshly.

He does not give you warning before delving his tongue between your folds, licking up your accumulated slick with one slow movement. His glittering grey iris tries to find your face, but the only thing he can make out is the line of your jaw and chin as your head is thrown back. Shouto chuckles before starting to explore the glutenous walls of your cunt with his tongue, his one hand still pressed into your thigh, fingers digging so hard that you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow morning.

Your body responds to him quickly, hips canting forward to buck against his mouth, begging for something more than just the quick slithering of his tongue in and out of you. In retaliation, Shouto presses his tongue flat, creating the illusion that it is thicker than before. You keen when he turns the pad of his thumb near your clit, close but not near enough.

“Sho’, please,” you pant, sweat beginning to bead up on your temples from the anticipation alone.

His cocky smirk is something you can sense when he speaks, but even further, you can feel it as he continues to lavish your pussy with his tongue. He huffs before standing to his feet, your slick mixed with his saliva giving his mouth a dangerous glint in the lowlight of the kitchen.

Shouto licks his lips as he steps closer to you again, bodies flush with one another. The hand that you know could burn you in an instant drifts down your side towards your pussy and you feel every muscle in your body clench at the thought of what kind of damage he could do to you if he tried.

Oh, and you’d let him.

You are about to beg him again, wanton moans vibrating your throat, but he intercepts you before you can lower your inhibitions any further. Shouto’s elongated middle finger slips just between your folds, using his saliva and your slick to lubricate his digit as he begins to pump up into you.

Todoroki Shouto is by no means a small man.

However, he is not so muscular that it looks like he is uncomfortable whenever he is walking. He is lean but built, which means that even though his hands are thick with muscle, they are not painful when pressed into your tight heat. Rather, they are snug and comfortable, his knuckle providing a pleasure you’ve not experienced before.

The tip of his finger brushes the spongy spot at the base of your core, and you swear you feel him in your spine. Shouto leans forward kiss you and you receive him quickly, desperate for some sort of tactile relief. He’s grinning into your lips, but you do not care so long as you find some reprieve from the coil beginning to twist within your stomach.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Todoroki whispers into your teeth as his tongue licks against your gums.

At his comment, you clench your cunt around his fingers, tightening your hold only to see how he will react. His hand stills for a moment, but then he is pushing another finger to accompany the first, splitting your cunt open despite the vice-like grip you have on his knuckle. He pumps until the base of his digits are finding the heat of your pussy, his fingerprints searing into your walls as you attempt to stay clamped around him.

Your legs begin to shake from the way you are holding yourself up on your toes, knees bent so you can be closer to his body. Todoroki feels the tremors in your thighs as his hand roams the dense muscle, whispering, “C’mere, love,” and then he’s picking you up gingerly.

Shouto hooks one of your legs around his waist at the knee, arching your back so your cunt is still butterflied open for him. Your other leg dangles from the countertop as he balances you on the edge.

The way his fingers work into you is nothing short of sinful, that white-hot flash of pleasure sinking into your eyelids slowly but surely. You begin to lose your peripheral vision as the impending ecstasy begins to settle in. The crest of the wave is close, his knuckles dragging salaciously against the innermost part of you.

Your jaw hangs open the closer you are to coming undone, panting breaths prying your lips apart. You feel utterly exposed in front of him like this, lewdly strewn against the counter that you were sipping rum and whiskey against not even a half hour ago. And yet, somehow, Shouto’s hand cradled against your shoulders is all you need to bring your self-consciousness down to a manageable level.

From this angle, you can reach down and pull Shouto’s briefs down so his cock can spring free. You’re palming at him as soon as you see the dark red of his cockhead. He stutter-steps forward when you pump him the first time, eyes close to bulging from their sockets at the sensation.

You twist his cock in your palm, running your thumb against the pearlescent bead of pre-come collected at the curve of his slit. Using what you can of the liquid, you drag your damp thumb down the length of his cock for slight lubrication. Shouto bucks into your hand when you bob your palm up and down to connect with the base of his pubic bone.

Now that you’re secure on the countertop, Shouto allows his free hand to wander around the curvatures of your body, mapping out the dips and contours of your frame. His hand is on your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, when your mouth drops open from a particularly pleasurable swipe of his fingers. Your cunt is dripping, and you’re honestly not sure if it even matters if you come, he should be able to slip right between your tight heat with ease.

“S’pretty,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek as his thumb brushes the bow of your bottom lip.

On instinct, your tongue laps towards the digit, silently begging for him to do more.

Shouto listens, dipping his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad of his finger into the thick muscle of your tongue. You lick and suck at him, rolling your mouth to match the pace of your hand as you work his hard cock towards release. Shouto fixes the rhythm of his fingers so every part of your bodies are going at the same speed.

The collective sensations of his hands and mouth are too much and you cry out, digging your free hand into his shoulder to attempt and ground yourself. You pant, looking up at him with bejeweled irises, tears sitting dormant on your lashes as a whine sits pretty on your lips.

“What is it?” he asks, borderline patronizing. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?”

Your lower lip trembles and you feel yourself slipping into some subservient headspace at the tone in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips to meet him as he slows his hand, “P-Please, Shouto, I-”

“I want you to come,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning forward so his breath is hot on your skin. The hand he has buried in your cunt begins to heat and the searing sensation sends your mind reeling. Shouto nudges his nose along your jawline, warmth creeping along the base of his palm, “C’mon, love, I want to see you come. Make a pretty little face for me, yeah?”

His words do little to quell the growing ache between your thighs, the pent-up need begging to be released. You clench around him again, not forgetting his cock between your hand. You continue to twist your wrist, flicking your fingers along the length of his dick, dragging with just enough pressure to make his eyes cross. Teasing the head, you drag the pad of your thumb over it, catching another swell of pre-come and trailing the liquid down the thick shaft.

You whimper his name, squeezing your eyes closed so harshly that the corners of your lids crinkle. Your sounds only grow louder when his mouth begins to suck at your nipple, massaging your breast in his chilled hand. The crystallization of ice draws your attention, a frozen cold so intense that it almost feels hot in its own unique way.

There is a stinging excitement at the duality of the temperatures that grow further apart the longer he activates his quirk. Your nipples pebble while your pussy floods from the heat, copious amounts of slick trickling down his fingers to pool in the creases of his palm. Shouto murmurs obscenities against your earlobe but you’re in such a realm of fevered phrenzy that you can’t make out he’s even speaking English.

“Sh-Shouto, I-I’m close,” you manage, feeling the way his cock throbs beneath your touch helping to bring you back to the cusp of reality. You dive deep again when his fingertips brush against your cervix, allowing his passion to force you beneath the surface.

His thumb is circling your clit as he murmurs, “C’mon, darling, I know you can do it. Come for me, yeah?”

It’s as if his words united with his caress are enough to shove you head-first into the pool of desire. You are whimpering, cunt fluttering around his fingers as your come drips down the crevices of his palm. Your release reaches his wrist, milky liquid tickling his skin.

“Atta girl,” he kisses your cheek, fingers stilling for a moment to allow you to collect yourself. You continue to ride out your high by bucking your hips over his knuckles, slippery fingers easily providing you the rest of the comfort you need to come down from your high.

“Your turn.”

You’re pushing your way off the countertop when the creaking of the stairs makes your heart still within your chest.

Shouto’s stare flickers from you to the staircase, jaw hung open as he analyzes the sound. When another step echoes in the hallway, he’s quick to yank his briefs and sweats back over his hips. He helps you into your shorts, the silvery strands of your release forgotten as he tugs the fabric up your hips.

You’ve just gotten your pants buttoned when Hana’s teetering figure creates a shadow on the kitchen floor.

“Daddy?” she whimpers, fists digging into her tear-filled eyes.

Shouto swipes his hands against his sweats before crouching in front of her. His palms find her sides quickly, thumbs grazing her rib cage in an attempt at comfort, “Hey, love,” the sound of the nickname makes something stir within your belly, “what’re you doing awake?”

Hana swallows a hiccup, “I-I had a bad dream.”

You step forward, pressing your hand to Shouto’s shoulder, offering a gentle nudge of comfort. Hana blinks up at you, jeweled irises focused on your face, “M-Momma?”

The title holds a weight you had not prepared to carry.

She’s all but forgotten Todoroki, pushing past him to barrel into your shin, wrapping her stubby arms around your knee. She wipes her face against the skin of your thigh, sniffling louder as a fresh wave of tears takes over her body. Her shoulders shudder and you don’t have time to wonder whether she’s cognizant enough to realize that she’s just called you her mother.

You scoop her up in your arms, holding her gingerly by the back and head, and she wraps her legs around your midsection to anchor her little body to your torso like a frightened animal. Hana buries her head into your neck, tears sticking to your skin and creating an unbearable heat.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Hana whimpers, “I-I had a dream that you left.”

In an effort to comfort her, you run your fingers through her hair, gently separating the strands so your nails can scratch her scalp. You kiss her temple, “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

She retracts from your neck and a rush of cool air washes over you. Her irises are swallowed by her pupils, thick droplets of tears wetting her cheeks. You smile, forcing yourself to forget the way you were just about to jump her father’s bones, and brush your nose against hers in an eskimo kiss.

“It was just a dream, babe,” you comfort her, making sure you are looking at her directly when you say it so she feels much more solid in the reality that you are here to stay. A soothing hand reaches forward to couple with yours, thumb tracing the bump of her shoulder.

Todoroki kisses the back of her head, “Hana, there’s no need to worry, love.”

“I already lost one mommy,” Hana sounds ancient when she speaks, voice far away and intelligent beyond her young years, “I don’t wanna lose another one.”

Your voice is lodged in your throat now, tears of your own pressing threateningly against the back of your eyes. You try to swallow but the shards of your heart are blocking your windpipe, cutting off your oxygen. Todoroki slips his hands beneath Hana’s armpits, separating her from you so he can cradle her body against his chest, “You’re not losing anyone, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You take this as your cue to leave, grabbing your things as Todoroki takes Hana back up the stairs to her bedroom.

A sense akin to despair settles in your chest, restraining your heart in such a way that makes it difficult to breathe. The world seems to settle atop your shoulders and in the next moments you have turned into Atlas, forced to hold the earth up by your careless grip. Tears settle in your lids as you pull away from the Todoroki residence.

Something tells you that things will never be the same.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

As much as you hate it, that little voice eating away at the back of your mind was right.

The looming reality that Todoroki is avoiding you does little to satisfy the curiosity settled in your bones, affecting you down to the marrow.

Ever since that night, he hardly looks you in the eye.

In fact, he’s barely even around to see you at all.

Todoroki leaves for work before you can emerge from the bathroom with Hana in tow, fresh from a bubble bath and ready for breakfast. He slips back through the doors late at night, normally after eight, so Hana is either passed out with you on the couch or curled up beneath her covers in her bedroom. There is not another time where he touches you gingerly on the shoulder and guides you back to bed, not anymore.

You have wondered many times if you should approach him, beg him for some sort of explanation. Not only is his distance affecting you, but it’s turning Hana into a child you hardly recognize. She is still cheerful a majority of the time, begging you to play princesses and watch Bubble Guppies. But there are times when she turns angry, ripping the heads off her dolls and trying to sabotage Todoroki’s work clothes by drawing on his shoes or dropping her glass of morning milk on his suit jacket.

You start to cook his meals the day before, packaging them up in a Tupperware container that’s always gone when you check at breakfast the next morning. You are not a blind woman, and you normally choose to indulge his silly game of hide and seek instead of confronting him about what happened that night.

However, tonight, you’ve had enough.

Even though he’s decided to spend the weekend at home for the first time in a few weeks, you’ve never felt more on edge. Hana is extremely irritable, nightmares plaguing her mind during the time she’s supposed to be sleeping, and it would seem there is nothing you can ever do to satiate her throughout the day.

Playing princess is boring, coloring is stressful, blowing bubbles is stupid.

You are reaching the end of your rope and Shouto’s evasive presence does little to satiate your temperamental moods. You clutch at the cusp of sanity, praying that it will not leave you just yet; the only thing holding your tongue back from lashing out is the sliver of discretion that you’ve managed to sustain in spite of the day’s events.

“Hey, uh-” Todoroki’s voice is strained as he stands in the archway of the kitchen, “Would you mind making us a couple of sandwiches? I think Hana is getting hungry.”

The warmth from the dishwater gives you something other than his irises to focus on, your eyesight directed downward, “Sure. What would you like?”

“Let’s just do peanut butter and jelly,” Shouto shrugs nonchalantly. “Grape, if we have it.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of a specific flavor. You are certain that if you were to look into the refrigerator that you would not find grape jelly, but it’s obvious that Shouto is otherwise unknowing.

“Grape?” you echo, pulling your hands from the dishwater to wipe them on your hand towel. “You think that’s a smart choice?”

Shouto scoffs and it stings so much that you turn your head away from him, eyes now focused on the floor beneath your feet, “Yes, I’m sure. Why does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, no reason.” You pluck a jar of strawberry jelly from the refrigerator and begin to prepare the countertop for your sandwich making.

He takes a step forward to protest, but you’re waving the knife in his direction before he can stride across the tile, “You listen to me, Todoroki. And you listen good.”

Shouto pauses, throat bobbing as his line of sight zeroes in on your lips. His eyes widen, pupils swallowing his irises in fear. The knife wavering in your grasp holds much more weight than any other butter knife he’s come into contact with.

“We don’t have any grape jelly because your daughter is allergic to grapes.”

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the butter knife in your hand, “And if you were ever here you might notice a thing or two, such as an allergy to something that could, I dunno, kill her?!”

The sound of your voice raising an octave or two reverberates off of the walls and thrums at Shouto’s heartstrings. He swallows thickly, but you’re not done tearing into him just yet.

“This little charade you’ve got going on has got to end.” Your voice is desperate, unhinged, and you feel the honesty scrape against the front of your throat, “Your daughter is turning into someone you can barely recognize, and you’re not far behind her.”

Silence envelopes the room, and the only thing you’re able to hear is your heart beating frantically in your own ears. As your pulse thuds rapidly, rushing like a river of thick emotion throughout your body, you feel your palms begin to sweat. The longer you keep quiet, the louder the sound grows.

Finally, after giving him a few minutes to respond, you press the tops of your fists into your hips, glaring down your nose at him, “If you want me gone, all you had to do was ask. I thought we respected one another enough for that.”

You slap together two sandwiches quickly, tossing the plates onto the counter for him to pick up on his own before you turn and walk from the room. You’re unable to look at him any longer, not sure if it’s the loitering reality that you may have to move on from this chapter of your life or the loss of a generous paycheck and living situation that wraps your heart like the talons of a bird, squeezing until you can’t breathe.

The tumultuous roll of emotions scrapes away at your chest, and you’re surprised that there isn’t blood gushing from your ribs. You lean back against your closed door, head tilted backward to stave off the tears, saltine droplets coating your lashes as they sit in your ducts, pending the gentle sway of your neck to drip down your cheeks.

You aren’t sure how long you stay this way, crumbled against your door with the heat of disappointment building smoke in your lungs. It’s difficult to breathe, a dizziness taking over your mind that you’ve never felt quite so acutely before. You cradle your head in your hands, massaging your temples with your thumbs to try and mitigate the oncoming migraine.

A knock sounds at your door and you jump, hand pressed over your frantic heart, “Y-Yes?”

“Can-Can I come in?”

Shouto.

The sound of his voice does little to staunch the metaphorical puncture wound in your chest. You flex your hands before standing to your feet and opening the door, allowing him to step over the threshold into your room.

“Listen, I think there’s just-”

“No,” you interrupt, a short breath filling your lungs, “I’m going first.”

Todoroki’s eyes dilate, his feet stuttering backward as he takes in your assertive sentence. He grits his teeth, jaw quivering under the stress, but keeps his lips sealed in spite of desperately wanting to speak out.

“If you don’t want me here, you could have just said so.” You wring your hands together, knuckles knocking against one another as you twist your fingers. You close your eyelids and inhale a deep breath, “What happened, u-us kissing, wasn’t professional, and I apologize. But what you’re doing to Hana?”

You flare your nostrils as your hands turn to fists at your side. Todoroki watches you closely, eyes never wavering from your frame as he takes in your quivering, quiet fury. Your jaw muscles tense and you force your eyes to meet his, despite the glossiness settled in them, “You’re never here, Shouto. You missed her ballet recital last week, then you forgot she was allergic to grapes, and now you’re not seeing what’s directly in front of you!”

The more you speak, the louder you become. You can feel your cheeks heating, the tears building up in your eyelids with every syllable. Your fists clench at your sides, and your fingernails dig irately into your palms, so harshly that you swear you might draw blood. Each word draws out an anger in you that you didn’t realize you were harboring, like a fugitive sitting in the cage of your chest, tugging on the bars of your heart as they beg to be broken free.

“Hana deserves better than this, and you know it, Todoroki. So if you don’t get your head out of your ass,” your lower lip wobbles and you reach forward to poke him directly in the chest, index finger dug into the space between his pectorals, “you’re going to lose your daughter.”

You’re shaking your head and your fist as the next sentence comes tumbling from your lips, heart strings fully wound as you speak, “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, but if it’s me, then I’ll leave.”

Shouto’s brow furrows as he looks down his nose at you, “Are you finished?”

The deadpan of his voice stirs something in your belly, something like an acrid fire that plumes in your chest, the smoke of it all curling around your throat and begging to be spewed like acid from your tongue. Your teeth grind into each other, a creaking sound echoing in your own ears. The way your heart twists in your chest makes it difficult to breathe, but you manage.

“Fuck you, Todoroki.”

You go to turn away from him, your hand falling from his chest, when he snatches you by the wrist, repeating his question, “Are you finished?”

A small remaining sliver of your patience sits heavy on your chest, forcing you to nod your head. Regardless of how you feel about him, Todoroki Shouto is an important man, and you need to leave here a dignified woman. If you make a scene, if you flash your fists and bare your teeth, it’s possible you won’t have another job ever again.

“I don’t want you to quit,” his voice is breathless, an octave higher than normal; he almost sounds sick, “but there is a problem.”

The anticipation of what he might say next brings back that acidic wash in your belly, throat squeezed shut by the clamped hands of insecurity and doubt. Shouto takes a careful step forward, mindful of your personal space as he does so. His fingers never leave your wrist, circled around your arm even as it’s pulled away from his body.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

To say that the world stopped spinning was an understatement.

You feel the whole planet turn on its axis, your body undergoing vertigo as the metaphorical rug is yanked out from beneath your feet. Your stomach flips, the acid molting into lava, hot and sticky as it licks up against your skin, pooling just below your navel. His grip is too restrictive, and you can tell your body is beginning to shift into panic mode.

“You’re right,” he barges in on your internal monologue of self-hatred, eyes boring into your soul, “I’ve been a shitty father, which is painful for me to admit. But it’s the truth.”

The conviction in his voice is solid, and you know that he is being authentic. Todoroki has a clouded past when it comes to his father, Enji. You are aware of the influence his estranged parents have on his relationship with his child, which is one of the reasons his distance has troubled you. Every time he has had enough vulnerability to allow you to peek into the glass panes of his soul, he’s shown you the scars that Endeavor has left on him.

Todoroki uses his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb under your chin to pull your attention back to him, “I tried to distance myself from you to get a better grasp on the way I was feeling.”

His palm grazes down the column of your throat, his eyes careful not to stray to close to your lips or else he’ll get distracted. Your mouth bobs open but you have nothing to say, and the bewildered expression on your face makes him laugh. The sound of his baritone chuckle does little to quell the storm raging beneath your skin, lighting striking with every single touch of his fingers and thunder booming in your chest at the sound of his voice.

“For the longest time, I believed I would never love anyone again after my wife passed away.” The feel of his knuckles slipping between yours, palm searing into you despite it being his right side. At the mention of his wife, your whole being begins to shudder, the weight of expectations and self-doubt pressing into your chest like a mass you cannot remove.

Todoroki swallows the lump in his throat, neck bobbing, “I was content with it just being Hana and I for the rest of our lives, us against the world, until you came along. You fit so perfectly into our family, sliding in seamlessly as if you’d been here the whole time. You managed to win Hana over in a day and now she can’t stop talking about you. And then, when Hana called you mom, it threw me.”

Shouto’s eyes are intense as they stare into you, narrowed and attentive. The odd combination of one blue, one grey, is hard to grasp, unsure of where you should look specifically. His fingers against your neck card through your hair, keeping you anchored to him and this world.

“It was easier for me to dive into work because I knew I’d have you here to pick up the pieces,” Shouto admits, his gaze finally breaking away from your face to narrow focus to his sock-clad feet. “I was so weak for you that I couldn’t bear it. And then you and Hana both suffered for my cowardice.”

A wave of destiny washes over you, looming like a shadow, begging you to make a decision.

“Todoroki, this is-”

“I told you,” his thumb grazes your cheekbone, “not to call me that.”

Your jaw hangs open and tears cloud your vision, and you want to smile no matter how hard your body fights against you. Your lower lip quivers and you shake your head, saltine droplets lingering on your cheeks, “I-I can’t, Shouto. I’m not right for you and Hana, I’m not-oh.”

His mouth slots against yours, angled perfectly to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. Shouto’s hands are on your face, holding you in place so you can’t run from him, despite how every cell under your skin is screaming to bolt from your place.

As he parts from you, you’re left in a daze of euphoria, eyes half-lidded, mouth still pursed as you chase after him, pleading for more.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip before retreating to trace your jawline.

And you know that you can’t; your body has already betrayed your words with the simple action of a kiss. Your hands follow suit, wrapped around the fabric of his shirt to keep him close, frightened he might leave you all over again.

Shouto’s hands drift down your abdomen, slow against your rib cage as if he were counting each bone to make sure they were all there, safe and sound. He kisses your forehead and then your nose, mouth hovering over the bow of your lips, eyes begging you even though his voice is caught in his lungs.

You say a stupid thing then, just something meant to break up the quiet, but with the floaty tone of your voice it breeds for much more wicked thoughts.

“Your lips are really warm.”

Shouto laughs before devouring you at the seam of your mouth, leaning forward to scoop you up in his arms, hands dug in at your thighs. You squeal against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, your fingers dipping into the muscle of his shoulders for an anchor.

He’s got you back against the bed before you can breathe again, leaning back on his thighs so he can pull his shirt over his head with ease. Your palms are like magnets to his abdomen, fingerprints finding each curve and dip of his muscle, praying you can map it out so you might memorize it for the times when he’s not able to be this close.

As his fingertips graze beneath the hem of your shirt, your eyes go wide, stuttering breath accompanied by panicked words, “H-Hana? Is she-”

Shouto chuckles, “She’s laid down for her nap. We have about two hours.”

The devilish glint in his eyes does little to quell the rampant thoughts running in your mind. You suddenly want to feel his hands and mouth everywhere on your body, insatiable in your lust for his touch.

“Sh-Shouto, please,” you’re panting and he hasn’t even undressed you yet, “need you.”

A devout confession such as that one, something so primal in its nature, shifts his demeanor from playful to sinful. Now his fingertips are dancing beneath your shirt, palming over your skin like he might find a hidden treasure in your bones.

He shakes his head, nose grazing your cheek as he starts towards your collarbone, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

“Need you.”

You are quick in your answer, eyes screwed shut at the tantalizing ministrations of his fingers on your flesh. He is teasing you, just close enough to your breast that it hitches your breathing, but not too close to where you can feel pleasure. A hot wash of arousal rolls into your body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs.

“More specific,” the words are muttered around the skin of your chest, one of his hands tugging on your collar to bare more of your body to him.

You whine, bucking your hips upward, knowing exactly the shape his cock will be in beneath the underwear that has him caged from you. You reach forward and tug at the waistline of his briefs, “Please, Shouto, I want to feel you.”

At the mention of feel, he takes you by surprise as he slips two fingers between your folds, curling into you quickly. You muffle your whine into the pillow, turning your face so your cheek is smushed against the downy cushion. Shouto’s palm that isn’t occupied with your tight heat tugs your shirt up over the tops of your breasts, baring your chest to the cool air of the bedroom.

“You are feeling me, sweetheart,” he teasingly licks over your nipple, thankful for the lack of a bra separating you from his wanton tongue.

Another moan drags salaciously from your lips, vibrating your throat and making his cock twitch, “Sho’, wan’ your cock. Please.”

You’re able to drag his pants and briefs down at once, his cock springing free from the restricting fabric. When it bobs against his abdomen, enflamed red cockhead leaking pre-come, you feel saliva build up in the back of your throat. You start to pump him as best you can, watching as his weighty balls swing under your touch.

Everything about him is enticing, from his dual-toned hair to his heterochromatic eyes to his chiseled body. You’d use your tongue on every part of him if he’d let you, but right now you’re focused on only one thing.

Once Shouto has coaxed enough of your arousal to coat his hand, he curls his fingers into you one last time, collecting the silvery fluid on his fingers, and then stands to step out of his clothes. You keen at the loss of contact, eyes wide open so you don’t miss a second.

“C’mon, baby, take your clothes off for me.”

At his command, you’re stripping down until you’re bare in front of him, clothes in a pool of fabric on the floor right next to his. Even the simple intimacy of his clothing overlapped with yours does things to your heart, a pinpricking sensation making your skin heat.

“Hi,” he whispers, fingers framing your face as you get lost in his touch. His voice is gentle, and his touch is probing in the best of ways, a genuine smile tugging his lips upward as you echo the word back to him.

You can feel your arousal tumbling within the confines of your body, begging to be put to use as you feel his cock against your thigh. Todoroki guides you back into the mattress, shoulders pressing into the cool sheets, your body given some sort of contrast to the molten heat circulating under your skin. Your blushed skin draws Shouto’s attention, eyes dragging over each inch of your body, mesmerized by your beauty.

Todoroki shakes his head, “You’re beautiful, you know?”

And at the end of his sentence, acting like punctuation, his cock slides between your heat.

Your eyelids flutter shut and your hands are on him in an instant, nails dug into his flesh to try and dispel some of the energy already built up within your fragile body. Shouto feels lightning spark up into his spine, the trails of it striking his hidden heart, licking at the edges of the glass box keeping him imprisoned from the world.

As your cunt clenches around him and your mouth utters his name like a prayer, Shouto can tell that his chest is constricting, tightening around his heart in an attempt to break himself free from the confines of his past.

“Sho’,” you’re mewling for him now as the veins of his cock drag salaciously against your tight, glutenous walls. Silvery slick coats his dick and he moans as your pussy clamps again.

He begins to build up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb brushing over your clit slowly, the very beginning of a pleasurable end building up within your belly. His mouth is attached to anything on you he can find – breast, collarbone, jaw, throat, cheek. Teeth and tongue lash out at you, parting his mouth so his heated breath can wash over your body.

Shouto focuses as best he can on forcing heat down the length of his arm, pinpointing the warmest point onto the tip of his thumb. You preen, eyes bulging out of your sockets well enough that he can translate your pleasure. On the opposing hand, the one currently preoccupied with your nipple, begins to freeze. Gooseflesh trembles on his arm but he does not mind, not when he gets to hear your panting whines of his name mixed with the begging sounds of please, please, please.

“Such a good girl,” Shouto murmurs into the thin skin of your throat, tongue delving from between his lips to lavish your jugular. “So pretty, laid out just for me.”

You nod your head as best you can, eyes wide as you drink in his praise. Your mouth bobs open but you can’t form words, not anything intelligent anyway. Shouto reaches his icy thumb towards your lips, brushing his cool touch over the heated skin, steam wafting between the two of you.

“Have you been thinking about this as long as I have?” he asks rhetorically, not expecting you to answer based on the fucked out look in your eyes, the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as his body makes quick work of you. Shouto grunts, “I’ve wanted to take you against every damn surface in this house for months.”

His left hand peels from your clit, running up over the curve of your thigh to press beneath your knee, pushing your leg upward so he can thrust into you from a better angle. Your hands are stuck on the sheets now, his body just out of reach thanks to the twisting of your hips. Shouto slams into you, balls slapping your ass as he ruts forward.

You feel his cock harden even further from within the confines of your cunt, the tip of him brushing against the spongy corner of your insides. After another deep thrust he’s bottomed out within you, hips absolutely flush with your thighs as he presses into you.

Shouto leans forward, not daring to pull himself away from you just yet, enjoying the way you envelope him fully, “You think you can come for me, love? I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

“Y-Yes, Shouto, I-I’m getting there, almost,” you promise him, eyes fucked out to the point you can barely make sense of his frame loitering above you. Your lower lip wobbles as you pout, “A-Are you gonna-fuck-want you to come in me.”

It’s a simple sentence, but the weight of it makes Todoroki’s heart stop. He knows you’re on preventatives, he’s had to stay home with Hana to cover during the day for your doctor’s visits. But something stirs at the base of his cock, weighing in the thick of his body, and for some reason he wishes you were his for the taking in every sense of the word.

As you whimper beneath him, his eyes trail over your body, landing on your belly. His fiery touch grazes the swell of your stomach where he knows his cock is pressed deep within you. His balls throb at the thought of coating every inch of you in his spend, you begging for more as it leaks out of you and onto the sheets; him drawing you into another round just to make sure that you’re stuffed full.

Suddenly, a fracture within his chest allows him to breathe deeper. As you buck your hips into him, begging him for more, telling him how good he’s making you feel, Shouto recognizes the fragile box surrounding his heart, guarding it from the world, has begun to shatter.

“Shouto, please,” you are begging him now, glassy eyes and pitched tone designed just for him, “Need to feel you, everywhere.”

Your plea is the final rock thrown at the glass box, cracking it in every direction. Shards of emotion lodge in his throat, tearing into him so he cannot breathe. As he gasps for breath, fingers digging into your skin, he knows he’s bruising you but he can’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than finally marking you down at his.

And then, when your breathy voice curls in the air, settling on his chest like a balm, he feels the glass melt away, turning to liquid fire in his gut. The words you utter tear open his heart, leaving a gaping, belligerent wound that he knows only you can mend.

“I love you, Shouto, I love you too.”

His eyes find yours, wide and wanting. You nod as if that will solidify his place in the universe, tears blurring your vision, repeating the sentiment over and over again, uncaring to the way your face looks glassy beneath the lowlight of the bedroom. You just need him to know, need him to understand.

“Shit,” he pushes the heel of his palm into the bottom of your stomach, itching to feel the way his cock pulses in and out of you as he thrusts into your body. His thoughts are even more permanent now, the idea of filling you up, pouring his body into you in the most primal way possible, is the only thing he can see. Your hand makes its way into his hair, tugging at the crown of his head as you lean forward.

A mix of crimson and white is bunched between your fists, matching the little tufts of hair that tickle your pelvis every time he bottoms out within you. You scrape your nails against his scalp, but that only spurs him on faster, panting moans busting his throat open and begging you for more.

Your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, mouth parted so he can see the pink of your tongue, “Sh-Sho’, I’m close.”

He makes it his mission to twitch his cock within your walls, providing an extra layer of stimulation as his channels himself into you mercilessly. Somehow, he does it with such a finesse that it does not feel rushed or sloppy. Shouto is very careful, precise, in everything he does, and you are not surprised it works its way into the mannerisms he exhibits between the sheets as well.

“C’mon, darling,” he coos into your ear, folding your thighs upward so you’re fully pressed into the mattress, “I want you to come for me, yeah? I want you to coat my cock. You can do it, you’re close, I can feel it.”

His praise intertwined with the thickness of his cock bulging within you breaks the crest of the wave, allowing pleasure to flow through your body and onto his cock, coating him in your thick, sweet release.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Shouto continues to thrust upward into you, eyes focused on your face as he uses your cunt to bring his own euphoria down from the clouds. He’s looking down at you, jaw hung wide as he buries his cock into your tight heat, enjoying the way your slick lubricates his length.

You buck up into him and he drops his head to your collarbone, thrusts becoming sloppier the longer he tries to hang on to the edge of the cliff. Your hand in his hair tugs on the strands, mouth by his ear as you whisper, “Please, Shouto, want to feel you come in me. I want you to pump me full of your hot load, stuff me-ah.”

His hips stutters as he releases his seed into you, tongue lapping at your throat carelessly to try and force his body not to start up again. The need to feel you coming around him, begging for his cock and come, is something he has been denying for too long.

“I love you,” he whispers into the curve of your earlobe, nipping at the skin as his hips still. “Fuck, I love you.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the curve of his scalp, “I love you too.”

As he reaches the extent of his high, he presses his body flat into you, cock twitching within your core. Your palms find his shoulders, grazing gently with your fingernails until he’s moaning into your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin.

“Unless you want to go again, I suggest you put an end to that,” he warns, but there is no intent behind it.

You laugh, rubbing your ankle against his calf, “We’ve got a little one about to wake from her nap. Maybe later.”

And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Momma?”

You turn your head, pancakes on the griddle in front of you, “Yes, honey?”

Hana bounces towards you, white chiffon dress bubbling out at her knees, “When is breakfast ready?”

“When daddy gets back from his run,” you answer her, squatting in front of her to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of her dress. “I made yours with choco-chips.”

Her eyes go wide and you feel a little sunbeam shining directly on your heart, warming your chest. She grabs you by the cheeks, palms squishing your lips together, “You can’t tell daddy!”

“Oh, I won’t,” you promise, voice distorted from the way she has you in her grasp. You brush a hand through her silver curls, tucking the strands away from her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Don’t tell daddy what?”

Hana squeals, turning on her heels to sprint towards the garage door. She’s on Shouto’s leg in an instant, clutching him like her life depends on it. You stand back to your feet, brushing your thighs clean before turning back to the griddle to start another round of pancakes.

“We can’t tell you or else it won’t be a secret, duh!” Hana sticks her tongue out as she pokes Shouto’s leg, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. “Look, Momma’s making pancakes!”

Todoroki looks across the room at you, eyes reminding you of colorful gems as they behold you. Every time you catch him staring at you, you swear it’s even more infatuated than the last, his love for you only growing as time passes.

“Is she?” He peels her from his leg to shift her into his arms, holding her securely against his side. Todoroki walks over to you, leaning into the counter so he’s close enough that you can reach him but far enough that he can’t burn Hana on the griddle.

“You’re back quicker than I expected,” you admit, pouring batter out onto the stovetop. You grab the spatula, prepared to flip once they look done enough, “Did you pull something?”

Shouto shakes his head, leaning forward to intercept you with a kiss to the lips, “I just missed you.”

“Ew, gross! Kissing means cooties!” Hana pushes your faces apart, a hand on your mouths as she dramatically lolls her tongue out of her mouth to prove her disgust.

You chuckle, leaning forward to brush her hair from her eyes again, tucking it behind her ear even though you know it will spring forward not long after. Your eyes flash from her to her father, watching the pride settle into his irises, solidifying them even more. A gentle touch of your hand to his bicep brings him back to you, gaze unwavering as he maps out the features of your face yet again, each time finding something new to behold.

“Well, that means you have time to shower before we eat,” you squeeze his arm and return to your station at the griddle, flipping the next set of pancakes. “I’ve still got to make eggs and bacon, and some hash browns for the princess.”

Hana is beaming, bright smile tugging on the strings of your heart, “Momma makes the best hash browns.”

Todoroki places her back down on the ground, patting her backside as a silent gesture to tell her to go play. She takes his hint, sprinting back into the living room to resume her tea party with a stuffed elephant and a Ken barbie doll.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You never-ooh.”

He’s got you by the neck with one hand, the other anchoring to your hip to hold you close. Todoroki melds your mouths together, the heat of his body quickening your pulse. He steps closer, knee between your thighs so you can feel the hard bulge pressing into the fabric of his running shorts.

You hum as he parts from you, pancakes momentarily forgotten in the wake of his affections. You pat your hands on his chest, gnawing on your lower lip, “Smooth one, Todoroki.”

Shouto pinches your hip, growing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You. Me. Nap time.”

“Oh?” you ask as he unwinds himself from you, nudging your body back towards the griddle.

“And I’m not talking about sleeping.”

Todoroki disappears from around the corner, slipping up the stairs to your now shared bedroom.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips. When you go to turn this set of pancakes, the diamond sitting on your left hand catches the luminescent lights of the kitchen and you marvel at it. You roll your ring around on your finger, trying to find a different angle to appreciate it from, but you’ve already memorized the shape of it after three years of marriage.

Your palm finds the gentle swell of your navel beneath the baggy t-shirt you’re wearing, one of Shouto’s early proofs for a new merchandise design. You bite your lip and look down, speaking to the rustling new life currently blooming in your belly, “Here’s to tomorrow, little one. May it always be just a little better than today.”

The pancakes are done and the bacon is sizzling when Shouto returns with damp hair and a pair of sweats on the lower half of his body. He curls an arm around you from behind, kissing your shoulder, “Smells good, love.”

You turn to offer him a kiss, which he takes with fervor. Hana voices her disgust from her seat at the table, but Shouto hushes her quickly with a playful rise of his eyebrow, pointed finger making her giggle.

The three of you are sat down to breakfast, just like any other Saturday, but this one feels special for some reason. You can’t quite make it out; maybe it’s the sun shining outside or the crisp breeze blowing through the open windows, but your soul is settled in a way that can only be achieved by utter bliss.

“Hey,” Shouto calls you from your stupor, “your choco-chip pancakes are going cold.”

You blink slowly, returning your gaze to him, a gentle smile on your face.

At least you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with someone as mindful and kind as Todoroki Shouto.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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