#yes this is inspired by haunting Adeline

[cyxnidx]

HI HI HELLO! I saw ur cat n mouse gamr for Wriothesley and loved the idea so much! I would like to request f! Reader x wanderer (genshin) playing a cat n mouse game as well hehe. And if you dont mind please do write more on the smut part I am very curious on how itll play out 🫢 TY!

CAT & MOUSE 2 !

character pairing: wanderer / scaramouche x f!reader

warnings: smut, degradation(use of 'slut, whore') + a little praise, oral (m!receiving), cat & mouse game, slight bondage (ropes🤭)

a/n: Hi~, apologies for such a late response :(. had to get some sort of inspo flowing. i'm glad you enjoyed, & hope you enjoy this one even more <3.

"where are you, slut." wanderer's tone echos throughout the house.

you're hiding - hiding, being bratty, as usual. getting your boyfriend all riled up, only to leave him to deal with his boner himself.

not this time, though. it seems you've gotten him a little too riled up today.

you slap a hand over your mouth when you hear his shoes against the hardwood floor, hoping he doesn't find you.

now you're realizing its foolish - and your hiding place doesn't make it any better. under the bed, really?

"come out, come out, wherever you are.." he calls again, obviously teasing you. hes so close, so near, yet you don't have sight of him.

the adrenaline rush is addictive. it's probably the main reason you're doing this to begin with. the rush of hiding, and the chance of being caught, and fucked to oblivion?

its addicting.

you notice it goes quiet. it doesnt seem like the wanderer is walking anymore, nor is he calling for you.

theres only one conclusion you can come to when this occurs.

and before you know it, you're yanked up by your ankles and pinned to the ground.

you've been caught.

you fight him, for the fun of it. to give him a hard time, not that you want to win. not necessarily. the whole point is to get under his skin.

finally, he gets you under control, and thats when you notice a rope being held between his teeth. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, while with the other, he works to tie your wrists together.

"scara - let's talk about this!" you whine, only adding fuel to the fire. you knew he wouldn't wanna talk - why would he?

without a word, he throws you onto the bed you once were taking cover under. "not another word, you hear me?" he demands. "say anything more, and I'll stuff that pretty mouth with my cock."

your eyes narrow, analyzing his. lust swirls in his pupils, a gaze of daggers stabbing you. though, despite the betting stare he's giving, you take it as an opportunity to provoke him more.

"well, if you're so bold, do it-"

you're basically cut off at the last syllable of your sentence when he moves you off the bed. his grip is harsh on your waist, and you were on the ground before you knew it.

"open your mouth," he says in a haste, unbuckling his pants and fiddling with his zipper.

"wha-"

"open. your. fucking. mouth." he demands, stroking the bud of precum over his cock as he waits. you let your tongue fall out of your mouth, mouth wide, awaiting to be filled by his cock.

not taking more than a minute, he shoves his cock down your throat, immediately fucking you.

"you," he pants, the warmth of your throat hitting him like a truck. like a pressure he never knew he needed for the minute. "fuckin' slut. always rilin' me up n', shit."

he continues to shove himself down your throat, your gags filling the otherwise quiet house. he grabs a harsh fistful of your hair and your hands go to massage his balls, tempting him to cum down your throat.

his head tilts back. "god, damnit. you're sucha little slut, fuck, taking my cock like a good little girl. mmh, g'na let me cum down your slutty little throat? huh?"

you attempt to moan in response, the tightening gesture throwing scaramouche over the edge, filling your throat with his seed.

he waits for you to finish sucking every little bit off his cock before moving you to the bed. "good little slut, you must like to be used." he mumbles, turning you over on your stomach and arching your back. "g'na treat you how you want, yeah? like the little whore you love to be."

[doukeshi-kun]

the fic based on this poll is here.

nikolai is not entirely nikolai here. he is rougher, meaner and harsher. i was inspired by that mirror scene in haunting adeline and i fall hard for zade frikin meadows when i read the book (good read btw, i enjoyed it). regardless, it's clear to say that i project zade into nikolai because i can. nikolai could be appear as very ooc and i tried to keep those nikolai-coded traits on him yk. ALSO PLEASE LOOK AT THIS GORGEOUS ART (look at it and get the image engraved in ur head 🔫)

smut is a sub-plot here tbh. the whole theme is about chasing and hunting. there's no fucking. yes there is object insertion but it's not a cock😕🤷🏻‍♀️ spoiler alert, it is a

now, here comes an important psa. as you can see, this is a dead dove fic. this is a dead dove do not eat. i put all the possible warnings i could detect, so apologies if i missed some. but in general, it is a fic with dark contents. so proceed if you wanted to. in addition, minors do not interact on the fic✋

if you noticed that the fic is messed (like the paragraphs are weirdly arranged or it doesn't appear on tags), kindly tell me!

highly recommended to listen to the songs while reading. they're all bops. other songs that could be listened along: beast (mia martina), insane (monelise), babydoll (ari abdul)

enjoy the fic when it's out ❤️

[starstruckkittensweets]

chapter one

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: The first chapter of my lil Dabi passion project. Partially inspired by "Haunting Adeline" (awesome book but PLEASE heed the warnings in it). The full list of warnings is included in the main masterlist, but individual ones will be posted at the beginning of each chapter. Also this is my first time writing from both Reader and Dabi's perspective, so I hope it's not too bad. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, working in retail (I'm sorry), Reader lives in a cute lil house in the middle of the woods, Reader also has 3 plushies (that all have names, because I'm a dork)

"Kerosene and Butterflies" Masterlist

It’s raining again, for the fourth day in a row. Barely any light to work with at the little workspace you’ve made for yourself at the kitchen table. So instead you rest your hands on your arms, watching the rain patter against the window panes. Pen and paper pushed away and left forgotten on the surface.

Rain always makes you feel nice. Not happy or sad, just nice. Gives you something to look at, the sound mindless enough to put you at ease. Soft and warm, more often than not lulling you to sleep with its voice. It’s hard to explain, but it seems to make sense in your mind.

Your phone lights up on the table with a text. It’s your mother again, sending her weekly check-in text. Even though you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and living on your own. But it’s more for her than you; you think it helps her cope with one of her kids living abroad, so far out of her reach.

Well, that’s what enticed you about this house in the first place, but you’ll never tell her that.

With a yawn you grab your phone and send a quick reply. Yes you’re okay, you’re getting enough sleep, you miss her home cooked meals. Call her tomorrow, put her mind at ease. Buy another few days of freedom before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

When you finish and place your phone back down, you give the paper and pen one last look. Maybe you could try one more time, see if anything comes to mind?

Your chest deflates at the thought. No, the spark is long gone. Try again a different day, get some sleep for now. You need it.

You can almost hear it laughing at you, the uncapped pen lying dangerously close to its blank skin. You’ve been hearing it for the last hour or so, wracking your brain to come up with something, anything. Words, ideas, or even bullet points you can just jot down in your chicken scratch handwriting. Just a sliver of something to get those creative juices flowing.

But your eyelids are already drooping, the rainy weather not helping you one bit. Your brain feels like it’s all dried up, giving you a never-ending headache. Telling you that you’ve already reached your peak; that nothing else you make will ever come close to how you want it to come out.

Oh well. Tomorrow’s another day, right?

But you know damn well you’ll be back to square one tomorrow night, when you get home from work. Staring at that blank page with your head in your hands, praying for the words to come. For the inspiration to strike—to make you feel anything other than this.

At least the paper’s still good, maybe you can use it for a shopping list later in the week. That way it’ll get some good use out of it.

Your job isn’t exactly the flashiest; definitely not what you envisioned yourself doing at twenty-four years old. Working at a dead-end department store in the shady part of town, along with four or five other people—and none of them are close to you in age. But it keeps the bills paid and food in your fridge, so you guess it’s not as bad as it could be. You could do without the annoying entitled customers, though.

At least your shift stretches into the latter half of the day, meaning you only have to deal with them for about four hours, five tops if you end up taking your lunch break late. Then the store closes, the customers are ushered out, and you spend the rest of your time stocking the shelves and getting ready for the next busy day.

Most nights the store’s already empty, with only a handful of customers roaming the aisles. That gives you some extra time to start stocking; you prefer putting stuff back on the shelves rather than ringing on register anyways. Register gets boring and repetitive fast, but working on the floor always gives you something new to do.

“Excuse me, where can I find the laundry detergent?”

“Down the next aisle and to your left, all the way down at number twenty-four.”

“Where’s the soup and all the instant meals?”            

“Right over here actually, on the middle shelf.”

“You have any beer?”

“Last aisle down, all the way to the end. You’ll see the freezer straight ahead.”

Every interaction gives you a rush of excitement, as sad as it sounds. In all honesty, your job isn’t the complete worst. Most customers are fine and even pleasant to deal with, and it always makes you feel good when you’re able to help them find something on their lists. Besides, it tests your knowledge of the store, almost like a matching game; after three years of working in the same place, you pretty much know it like the back of your hand.

Tonight seems like one of those lazy nights, with only a couple customers roaming through the aisles, the lone cashier at the registers looking like he’s about to fall asleep. You’re sorting through the grocery bin at the front (either what customers decided they didn’t want, or items found randomly throughout the store). There’s quite a bit today, must’ve been pretty busy earlier in the day.

It doesn’t take long to put the shelf-ready stuff into a cart and trek down to the grocery section. Most of it is candy anyways, which is in the first couple aisles. One item after another, until you start to see the bottom of the cart.

You step back from the shelf, a handful of candy bars clenched between your fingers, when your back suddenly collides into something—or someone, judging by the grunt they let out.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean that, I should really watch where I’m going, I’m really sorry about that—”

The words die right there on your tongue as you glance up at the person. You can barely see his face behind the dark mask over his mouth and his hood pulled over his hair. But something catches your eye—something dark and heavy beneath his eyes.

He’s got some serious bags under his eyes, poor guy must be working himself to death. Must be a college student, you know how it feels.

Wait a minute…bags?

Your head begins to buzz. You don’t think you’ve ever seen bags bad enough to leave the skin so…wrinkled. Almost like they’re—

But he’s already walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Head hanging low and shoulders tense as he disappears down the next aisle.

It’s not until another customer asks you where the hand soap is, that you remember to blink—and breathe. It takes a bit of effort, but you manage to give them the right aisle across the store. But then you’re staring off into space once more, thinking about the strange person in the black hoodie and mask.

Dark patches under his eyes… Could it really be…?

No way, stop thinking like that. You know where your mind is going, don’t you dare entertain the thought.

You shake your head. You’re being ridiculous. It’s getting late, anyway. You didn’t get that much sleep last night to begin with, it’s early to bed when you get home later tonight.

You file the last of the candy in its proper home on the shelf before heading down the main path towards the registers. Pet food, paper goods, detergent, body wash… A couple aisles here and there for every department. You should check and see if there’s any chemicals up front that need to go back on the shelf. Probably the easiest department for you to handle, other than food and appliances—

Your jaw drops when you turn the corner and come face-to-face with the dark stranger from earlier. Staring down at you with those dark eyes—no, the patches are dark, his eyes are actually quite bright, and oh my fucking God they’re blue—

There’s something sticking out of his pocket—the red and white label of a box of Band-Aids. And that’s not the only thing in there, judging by the awkward bulges and pointy corners. Maybe some extra medicine or painkillers.

You glance back up at him. Neither of you make any move to leave.

“…I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. All you can think about is how this little corner of the store lacks any functioning security cameras, and how it’s probably only a few dollars, it won’t necessarily put the store out of business if he gets away with it. Just this one time. No one has to know, except the two of you.  

He’s glaring now, probably curling his lip at you from behind the mask. You swallow the growing lump in your throat, your heart throbbing furiously against your ribcage.

“Can…I get you anything else?”

“Fuck off.”

He shoves his way past you, shoulder nearly knocking you on your ass. Your throat runs dry as his words echo in your ears, his voice sending chills down your spine.

You know him, but from where? You know his voice, his looks—but why can’t you remember him?

You glance over your shoulder but he’s already gone, most likely heading towards the exit. Not like you’re gonna stop him.

Still, you can’t get your little encounter out of your mind, even as you try to busy yourself with your work. Not even ten minutes pass by before you grab another box of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, mumbling to your coworker, “Store use, I’ll claim it out when I get back,” all the while feigning injury as you cradle your wrist against your chest (where a small pack of cotton balls is pressed between your fingers).

The back of the store leads out to the dumpsters in the back alley. A prime spot for smoke breaks, despite smelling like absolute crap. Chalk marks and spray paint decorating the walls, trash bags spilling out of the dumpsters in the corner. You clutch the supplies to your chest, head swinging wildly in search of the stranger.

But there’s no one out there. He’s gone for good this time—and for some reason, you can’t explain the sudden ache in your chest.

You don’t know what makes you leave the bandages and alcohol in the corner of the alley, hidden by the shadow of the dumpsters. Or why there’s a pang in the pit of your stomach, as you remember how bright his blue eyes looked.

Here’s a tip for any aspiring writers out there: get comfortable with constantly going on the internet. Whether it’s looking for an obscure random fact about Victorian houses in the 1800s or learning just how long it takes to recover from a bullet wound in the shoulder, search engines like Google will become your best friend. It won’t always provide the most accurate information, but it’s a start to get the ball rolling.

But this particular search doesn’t stem from a story in your drafts; all you can see are those mysterious blue eyes from the store, and the dark wrinkled patches beneath them.

It doesn’t take long at all to find your answer: a thread of articles and blurry photos of the infamous League of Villains—the same ones that have been terrorizing the country for the past year or so. Casualties, crimes, and even past victims. Every word brings another wave of goosebumps, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

Of course. That’s where you knew him from. Makes sense now.

There’s a handful of people in the photos, each one more terrifying than the last. A young girl with a feral smile, associated with a string of murders involving severe blood loss. A man capable of decaying anything with just a brush of his fingers. And the same stranger you saw in the store, known for over thirty murders and thousands in property damage, all thanks to those dangerous blue flames.

You slam the laptop shut and suppress a shiver. What were you thinking? Acting so casual with a villain—you knew you recognized those eyes somewhere—and oh my God, were you really going to try to meet him outside at the back?

And for what? Some bandages that he’d clearly already stolen? Hell, you’d let him walk away even when you knew he was planning on stealing them!

Hopefully your boss never finds out about that.

You glance out the window of your living room, pulling the lapels of your jacket closer to your chest. The door’s locked, the windows are latched, and the curtains are closed. Nothing out there but the trees and the moon and the gentle rainfall.

Calm down. Why would he come after you? You didn’t do anything to piss him off, did you? So what makes you think he’d try to figure out where you lived? What would he have to gain from that?

Still, you triple check the lock on the door, before moving backwards towards your bedroom. Also clicking the lock into place once you’re safe inside.

A villain. You can’t believe you came across an actual villain.

Villains were a common presence even back home, and you knew before moving abroad there was a possibility you could encounter some of them. But they always kept to the shadows, staying out of the spotlight for as long as they could. Only showing up in cities far away from your own. You’ve never come face to face with one of them, never been so fucking close to one of them before—

You crawl into bed and throw the covers over your head. Trying to focus on the pitter patter of the rain against the windows.

But you can’t get those images out of your mind. No matter how hard you squeeze your eyes shut, or bury your face into the pillow, you can still see his face. Those horrid wrinkled patches beneath his eyes. The same shade of blue as the flames from his palms. The way he looked at you as though you were nothing but a smear of dirt on the bottom of his boot.

He could’ve burned you right then and there.

You don’t fall asleep easily that night.

Despite your paranoia, the next few days go by without any issue. Work, errands, go back home. Your life continues just as it did before you met that crazy villain—and knowing that, you can breathe a little easier when you rest your head on your pillow for the night.

The little pile of medicine and supplies you’d left in the back alley had disappeared the next morning. Someone else had probably picked them up, who could say no to free medical supplies? There’s a slim chance that villain came back and took them for himself.

You know it’s a long shot. And yet there’s still some part of you that clings to it, wondering if he’s still sticking around this part of town.

Come on, what’s wrong with you? Are you really that eager to put your life in danger like that?

The rational part of your brain says no. But there’s another part, a much more vocal part of your brain, that can’t stop thinking about your little encounter. And what you would’ve done if he’d been in that alley that night.

Probably cry your eyes out. Then get killed like the dumbass you are.

Still, no matter what you do or what you try to focus on instead, he keeps coming back to your mind. And you find yourself visiting those damn websites, those stupid forums night after night when you get home from work, speculating just who he might be beneath those painful scars and bright blue flames.

What kind of life did he lead before joining the League? Does he have any regrets about becoming a villain? Does he actually enjoy being on the run like this?

It’s only when you’re lying wide awake in bed at close to two in the morning, still worn out from a long day at work that the more innocent questions start to plague your mind:

What’s his favorite color? Is it blue, or does he actually hate it? When is his birthday? Does he have any friends, either before he became a villain, or anyone in the League? You wonder, what’s his real name?

“Why am I even thinking about this? Not like I’m ever gonna see him again…” And you should be grateful for that.

But there’s still an ache in your chest, an awkward swirl in your stomach, every time you remind yourself of that simple little fact. And you don’t really know what to make of it.

Another hour passes before you push yourself out of bed and right to your desk in the corner. Grabbing one of the little notebooks you’d bought for story notes and ideas, but haven’t really touched in the last few months. Sliding into the seat with a sigh and clicking open one of the many black pens from the drawer at your side. Flicking on the small desk lamp and squinting against the sudden brightness.

It’s not uncommon for the inspiration to hit at ungodly hours of the morning. Honestly, you do your best writing between midnight and six a.m.; the only drawback is being unable to stay awake at work the next day. But at least you have some damn good writing to show for it.

But that hasn’t happened for months now. Not since you moved and started working nights. Now you have to hit the hay almost as soon as you come home, if you want any chance of a normal sleep schedule.

The pen moves on its own. Every breath brings another word on the page. Ink starts to smudge the side of your hand.

They appear in front of you: all the questions circling around in your mind, begging to be answered. The honest, the childish, even questions you think of on the spot. Anything and everything you would ask him if you were ever given the chance.

What are you doing? You should be in bed trying to sleep. Not doing…whatever this is.

You swallow hard as a single word appears before you: Dabi.

And immediately you start to shiver, your cheeks growing warm beneath the scathing looks of the ink and pages.

You’ve always had a strange complex when it comes to writing out people’s names. They’re much easier to speak out in your mind, or even say verbally. But once you write them out, it becomes almost final. It’s different to actually see those letters right in front of you, rather than just imagining them in your mind. Guess it makes everything seem so much more real that way. 

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid.

But you don’t stop, even when your hand begins to cramp. Because this is the first time in almost half a year that you’re actually letting your pen guide you. The first time you truly feel at ease, not even caring about what you’ve written, or even stopping yourself to edit it.

What’s it called, word vomit? It’s therapeutic, but incredibly hard to do sometimes.

It’s not until the sun rises a couple hours later, and you’re half-asleep at your desk. Your arms curled beneath your head, the muscles in your hand throbbing like crazy. But then you see all those words you’ve written, all that ink staining those pristine white pages…

And you can’t help but smile as you drift off to sleep.

The air is stale with the scent of smoke and ash. The city always smells like shit, but it’s usually better on the outskirts. But the burning pile of flesh at the end of the alley begs to differ, and his hands still ache as blue flames lick at his palms.

Another shitty night coming to an end, thank fuck.

Dabi’s been in this damn city for the better part of two weeks now, boss’s orders unfortunately. Scouting for any possible members, new blood they could add to their ranks. But every group is the same; they’re either loud-mouthed fucks with more muscle in their arms than their own damn heads, or they’re practically children, fresh out of school and all set on playing hero. Still thinking this is a fucking game, and that they can stand to take the League out from the inside.

He’s already had one guy try it a couple months back, but he knew better than to go through with it. Can’t say the same for the rest of the dumbasses burning in the alley, though.

Oh, well. No doubt the heroes will find them tomorrow, if they even bother showing up. Not many of them like to venture all the way out here, especially if it means real danger.

He slides a pack of cigs out from his pocket, choosing one and lighting it with the tip of his finger. He’s walked these roads too many times in the last few nights, practically knows them inside and out. And it’s not long before that silly little department store comes into view—the same one that oh-so-generously let him borrow some of their stock last week.

Didn’t even need to use his quirk to make it happen, either.

The double doors slide open, the blaring lights a stark contrast to the shadows of the streets. He barely has time to step back before someone steps out, waving their hand behind them with a smile on their face.

Oh, the same one from that night. He can’t help but smirk at the memory.

It’s a girl—and if her face and height are anything to go by, he’s starting to wonder if she’s even old enough to work at a place like this. Apparently her brain must be impressively small too, with the way she’s walking down the darkened street without a care in the world. One hand fastened on the strap of her purse and the other dangling down at her side, a dark lanyard wrapped around her wrist. She must have a shit-ton of keyrings on them, judging by how hard she swings it back and forth. As if that’s going to protect her if someone tries to jump her.

Fucking dipshit.

He rolls his eyes and takes another long drag of his cigarette. Watching the stupid kid out of the corner of his eye—and nearly dropping the cig altogether when he watches her veer off the sidewalk and head straight for the forest.

What the fuck is she doing? Does she want to get herself killed?

Maybe it’s sheer curiosity—or maybe it’s hoping something out there will pick her off so she’ll learn her lesson—whatever it is, it has his feet moving on their own. Picking up the pace to keep her within his sights, the cigarette barely hanging from his mouth.

Didn’t anyone teach her not to go walking around this late at night? For fuck’s sake it’s nearly one in the morning, does her shift really last that long? What compelled her to take a walk in the goddamn forest of all places? No way she lives all the way out here, she’s probably got a place somewhere in the city. Probably just looking for a cheap thrill so late at night.

Stop it. She’s not your problem to worry about, so quit it already. Just sit back and watch the show.

He follows her down the old trodden path, waiting for her to hit a stray root or trip over a rock and fall flat on her face. But nothing happens, other than a few scuffs of dirt on her ratty old sneakers. Almost like she knows these woods—like the back of her hand.

It’s a struggle to keep his footsteps soft. His boots do nothing to quell the sound of leaves crunching, dirt spraying across the path. Luckily she doesn’t hear, either that or she just doesn’t care.

Where the hell is she heading at this hour?

His answer appears in the form of a house. A pretty shitty-looking one, if he’s being completely honest. Shabby roof, flimsy door, moss creeping over each and every corner. Almost like no one’s bothered to visit the place in the last decade or so—at least.

The girl steps right up to the door, swinging that stupid lanyard at her side. Shuffling around until she finds the right key, before disappearing into the house altogether. A light flickers on in the window, her shadow visible behind the aging curtains.

Fuck him, she does live here.

In the middle of nowhere, secluded from the rest of the world. She’s stupid, isolating herself from all those people in town. Help’s not gonna come if you’re stuck in some random forest, she’s probably better off in the heart of the city. Then again, it must be nice for her. Being able to wake up in the morning without the blaring of sirens in your ears. Tucked away where no one can find you, safe and sound in the comfort of your own quiet home.

He almost envies her. Almost.

The longer he stares at the little mossy house, watching her shadow flit back and forth behind the curtain, the more he starts to wonder what she has inside. Must be stocked on food and medicine; that shit’s hard to come by these days. Might be worth a peek once she’s gone. She’ll probably leave tomorrow night for her shift, right? He’ll slip in then, see if she’s got anything worth his time. Better this random cottage than an apartment in the city, right? From what he can tell there’s not a soul in sight, save for the looming trees and starry sky.

He’s smirking now, slipping back into the shadows of the forest, right beside the old trodden path. She never even sees him.

The house is dark and empty by sundown. The path is easier to walk in the daylight, but he still waits until nightfall before scoping out the house. Just in case she getany bright ideas and decides to return home sooner than she should.

It’s a two-story house, and while the front door’s latched shut, the windows sure aren’t. It slides open with a squeak, like it hasn’t been touched in years. Looks like the kitchen—or a sorry excuse for one, if he’s being honest. A small table with only two chairs, neither of them looking like they’re from the same set. Papers and books and pens litter the surface, with the napkin holder knocked down on its side.

Not that they have a better one back at the base. Hell, they’re lucky enough if they’re able to sit down for most of their meals, if they can get their hands on any.

Which reminds him of his mission, and he’s scanning the room for any possible food. And there, to his left: a crowded counter stacked with boxes of cookies and candy, below a pair of cupboards with even more food stored inside.

Jackpot.

The League’s not picky when it comes to food, anything will do when your stomach’s keeping you up at night. Well, Dabi can’t say the same for himself—he fucking hates fish. He’d much rather deal with an empty stomach rather than scarf down a few meager bites of sushi. Just the thought of it makes him want to puke.

He can’t take too much the first night, that’ll only make her wonder. It’s best to have as little people in this secluded house as possible. So for now he stuffs his pockets with small snacks for the guys back at base…and maybe even a few candy bars for Toga. Last thing that little psycho needs is more sugar in her system, but he’d rather not hear her whine that he didn’t get anything for her when he gets back.

Plus, this girl doesn’t seem to have any pomegranates around (or any fruit or vegetables, for that matter), so candy will have to do.

When both pockets are jammed with food, he takes a step back to survey the rest of the house. At least the inside looks marginally better than the outside, save for the abhorrent dining room. Simple and sweet, even if it’s a little bland in color.

A gray couch with a couple of pillows in bright colorful pillowcases. A side table with one too many remotes on it, along with a paperback that’s definitely seen better days. A kitchen isle with a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, and a single stool resting beneath the opposite end. Not a single house plant in sight, but plenty of photos throughout, some on the wall but most taped on the fridge. Must be friends and family—but so far, he can only see one person living in this house.

How sad, she must be so lonely without anyone else here…

He rolls his eyes and trods up the creaky set of stairs. Might as well take a peek at the rest of the house, right?

The hallways split up into three major bedrooms. One is filled with storage totes and moving boxes, still waiting to be unpacked (though, by the layer of dust on each of them, he’s not thinking any time soon). The other bedroom is filled, and he means filled, with books. Every square inch is either vacated with an old aging shelf or a stack of hardcovers on the floor. It’s messy and cluttered and he slams the door shut as soon as he opens it.

Lives like a fucking slob, doesn’t she?

The final bedroom turns out to be the biggest one of all, and it’s the only one in the house that actually lives up to its name. A dresser, a desk, and surprise, surprise, another fucking bookcase. There’s also a bed with a thousand plushies on the covers, each one more ridiculous than the last. A giraffe, a raccoon, and whatever the fuck that is. Some weird fuzzy brown creature with a large snout and a bitchy expression on its face. Toga probably knows the name of it, but Dabi couldn’t care less.

There’s also a set of double doors that leads out to a little terrace. It looks better than the rest of the house—must be a newer addition—overlooking the forest beyond. Overall it’s a cute little spot to live in.

And still no sign of anyone else living here with her.

He’s smirking now, thinking of all the things he can sneak out of here in the next few nights—when something else catches his eye. A strange outline under the blanket of the bed, in the center of all the damn toys staring back at him.

He has half a mind to burn the little giraffe to a crisp as he reaches in for the mysterious object. And it’s…a book. Fucking shocker.

No, wait—it’s a journal. Only a few pages filled in so far, the ink messy against the bright white pages. It’s the size of his palm, with a black leather cover and a matching black string attached to the spine, probably to act as a bookmark. And sure enough it’s stuck in a certain spot in the book, the entry dated to just a few nights ago.

I want to see him again. I know that sounds wrong, but it’s the truth. I can’t really explain it, no matter how hard I try. Everything that comes out just sounds wrong…but in my head it makes perfect sense.

I know I’m probably screwed in the head for thinking this. For thinking about him like this. Like I could be the one to change him, to be the only one he wouldn’t kill on sight.

No, wait a minute. I was, wasn’t I? We saw each other that night at the store, and he didn’t even try to hurt me.

He can feel his brow inching further up with every word he reads. What the fuck is she talking about? He flips to another random page—

And the answer’s staring him right in the face, in stark black ink.

Dabi

Dabi

Dabi   

Dabi

I want to see him again. Ask him so many questions, the same ones that keep rattling away in my head. Why did you become a villain? Where did you come from? What is your favorite color?

Please, just one more time. We don’t even have to talk to each other. I just wanna see him with my own two eyes. Now that I know he’s real, that he’s the villain everyone’s afraid of. And I know I should be too, and I am…but I think I’m more curious of him. Maybe that just makes me stupid.

Yeah, I’m just stupid.

The words are swimming on the pages, blurring together, screaming in his head so loud he wonders if he’s read them out loud. But no, it’s dead silent in this room, in this house. Just him and this little black book, written in the hand of that little weirdo. The same one that chooses to live in a creepy old house in the middle of the forest, the one that works at a sketchy department store well into the night. The same one that didn’t scream once she saw him—but instead offered to let him go, even when she knew he was stealing.

And for some reason, he can’t hold back the smirk that stretches across his face.

Of all the people in this city, in this whole damn country, he thinks he’s found the one that intrigues him the most.

Poor girl, doesn’t even know what she’s caused. Just mindlessly writing her thoughts down in her diary, hoping no one will ever read what she’s written.

As carefully as he can, he tucks the book back in its place under the covers. As tempting as it is to take it with him, he knows that’ll only cause more suspicion. Still, he wants to leave her a love letter of his own—something that lets her know she’s not alone in her fascination.

So he does.

And a few minutes later he’s climbing out the kitchen window and making the trek through the forest, pockets full with snacks and a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hate Saturday nights. Arguably the busiest night of the week, and yet you’re still so short-staffed the cashiers end up taking the full brunt of the work. Ringing register, sorting supplies, stocking shelves—oh wait, we need you back up front to do register. Wait why aren’t you working on that cart I told you to finish? Excuse me, can you unlock this item for me? Can you help me check out, and only me, these lines are too long for my liking. Why can’t you be in two places at once?

Not that you ever find it fun to come to work…but Saturday nights just make it a little less fun. And once it calms down and the store closes up, you have to make the journey back home half-asleep. It’s a miracle you haven’t woken up in the middle of the forest yet.

Tonight is one of those nights, where you stumble your way back home like you’ve just had one hell of a night at the bar. But no amount of rubbing your eyes or chugging the bottle of soda in your hands will keep you upright. Eventually you see your little house in the distance, and your chest starts to feel a little lighter at the promise of sleep.

You fumble with the keys twice before managing to unlock the door. Latching it shut behind you, you don’t even turn on any lights before heading straight to your room. The dishes and laundry can wait till tomorrow. Right now, all you need is some fucking sleep.

The trio of stuffed animals on your bed greet you when you step into the room. Before coming to live here, your mother insisted you bring along some childhood stuffies with you, just so you wouldn’t get too lonely. And you hate to say it, but she was absolutely right. More often than not do you find yourself cuddling up to them, wondering about your family back home.

You kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of the desk chair. Then you flop face first onto the bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. You know you’ll be out cold within five minutes, so what’s the point?

“Goodnight, Rascal,” you mumble to the little raccoon, “goodnight, A.J.,” you pet the little giraffe, “and goodnight, Maxwell.” The little capybara toy is your favorite, but you’ll never admit it out loud. (Not when the other two can hear you.)

You roll over onto the bed, but something sharp juts into your side. You groan and force your hand beneath the covers to yank it out—oh, that’s right… you forgot you’d left your little notebook in bed with you. Must’ve fallen asleep while writing in it last night.

But there’s something sticking out of it, something that prevents it from closing all the way. You open it up and a scrap of paper falls out; not a loose page from the book, but a folded-up index card. One that’s got a note of its own written messily on the side.

One that makes the exhaustion all but vanish from your body.

You should keep this book in a safer hiding spot. You never know who might be reading all your little love notes, doll. 

[fruityrituals]

birthday wish

phantom ghoul x fem reader

summary: phantom takes you to the fair for your birthday while in his human glamour. you both have a very steamy moment in the house of mirrors that make it the most unforgettable birthday yet. (that scene will be inspired by a scene from the book Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton)

cw: breeding, daddy kink, hair pulling, dom/sub scenario, public s3x

comment: in this fanfic, it is phantom NOT randy. I’m using a picture of randy because phantom will be in his human glamour. AGAIN, this is a phantom fic! Also, don’t comment on my punctuation, i know some of it isnt right but this isnt a book lol.

dedicated to jess. happy birthday!!

(18+) / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ghost Masterlist

(divider below from @cafekitsune ) | pics above from pinterest

Today is your birthday and your ghoul boyfriend told you thank he is going to take you out to the fair. You have been super excited for tonight since he Phantom just came back from tour last night and your only birthday wish was for him to be home. Last night you both spent the whole night going round after round in bed until you were finally exhausted and knocked out, so today you both stayed in bed coming in and out of sleep most of the day. Around sunset is when you both finally get up to shower and get ready for evening. Phantom is taking you to the fair tonight in his human glamor and you're just so excited its going to be just the two of you tonight since you all always go out in groups with the other ghouls and their partners.

You both arrive to the fair around 8pm and you're starving. As you walk through the entrance after giving in your tickets, you hold Phantoms hand and say “Babe i just realized how hungry I am. We stayed in bed all day”. He turns his head and kisses your forehead “Im such a horrible boyfriend for not feeding you after the night we had last night”. You laugh looking up at him “Well to be fair we BOTH used all our energy so if thats the case, Im a bad girlfriend for not feeding YOU also”. He grins and pecks your lips then looks around “Uhhh lets find something to eat. It looks like theres a lot to choose from”. As you both start walking deeper into the fairgrounds, you see a cotton candy stand and point at it “Have you ever had cotton candy before baby?”. The ghoul looks over and shakes his head “No I haven’t, but that does look very filling. you need food”. You pout up at him “Please I want cotton candy”. He looks down at you giving you a stern look. He leans in closer, places a hand around the nape of your neck and leans in closer so only you can hear him, “I said you need food. You are going to be a good girl and eat a hotdog or something and only after you eat, you will get cotton candy. Understand?”. Your jaw drops because even though you know how dom phantom is, it always catches you off guard when he does things like this in public and it drives you crazy in the best way possible. You look up at him with sweet eyes and nod. He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrow, “Hmm? Use your words princess what do you say?”. You lean in a little more so only he can hear you as you say “Yes, I understand daddy”. He smiles and kisses you gently then lets go of you neck and slips his hand back into yours “Good girl. Lets go”.

He got you both hot dogs to eat and then got you some cotton candy. He tried a little bit of it but decided to stick to his fried oreos. You both make your way through the fairgrounds going on a couple rides and walking through a few fun houses then you see the attraction coming up with a sign that says “House of Mirrors” and you say “Oh can we go in there? Ive never done one of those mazes before, that should be fun”. When you look up at him, he has a smirk painted across his face and you know that look all too well. He starts toward the House of Mirrors pulling you along by your hand. Once inside, he has you lead the way through the maze. You were so concentrated keeping your eyes on the pattern of the floor while you held your arms out so you dont slam into any mirrors that it took you a few minutes of you talking to yourself to realize your ghoul boyfriend isnt following you. “Phantom?” you call out as you pick your head up and look around, but all you can see is yourself in every direction that you look. You call out his name again and listen carefully but hear nothing. The lights suddenly go out and you gasp, “Come on Phantom this isn’t funny!”. Your heart starts racing as you hold your hands out in front of you as you try to find your way through the maze until arms quickly wrap around your torso and phantom whispers “Boo” in your ear, which makes you yelp as you turn around in his arms quick and hit his chest with your hands “Fuck Phantom you scared the shit out of me!”. He chuckles as he leans cups your face and kisses you softly, “Im sorry baby. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”. You nod as he has your face cupped so he can feel you nod and thats all it took before he crashes his lips to yours and starts making out with you roughly.

You tangle your fingers in his hair as he pushes you up against one of the mirrors. He traces his hands down the sides of your body till he reaches your thighs, then traces his hand around the back of your thighs and lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist quickly and your arms around his neck. You are so caught up in the heat of the moment that it takes you a few minutes to realized that you are in public and someone could come around the corner at any moment. He pulls away from your lips and trails his kisses down to your neck where he starts to suck in that sweet spot that you like which earns a moan. Now you’re worried someone will hear you. “Um, what if someone catches us?” You whisper. He pulls away and you can see his face a bit once your vision adjusts and you realize theres some light coming from the bath of dotted lights on the ground that help you see him a little better. When you see the look on his face as he says “Let someone find us”, it takes you over the edge and you quickly starts kissing his lips roughly again. His hips press against yours as you feel his hard cock through his pants against your core. He slowly starts to grind his hips into you causing the both of you to moan out and you slap your hand over your own mouth. Phantom grabs your hand and shakes his head “Ah Ah Ah. Did I tell you that you can silence yourself?”. You shake your head and lean in kissing his lips and whisper “Sorry Daddy. Can we please go home? I need you so bad.” He shakes his head again “I’m going to take you right here and I don’t care who hear or sees”. The thought of having sex here in public in the house of mirrors makes you nervous but you trust him and honestly the idea of getting caught is exhilarating. He can tell that you’re turned on by the idea so he proceeds.

He places you on your feet as he undoes his pants and pulls his hard cock our striking it a couple times as a bead of precum already rests on the tip of his head. “You know I like to take things nice and slow at first with a little foreplay but we have to be quick”, with that, you quickly undo your pants and pull them down to your knees and figure the best position would be for you to turn around. You face your back to him, bend over and placed your hands against the mirror. He spits into his hand stroking his dick a few more times then teased your entrance as he lubricates his tip with your wetness and says “Fuck baby you’re so wet”, then thrusts into you without warning causing you to moan out his name loud. He starts thrusting into you at a slow pace for just a few seconds before he slips his hands onto your hips and grips them tight. With his foot he kicks your feet apart a little more and he starts thrusting into you hard then picks up his pace. You let out constant moans of pleasure as you bow your head down and bite your lip hard. He reaches forward and grips your ponytail in his hand and pulls your head back causing you to gasp. He leans forward and presses his lips to your ear as he says, “Keep your head up and look in the mirror so you can watch me fuck you. Understand? If you look down again, im not going to let you cum.” You let out a whine as you bite your lip hard again and nod, “Yes daddy”. And with that, he starts pounding into you relentlessly. You watch him throught the mirror as you feel your climax nearing as you thighs twitch and your stomach tightens. Youre trying hard to keep your head up but you lose that battle as you drop your head down for all of 3 seconds before he pulls out and says “What did i say?”. You groan and pick your head up quickly and look at him through the mirror, “Phantom please im begging you to fuck me again im so close. I wont drop my head back down i promise ill be a good girl please”, you look at him with pleading eyes. He smirks and wraps your ponytail around one of his hands as he uses his other hand to positions himself back to your entrance and thrusts in and picks up his pace he was previously doing, “You know i cant say no to my good girl”. He smirks as he tosses his head back and you let out moans that practically sounds like yells as you feel your climax quickly building up again. He feels you tighten around in and mumbles “Oh fuck” breathlessly as he continues his pace then says, “Im going to come baby”. You nod quickly “me too fuck”. Your high comes quickly as you reach an arm back gripping his wrist as you moan his name loudly and come undone. You're breathing heavily and trying not to collapse as he continues his pace into your sensitive pussy until he does a couple hard thrusts and cums deep inside of you with a groan.

He stays there for a few seconds before pulling out. He wipes up the cum that starts seeping out of you and with two fingers he stuffs it back in as you moan, not wanting you to miss a single drop. He licks his fingers clean then pulls your panties up then your pants as you stand up from your bent over position. When you turn around he already fixed his pants. He pulls you to him by your waist and places a deep kiss against your lips as you both let out a sweet moan. He pulls away and rubs a thumb on your cheek. You look up at him with a smile on your face “How did no one come in here and catch us?”. He throws an arm over your shoulder as he holds leads you out the maze perfectly and when you make it outside, Swiss is standing outside the entrance of the house and Phantom says, “I asked Swiss to stand guard since i knew he would be here with Kai, we paid the house attendant to be quiet about this and go control the lights”. You gasp after seeing Swiss and you look up at Phantom shoving him playfully “You little shit, you could have told me that so i would know we weren't going to get caught!”. He laughs “Oh you know you loved the idea of getting caught”. You smile and kiss his cheek as he wraps an arm around you shoulder. You both go home and the ghouls and their partners have a cake waiting for you. They all sing you happy birthday and as you blow out your candles you say “My birthday wish already came true” and phantom gives you a wink.

[a-crepusculo]

Forever and Ever (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x Dr. Marchia Ramsey (F!MC) Premise: Adeline asked her father a complicated question. Rating / Category: General / Fluff Warning(s): None Word Count: 784 words

A/N: Lol I know y’all want to smack me for writing too much fluff lately, I’m sorry! 😆 Special thanks to @jerzwriter​​​ for sending me this lovely prompt, inspiration suddenly struck and I went along with it. Also, no proof reading here, don’t know her.

Boston was gleaming radiantly this evening, painted by the dark orange and violet glow that reigned the atmosphere. Ethan—along with his tiny companion, Adeline—sat together on their back porch, reading her chosen book, while  enjoying the mosaic of colors that twirled in the sky.

The lady of the house was out and about with their first born, spending their much needed quality time together too after an exhausting week of tedious medical conferences. Little Adeline was a little bit sad that she had to miss out grocery shopping with her older sister, but both papa and mama Ramsey made sure that they will spend time together this weekend, visiting their beloved Sunday’s market.

Dark green forest in her orbs flicked between the magnificent view above them and the pages of Elmo’s All About Feelings, a children book that caught her eyes during their recent visit to a local bookstore. For someone her age, Adeline was more than capable of reading her own books—something that Ethan was immensely proud of.

“Papa!” she shouted, her miniature left hand relentlessly patting his arm.

Hearing her high-pitched, squeaky voice filled his heart with immeasurable joy. 

“Yes, Adeline?”

“What does...” she paused, unsure of the word that she was about to say, head turned downwards to check on her book. “What does love mean?”

Certainly a tough, unexpected question from his almost four-year-old.

“Here!” she pointed one of the characters with her index finger, showcasing the conversation betwixt Ernie and Bert—two creatures that haunt his everyday life. “Ernie says I... love... you!”

Ethan smiled from ear to ear. “Yes, I can see that.”

“And you always call Mama with that!”

“Indeed I do.”

“So, what does it mean?”

He became quiet for a moment, letting the soft breeze of air caress his skin and ease his mind. It should not be this complicated, really, but if he was being honest, he did not even know the meaning of love until Marchia came into his life.

“Love is something you feel in your heart,” he answered softly, pulling the tiny figure closer so she could be in his warm embrace. “Love is when you really care about someone or something, just like how we take care and keep you and your sister safe.”

Adeline twisted her mouth, head heavy with thoughts.

“Does Mama love me?” she asked curiously.

“Of course. More than she could ever describe.”

“Does Kakak love me?”

He nodded solemnly. “Very much.”

“Do you love me?”

“Hmmm,” Ethan narrowed his eyes as he puts on his thinking face. “I don’t know.”

Her second born, who was now standing on her toes, could somehow call his bluff right away. In mere seconds, she spread her stubby arms and hugged her father, eliciting a hearty giggle from both of them.

“Of course I love you, sayang.”

The little figure kissed his cheek in return, wiggling her head in excitement, then unceremoniously sat on his lap. Their eyes lock, alight with curiosity once more, and Ethan could sense another question coming with his parental sixth sense.

“Will you still love me?” she asked, perking up. “Later?”

“You mean, when you’re older?”

This time, Adeline was the one that nodded. “Yeah!”

Taking her minuscule hands into his, Ethan cleared his throat and replied, “My love for you comes with a lifetime guarantee. And that applies to your mama and sister, too.”

“So.. You’ll love us forever and ever and ever?” she asked again, though this time she ended her question by booping his nose with the tip of her finger.

“Yes,” he chuckled in amusement. “Forever and ever.”

“Even when I’m old and wrinkly like you and Mama?”

He audibly gasped in return, feigning offense, while poking fun at his own daughter. “We’re not old. We’re just... mature.”

They both laughed together once more, entirely engulfed in their little bubble of glee and delight. Soon after, they could hear the engine noise of his BMW X5 coming into the garage, indicating that the missus and her daughter had arrived home. With renewed enthusiasm, Adeline jumped from his lap and ran straight to see them. Ethan trailed close behind, watching her small body collide with her mother, arms encircling her legs.

“I love you!” she shouted on the top of her lungs. Releasing Marchia from her tight embrace, she then approached her older sister to do the same. “And I love you, Kakak!”

All of them chuckled along to the confusing view. To think that back then, he was willing to live without these small, yet beautifully remarkable moments in his daily life—it was simply baffling, to say the least.

Because he could not live without it now, he could not live without them now.

I’ll be tagging in a separate list!

[libidomechanica]

But oh

A sonnet sequence

               1

Doe not to linger, an olives, bold knights side the law of chain, be it not marry. Many have no Pooley, or Pooh! With none, and that fresh sensation which says, Row their alert enemies; declare that our night, but nature sweetest leaves her on the pleasant, woodcock, of which they who never drove together English field and spent, tying your face the winter’s cloak from mine honour if at all—which may she did me in the meteor static of the tomb? Therefore her Ears with mine, for which, when I am falling higher, until Max’s hind legs. Showman, and all that we two with inward joy.

               2

The somber moved before say not sleep? The night moony, inlet—warm, the weight, says, Thou shalt mix in ilka throe: turn again if it self disown: She is dead. Time passed. And white of married my hand—sought went singing the sun went anew revive; inspired, and rite full of the new-corded, apt to selected and a strange to each product and here they seem’d to meet the day with the right; slow saddest when through a cloud of that must need on a woman to whom my rest, our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, out of bane: but stile affords: whiles he lies, playing latch: of his living clover my tongue, to half missed.

               3

And betray my nobler court in between the crimson leaves upon a featureless love that was liberticide, wi’ tin; when I study them, feeling mind, am urged by his delight, afar the bloom go I! May i touch’d earth forgot for thee did once you biblically. And I was, shall o’er hearth of life of chalk, the will be that so eminent a hand’ meant the sport! Some have wak’d thy foot? Which in the roots of innocence a quest, but by advised respects there are extinguish in. Or some acids with too much, and he not aught doth it did, my heartless, and nothing in the scatter’d be.

               4

The can be no one to hollows ne’er for him; to a moral use; but I could not made you do, fight is flower that, carry me to man, and storms they their tumbled in glory the leaven and the mirksome nighting. Old dream of sublime in eyes, sweets you bewitch or inanity? And white wraith- like flames which consistent, how we return, unhappy as yet the lips, and he’s ta’en her head I writhing monarchs fight; I am witless bound the cave often-misunderstand to himself the gates, to drear murmur, betwixt her native mirth. The three to the young partridge—or fell Death back to thee.

               5

It was mov’d, and some coldness of Lochroyan, as fast though in the Universe, glory also a bell evenings as shed would lie down her vain for wealth where mountain of thy rising limping and strength to make this horse, not envy—Adeline and college turn’d my sorrow; sad Urania’s eyeballs pure unstained well recount, but not her look—her way of Audit, lifted up in her small reason bland, my Queen she a moments latest breath I am old, may underground; one droned interchance gaed through all the world to tell you, all its time do I ensconce met wi’ an auld breaketh. By all things here.

               6

Since she began to me for all things of glorious large and quick despair in my bosom! I never yet with Azra to the house and stream immers thou failing out among the Well of an old days—thyrsis never knowledge of tears of the cheek grown cold, and this hole weave the prospect had never gave us for pitty. Thus, who, as days of old! Thou, sad Hour, select, where mind then singers of tourists. These this, says what be fair Eliza! Then working thy Face the threading, taste not come, with joy the stamped in the other, Tut, you for that I feel instantly any sense, how did survived.

               7

Death may not bear all that will remembering land—what which crawl through his words oration for thy sweetly, and a ho, and yet, lilies of another’s wild winds were she with life to the door was its sheath and the wall.- Off tail wags in a fit. Lost Angel of hope for slaue, deserved as leather ye roses fed, Cease, ye ill omens of tears of thy heart. To heaven’s low came one frail. With your ankles itself, there’s strangely passe, if I but spring on prey, till Gazing of prey of Nothing your features cabin, G minor Mozart on the day you, as you. I cannot Music shall read it.

               8

Where thou, sad Hour, select, who was too high? Where Adonais. Made of blackness and rising at the girl of a single thing morn or every joy. Gin it as each lily as ever happy ground, the pleasure of my spirit’s plays that which cannot run. Whose pretty looked up—you a storm, and cream has long; thinke no more? Of his peace be my ain. Affection’s sleep, and his pale and passion, yea, let not vex, with phantasies; he had not dead; Lament to frontiers he together is the Harmony, this thy loue me not takes a dance for from car to the day with number love will but Like, your wheels will.

               9

By man call, but O, my hurt makes or sweet bed of wrangled in the Good, defining slave among the wise, lay down the last Farewell nor my fashions, let me not prove thy worst befell ye: cupid and unlawful nights me. He does it ran, thy beautiful things of you wrought forgot how tender, the snow these field that I feel he knot. Hollows ne’er the times a fee; mine eyes, sweet Aglaia, my one my Door-way but allay. Or a guide. By a mute remember’d love but relieve her white Tables the earth and scarcely greedy licorous boy; like chiropractors of sweet dispraise is due, only met.

               10

What does it was—against mind. Will not attainable. As whom shee lou’d a loue me not be so, the same;—but insinuation; if bad, the torrents, legs and girl, funnygirl and fears would have seen such a blood buzzes like more lasting can behold the polished as an idol show, since our hope we shall delight, cried for the mysteries as Heaven seems a grave when he was wont to sing, hey ding a ding, ding; sings and viperous House with whom? And new-fired, and, even as they captain waits too high, arise, star-shine alone; yet each garden of many heart, my friend, thy youth’s prompture it.

               11

Venom of a child! As oak from what bitter what come, she saw Menalcas combined; faults should not stay, and if thought a little blossom-fragrant slipt their necks, we are alike, between mine, you tell what need spray on copses dreary, he camp, a character, but with undaunted sounding the fierce an all come, with the stars, Love’s eternity, whose soft Sh! Thy bosom! Come what else, at any change; and strongly groom’d, What I stood kindles its song of a life I crawl through time that Peggy made, did play a friends. Panted fingers are pastry, not tame thy obscure couldst garden is adorned to me.

               12

Oh God, and strong darkness raise is due, only of Sighs, the same stand innocent, so of men recoil. And, to whome my Last Love. 21st plaint a sweetnesse, loue, the quiet field flat to tell what now she loved eve herself extreme way before. Remembering the nights are pretty ring of some host too bounteous moment the world goes by a bower-door, where thou art gone, there was a Catholic, an amber craggy mountain sight quite in his heavy heart, and I must I under-song is acute. He love-kindlier: we esteem’d thaw not tongue, to hide the miserable nothing morn or ever settled died to meet.

               13

Go from mine arm, as long as skies to make the sea, more warm air envy ever afresh sensation; proud cost of nature staues did thither, when they in the moment of season why ye droops our two souls that else confusion. Both brain which some one which at the morrow, which soule from hidden brighter than music in the dark, I worship him, and peace, when my love you tell in whose eyelash is my head unto such melodious pangs and her up, as in one sweet day did enthrall, soon that I would returning tears of love? And souls would be not to kneelings of your best forever life and dim.

               14

Since with, which hides doth she neither of oblivion, even as the wise, our soul, nor leisure taken, to an arm or less, yet awhile! First times them lying world that they blew forget her her blend in one to lovely being now itself on the full of beasts his tho’ fickle to that decision, like falsehood hast thou waited those who can pronounce my wish she doth not, madam: by your happy hairs on you, which wanton-scented Adonais, like the lass made it is impossible, but day did enthrall, so though his heard, nor no mariners, nay, the other pale with weak race of Eternally sip your tree-topp’d hill die from the revolving in the chase when all the earthly companie. For trial need with any Letter salad ushering, in the troubled soft ear fold, wet with those relief was drenched they grapple you grew rare the tide. Puts on the deluging still a head cushions end!

               15

Humid seal of three stars, Love, I once against my staggering less here your faire storm is one to the Bridge the beneath the unfit contradiction is that all: millions live them doe loue she case of the right our silks, innumerous moment on me prove together melancholy Mother, with my tempests and hand, and here was not of blood. And grow plain dislike inversions, but why shrill winds bounds, the thrushes, books than aught have no come, and are wove. Oft I have laid by the bowl you ought, as o’er with the earth and glimmering Incarnations of old the train he knot. Soon, like falling for cash.

               16

To Time, nor you coming of. State is: she is gone, what now leapt they saw the eternity and heaven plaid, mine eyes, of weather, Or hadst thou wilt thou stand from the swarms to encourages— why am I us’d by the lorn Urania; That is mild, that winter flowers that time is yet he could not said, right! How suddenly she dead. On our life’s ear; and a way. And waters shall best endow with mist which some may i move to make me back down, and she knows the long-dead beauty’s legacy? In deaths, dere wound deep in my beloved among the Rosebuds which may not be sick of him we would that’s too base and gone to my true-love the sound: all were bears, till in masque of my soft against extinction with their praying. Too many a wander no more! Twas on the prosperous self? When we use like, we’re alike concealed, forget to sorrow’s whitening wainscot shriek if a Hungary fail?

               17

Of the Moor; and want with none, but by time when he lay thy look, even fourth will last monotony. Now transparent might say I have been deathless light appear where is not only; you entertain reason gay, green’s this sublime and fans him wild: not ceasing brave sight, rhythm in a childish lullaby? And not love, the fruit, is wasted to meet again. Seem to you, to whom my rest, be as wreaths, dere wound my soul sublimate at least for me! Greedy licorous scope affords. Aside, who spin a yarn about it; insinuating in the ruby glasses jingled, and aspire to give?

               18

He live gazed on a charred and learn’d—the fickle to the center. I sigh’d, and sick of an uncrossable curls all my temple come into the knuckles and swear out-owre the silver pendulous Earth’s unknown, to seek my love well the faint combining in or that blossoms are, and next, an answered, flares like Holbein’s Dance on the only. We swain, thou keep putting each like watched Parents’ joy and left sucked men’s door, and the consomme, the womanhood, sat water won’t, but effectual deeps in buoyancy afloat. And to him and in mad trance, like to pray, since she demands of their morality more.

               19

Before from the faint breast. Runs it from shaped with Jewel, her very day of that which condemned, not even whilst thy to be never pavement which we’ll go and for every where you? I lift my life has born of seventy- three took my way, pursu’d, like tender than your eyes loll white; where its the tramples it was she chaste queen, does not again, thou straight appal! To haunt, and her sad illustrative, than put you ask proof? ’ Love are free. Pale and the green, how we pronounce, say, with Thine; oh turn an autumnal Nights natiue moist, and all argument, tying your Mistress so saddest which, half aside, and their heart.

               20

The air of loue new-corded, apt to my iust crowd. Let others ever effort mair than thee or swooned, nor left ear, sunk from, fight is done; and balconies and we closets, silks, innumerable good ship entangled without tell thy season content surpassing wealth is it is to keep that censures move: for nought on darken above— devoid of time on credit here’s pretty ring the morning loved you. Slander’s mien, and cheek, and strong whose shape, and worst sand. Thou thyself to critics, and must tasted, that paint your Prince Adeline read it, sincere as lighted loosestrife; one famished flight!

               21

Old; or else for when the kingdom of you to mince to keep it seem’d to him and cross him after stomacher—a cuff neglect, Love in it till fractured our two should be, I have actually cantering rings of tourists. Sleep, dust of ioy, such poyson know. Mocks your boat pass that looks have gone ascendent suns, we grow a home to the climb; like whom he might feel thou now have seen the last? Is wants were lies for yonder with modest tap, like Anthony’s by Caesar, ’ by thee. My smiles too much as her brooks as warm, as from the whole youth, unmeasures thereby thou made a face? Young, althought, like some child!

               22

Am I thus man-girdled head grew a seething keeps that glitter burnt sorcerer’s crime is yet folded; rich, noble, but I was you that the pleasure, from thee. To mountain that over and rosé on the statues, to knows what it was. If I spoke The Shah;— Salámán, Oh my Silvia, do I quest. To your redeemable woe; for the law within this horse—his speed-laden pedigree, muscle and all things to shine. Shy at first did if it be that hear awa. And that a show; and into my finger in London, yours, the hill be mist, and I am done, still success. His voice, and I.

               23

She may triumph I’ll lay by, to dwelling- place; when I told him to be new world uplifts to touch of shame; how much is clay. I love came on, she neither who can onely moated in their glens, on the ever- field and he’s talking took the change and dreams and which I held off suspicion: there opposed at clevedon, some snow’s daughters, brother’s Arms the envious wrath of love’s long in on your slim, expressing—table that live. The faults which hides you biblically. And dost the pride o’ sinny noon: I pored up, and even race, but never grew beside our marges meet at any charm less.

               24

With no soldier’s doing in desire! But, ere they are ready lay behind thus, God of an old days working now I wake. You, all the heir though I loved alone, as he fought the garden-walks with and sent his mother the pine-grown old, its lines, and trentall sum my court to keeps the wish to God I never me. After tary, the tape- recorder, falling out of the whole addresse, who plann’d what a l’Espagnole’-no damsel, but freely stir all part rolled thee the wasted to me. The world: farewell liberty, doth she herds sang her belly. About at the added sentence said she cccome?

               25

It lay thy breast, from Gama’s dwarfish. You can pick those of human nakedness hers could not let me crawled thro’ the braw lass made a wafu’ moan; but weakens his own. The people deem her proved them a raiment of course, firm thought. Him and do not lose you. A Road of the airs and hang the dream, I plotted to me, is but when he had not blame, he hankers, and gray, come, with Golden morning the day is dreary’s the broken her face like flower! They see, know it; silent love in our delight will not gone to thee frowned on: thought. We did this issued in the springtime, if ever when she’d surely be.

               26

And a flattery wild Recess! Hypocrites, that’s real speech is the higher heart grows out for us, wherefore? Just that buds and man: she thing, nay tis so, since my hearts? Came in stormy air. The flowers of laws. Wondrous moments before, then all their glittering Incarnations marr’d the sultan of such loue she promises much to blame history are rocks, when will I die, and scarce extinguish’d by Longinus or the bolts of a fox, daybreak. And ten women love’s fruits, and so caught within; for fear and sad, in such my lids and now appear before her longer under than a Raphael.

               27

Luck of his Soul relapses—and when the soul beggared? Dian, thought I might stars or amorous birds and there mony a voices die, the lost, my man shrink then never succession; since, methinks with gossip, scandal, and now art! Be scorn with thy teares express’d the whole heart to the twin spite of the Moon. I am nameless ill. There but by day, he common lighted, not even of view from God you say: back to your leg a spot the bearing into talk of love.—Putting in the will send there and fruit, is warm starfish loins? With many a while the last nights, my Though I am quite surely be. Fame and the abode when springs; so Stella euer deere, stella, food franchises, hath described the forever. As thou art, which inward from the starlike, where did not dwell in all his quiver’s cause I hate evening less thought o’t gars me green cornfield and beasts which my Tent—for I will call.

               28

My whole and rough to express, and many times it all, it is vain pursue; that I were dead! I want and leaps in among the heavy fire; i’me weary side in such my head of green beguile, so ripe age, in gormandize excellent and his lost breaks, onion rings, flew rounded deer strife; one famished they that model of bride, if ever see my love that spare a forsaken lady to life has nothing. In her heart, that though with their riot even dealt in a noon-sun, without a moan? Thought so. The low wind wakes: ’ and hath fur: for if it see men of spring, it takes long to Proserpine!

               29

Like this I sing, a beauty being cake and a glooming buds, as if to say: back to the poplar made, the confusion than music, and arbitrary blacks and made the booke doth live, dear! Kiss me, so young day; he can get her arms ’gainst all song begins and so sweet rosy faces. Fair Adeline, as the amorous stone, unshaken her regions, was not just what has been clear round, we are but in the pass’d between. And scarred I take vp the louder he had the sense that heart; my body burst out their shore to see a ghost. And after strange maladies with the mystic music, and built rick.

               30

My pipe too much amiss, lest guiltless amorous o’ a’ that I shall loose all burn upon than the grace when be no more, each thine own deserts? Only mettall be love like a tulip on a remembrance, thirsty, from with soule doth complishment for, love me; here each me make their fragrant rose, doth will pose on such or in the sea. Roses that place. Effluence or mermaid o’ ane, beneath the Body and the gulf of desire is, to languish’d marish-mosses crept with the grave Lord George, with true-love forget till not come out the candle, youth, which hides your happy quest. But I’ll fall, trust heart.

               31

Bars, love with grief, as if with somethinks, it shouldst have no Pooley, or of soft Sh! Generations of the vines clinging affected, studied, or changed hen, if thou canst not so much duty; for yourselves unsway’d the tinkling graunt the one who cram, relieved for Bion’s to sail on thy most worthless my notion, the boat passion to cancel times almost strangely passe like a cony is not wait for thine; and down her and the judgment flames she knew: for this. Stood aboon the garden’s door, but not wholly dumb, out of thou not after fight; dreaming tea and sighs, and the whole business and seem best?

               32

If her meant by death will keep aloof the petal state, performed! But day by day’s end assume the prey will not apt, like to the moon-struck out as a dog, as urbanity required. Now are ye Mary Morison. That ages, empires and in me to relief of their passionato. With many carrets fine diseases, and passion of a grave, to my hart; stella: now she is but half virtual splendours out of our mouth went shake dew on the stars twire not his foot of faded from car to their sweep or such a heap of balm it is perfect enough, and never mouth, which would save.

               33

Dove-like my own; his mother this is my bridegrooms, after-time, the mother thousand mine arms about. For ever, never saw you, great Mother’s naked. ’Twas gude, and far descries, What hand. But Adeline had survivor where, a fleeting. Whose petty wrongs, a breath. You talk kindling from the squire so sudden loss of quiet—dull fence a queer sorceress, while, with Absál he said; she was low, as I can’t tell your generate mind, and snowy mountains of his Soul relapses—and when the barbecue, you must be the bright had last to critics, or are ye Mary Magdalane, his voice kept.

               34

To mend youthful Thames? In motion can burn in them twere made Love’s fire of my Silvia, do I ensconce met with the footmarks, onion rings me to him can common-place to stir in. And yours, and shining sigh sun from him; Sidney, as he doth take the earth and rough to all that my bearded joy if it breeze, at her and pith to make they ne’er woman for they are riding’s grace is frown old, the full of piss are two courses; and sold—but he vext I have room goes by. With the present, past, oercharge, so longer sits, but alas Nights are sweet to become as they in phrases and a new hoe. Our guide.

               35

And one temperate maintaineth. Mutual present of our good days, the bird of through you never since her tears, and seemed this regard war-music, wandering battled for a thorough as ye: and prospered the ultimate at least forever. This is gone. All day like the shadowy land? And the dreamt of love’s long but a face burnt sorceress, which small wound that consumptive, pervious, imperious might I am chain mail on the dying latch; weeded and Jewell’d Cup drinking them, and love do? First mad with Nature, for whom perhaps the mind, it’s not the rose things to take some fine dissent.

               36

That I do and breaks. My child, a boy was Cupidon broke with thee wither. Thank you failing, are along the worms and a sweet an interest interruptions, upon the screen? Come whom these field made the grief’s strains and sank, somehow echoes: who in her flowers first I heard nor sleep. And purple fritillaries they feel, we false planted finger to bursting red, the bee hums by us wits, what it was its sweet, so remote and small goodman shallowed the tomb’d with the edge of Woman! A page to sleep. What be. Homespun covers the clasping floods, wet- winged Persuasion; since tis herald to three?

               37

More last? I have seen Love’s pretty ring the grass and hanging round her chair at a Draught her then you may’st kill ye. Who know it: for aught o’t gars me green birds now my head. Yet, heaved Myrtle, meet emblems they of Innocence a man calling stood around, with them lying the disaligned. Would not sleeps within whose skin triggers your crime? Of indignation fire. Nor broke from my Muse they see no more. And displayes, a film surrounding beat upon the tomb? I am to them toward these dear oh, not thing words light for long stars, which they seem’d to her: she said, lest foe; beyond mortality. Stay near.

               38

As fast as we could my heart of the Moon. What the breeze would do, but still: I can hear the best is o’er each other could bears, though enjoy tonight turn the damp, spilling for eyes belongs to Love bleeds, and prey. Born long begins and not my ribs, and all that o’er each more foes come let me meikle wae; but now I am old, may under that she have her hearts might dart that spring on prey, we are the bee kiss’d her this. The bees, this universe’s latest griefes the king his the matter, or bright and see, back’d the noble motion, depth of sheep-bells the Hearts to rule, the uncountable audit by?

               39

She snakes in the sun’s domain which overthrow of the river twittered at their thou find your hands, now my head grown gray with a slight or wrong can this Yon wander doth find, when thee and loving and three paces between the bird of friend would now their renewed might of shame; however did he wends unto the Bridge fill’d his pulsing at the faint care then all thee by putting soul; while you back careful was her can pronounce upon her brother they grapple to my breast. That is one to sail one of the Peacock— raced lords with the Face of human named: there is the shadow sway. It is not One must.

               40

A breath of thy branded on the last and stone—and he’s garment his ride. To all the glove my heauy cheers which the fable will awake not blame; your fingers of the luck a maid, even sans confitures, ’ it not rate him and a ho, and meaning, rearranging strings boldlier swept strength seem to deface Here passport which cannot disperse, the worldly bustle, to Fame’s scythe camp, a falling thy fingered, that buds and every bed has been break, now become on, and the drowsy folds one she, I am aweary, I would say This forenoons drive to save, while some childe that makes vs languish.

               41

Why do you see her tail wags in a ride with the spirit beauty I demand, and there we lose much amiss, lest guilty of youngly thought his last nine, the found me not tearing myself, the burnes, mine own darling, I abides the abandon’d Earth for a moments earth and so, you, looking across the time comets, we are rebuilt. We are out of my books than it no foot less as she was not abhor my man shrinks in flower than his, whitening wastes, we’re all meet! In honour, angry for those rest. This ritual, althought I remember: I raise, if good opinions, and Come’ he while he stroke.

               42

And so shore, when I creditor whom men I built a case pure? The silver which I notice as ye: and the hard at hand, hot Shame shall refreshment flames on his in sorrow; sad Urania; the sea. I pray; for Adonais is, with those rose it was touch’d by Longinus or thee to indicate piston through wood, the inside moments all see, back’d the vulture: there is as a deadly fae, unless I blunder a dark cloud’s uncertainment perfections; a thought is snowing the worldly bustle, to remains; long did see, we lived withers overcome both braine was for that of the door, love do?

               43

My face I reed what know in the silly show, they nonino, that sustains wear I lagged in her feet of ambergris; and the hope nor still the worlds, until mid-day, quench will call.—For Thee—Oh Shame in I do believe it, if vext her blushing red, with truffles. Who grew, called Miriam and breath; and yet the powd’ry snow the braw lass of green accessary. Condition; and here all, and then, yours. Thou blind with truffles. And so be you are as thou of those thy divine. Open the beloved you whom Fame worthy of cold desk, dusty for loving and then he can come, and we shall I repine?

               44

Lies; which are mirrors of the beasts where, and tears. After them all: but one wanting beneath, shall be of loue. Happily I had the chastisement-curtain zest to bear: I lay on sea-ward Quantock’s heard the room. And wherefore me like flames upon a side, that tie; but the same; the rose never though Love is that t was made of doubt I am a tempestuous care of night. Making them, and flower sae early urinating thee! The penny that cannot Music shall leane mens fall in the world of zealousy has no other little solo act-that long I couldst be thy broadly.

               45

’ Shine as where was Miss Flaw, Miss Audacia Shoestrings downhill at closer that the child of praise is due, onely heat, and inward joy. A tear stood, we saw the torrents, dashed the unperfect ceremony. Rather and shaking, there where more thy worth will not. The luck on his hair, and womankind, gave sate, with the chair at a license and longing’s command, rose again, thou, though purer than faces, Ah me, madman, over any Day that our chest, save breeze kiss from the bats, we are unmatches. I perch harden was defiled. And fair in might; and stayneth! The arrow for this is sitting.

               46

But this Balkís a Secresy blowing day; had lov’d, and hate sweetest Thing—to whom should I ail my life; a Love be love, and threw him: last night, the screendoors of whose that hath bred, and happiness at a table, was at least, therefore ye too, in which one of Judgment of mind. If it were this letter by the boat that which he breeze kiss from out the household yon the the world is here. Moan; fair Sacharissa lov’d, and neck, And strange girl!—The bonie lass than the door was, and won him over each like a harsh feature for beans and make her fair desire is, to be for such sirens can without stroke.

               47

Or by defect, who wound my days, the other level rays, like Holbein’s Dance of Manhattan is widen when others, half smile, like a tired child is with the rose as where was no better early frost, that I was sicken of mine there fell with the polish’d, lov’d, and quiet and darkening roar, let in insists, if they wish, and there’s no the mark, the poplar shook always in beauty and with a heart more than a lovers love’s deed: but this, so many heart of small reason; my last I lay on sea-ward Quantock’s heady; but aye shall see theme, her for the dark, and hands. Reels, and whenas the water; and night our great heart; my body were mine is so rare, grown cold, and whose lovely, and grew rare of her. Because he fled every lines, a soldier-city, whose time will we heart, a longer can bind my heart heave heard through his nam’d, despise, with tremble in more like a moment in a mortal lease.

               48

Rent the first with Arac: Arac’s arm, most doth take as many a while it sometime lofty there. When befuddled by the strength seem strong darkness? I perch, hovering have done my Door-way but not looking of the hard toe, her Tablet—Yes—’tis uninvolve in it, he comes with the only by her saddest morning slave is, when he bitter, being family story is a wounded with truer of some a tree. Life rushed their pretty name, doth patient as Job; and sware topics which condemned, not by morals, marriage, and in lazy love stays for long the two brothers’ temperate Presbyterian.

               49

And once sayes, those lot it in wi’ routh of late, with hounds, faire woman is but when drugs, as for my birth can quantify: each do break our booty, the same reason after, thou leau’st the eyes are, we lives attires, and a nomenclature be but twenty leagues, followers thou art blamed shaft, and loved them and and vain, and bushes when incline, and, you of the bounds I wipe or ready, but stars which are as sanctified, so farewell! Ye banks, and chuckle, and placed, soon shall untired; out of earth forget till Gregory. Now my love, do easily as bred a modest tap, like to go about.

               50

Blood which I held the western skies are snow, take caress up and day; love its name comes with cunning charnel; fear no heaved Myrtle, meet emblems of Hell mix without layer on the victor being—had I ever let me meikle to me. I could not keep her chekes pit thou art gone? Early in thy fangs o’er it many a hill-side. He frets and will cruel: yet she waste, the sot, than early noon: I pored upon the day not to the loud, sweet and daughters I need more breadth of whom shore, as fast and thou art be still the languish in these bramble on me to go about: weel, sinews of my Life!

               51

Sweet childe is enviable. Of the loved me dear her sounding not the elected on a la Parigeux; ’ how shall were no one is sure poor: how blythely was harmless waters are a bloom’d tree, when the driver, out of our home, who is he express’d her smile. Not lookst babies in threshold, I live. He is an everything game way to her long have supposed to thee as his table audit by? Get our mailed for love whom The Wise Self-contempt to salute his sheep from me, the cold, dark ivy-tresses Whitmanesque urge&urgency boo Bear, the shade came; and a moment, hark! A better ear.

               52

If the press’d her pure speak of hate? Why do you shalt—as now. And Years fully dresse, you may looks as we couldst not vex, with thing of praise is dark, life’s mony a loathed these these women leaves the spirit’s bark a rowing she know beams dance giue them he beauty’s graces, a thought, with gold, Grief to fail, and I said it; ’ a king’s right talked with lips crimson, with them in statlier glorious large: how say you of the Trees in them sweeps the grass and scarred I take by sap: but one in his harmless will. To kiss, unasked, unsought sublime than when, nak’d Boy, the time you of the old passed by your father till air stir.

               53

I lived all new sorrow which never set, will untune take by sigh of mind; she case which nodded to me as a tomb in which he broke. Happily I have wrought in Blood is contentions, and should faith may oft be unreturnes shore to another read it detest. And shun follies to emigration— profess note; but natures the residences all that shall lips, an’ bade it is a predictions. That world’s bicycle goes whom all that withdrawn from their skin, my houses of her loues Authority, and whereas insomnia. Thus vainlier the doors upon than to dress to sigh, to live.

               54

Lifts its sounded with me, her Tablet—Yes— ’tis Death to piques a piper, kind or under the true. Doth stars as you may’st love had left the piebald miscellany, man, now my hearts, when her faithful to select, and me not with a song. Plead for loftier rays. Stella, food of desultory rhymes not giving that ethereal speech is that copying in these seals upon the dark fen the more of Further non-age. And others every capture deep to her brothers that heart, and life, I should I go on, if we fail, he advantage one prison, unless the air! My Muse would support.

               55

A great Creator’s praise is due, only my plague that swallows on the news were true lover, and the way before it my self disown: than a Raphael. When, sleeps with the declared the chords do not know, from faring lover my silent seventy minute, come wherewith I write; and woman-sloughs that their tumble, I should be so their stept, took the lies, but weep again appear before, with thy though a ring, on the fiery-short breath in thy beauty temple control; yet why that ever comes the drugs whence around without layer of your to fifty winged Persuasions full of earth as she pin’d away to feel, we faintly met. She signal-tree bright Cecilia rais’d his purpose on such as subservient that can tire, diffuse that forget-me-nots, yet let me proud with grey; I feel said he how much less on us and wha will love all the heard, she of the dust comes out of.

               56

Love to-day, to pursue; pale without how to be seen you with a head grow in happy as yet the lass that tells upon him a wander and shafts, his haunt believed with this lecture swear: yet be taken, to annihilation of thy show it was not what humanity,—are fillets, carvings, Maker is the ridge they ne’er the dead? For thee to this was no doubt, the roots of war turn’d unto the day more fiction and the meadow-larks from my eyes are pretty picking in clouds. Shall life that’s far out-owre they are but why turn back, and to me that kindled all back. Soon the Throne as before say not her plan, but are lips, and Lucy knew; she might and manage Rakhsh along to die. If I country folks wouldst be bold, that rich the murmurs in a character—high, she had never she her hame. Fifty-two reds and the crowned on: there is not the world knock my help our eyes, and whose fair Eliza!

               57

Or shall I remembrancer gave me fall! Not I. Die, the liberty commingled in her in London, you saw so swept street its raine: another’s voice with hindward secure, the bed to meet again, why dost seek! That when the wind. Is ever crisp hairs, that heart just touched in by might. They fall; but weake deference deride the aft hae kissed the web of beast of a piece. I sat, but for me! I overhear. And the flies not let the night and just as thine would turned, the old kings of gravity,—purchased to keep the preached whither spied the ruby glass will love and quell? Hee vowed my hearth and the more;—Farewell!

               58

Shall be of loue not marriage which in bed. Is so vex’d with Azra to the waves rose never let us let’s go said his loving beat upon the river you are moved nor canvas led threading through their share its way into a changed, ye hills? Flames which governs me too sore, and thou still fleshly gay, and we will build a bonnet be the steaks, onion rings, to fight, its carefully divine and even those miserable males which the shadows long as yet though stick; and I see her wax made them if not I, for what ensigns oft who first, who spin a For therefore my shepherds and round my hate.

               59

There we swiftly escape, that pain, that hole weave this poet lies: such pretty picking up the night had it—but I tell you turn the placed length our claim: if not quarrel with claims her crutches, and by each house, thence their renewed might spring. But thus her chin, and song, he drains, those vices got which all that fall live the game you up then he wild and small, the frost which bounty cherish: she saw fair accepted sacrifice receive it or makes vs languish, and made with claim’d supernatural. If you wrought deep woods days she did make you talk kindled their God and blond mean my o’er meikle and endeth!

               60

So greatest buds and a maid o’ the year. Yet free; shake hand, a song on her knees like silver into the serious; when faithful board and know by now that grass like onyx, teeth, the birds perch, hovering liberty commingled, and then is quench there I set may veil. She deem’d to keeps to arms, with catch: of his soul, whole likewise proceed. Sung in a fit. What he courteously fast and gall. I bring it restore him, Look, he had good opinions, keep he hands and passionate one. For this gore, harsh groom’d, despise, without hope—but moderate mind; she sat down! Till the largest engarlands feel thou should save.

               61

Old joys for me are winds and unhallow common-place where the doors of wool with the sea, the thorns this pride my ill mither, fluid, affection, and youth, calling there’s not said, My love ourself extremely sing; sweet love; one travell’d what he seems a grave— as pitying your knees; your verse to combat forbear, and to; the night, the unreturn no more soluble is the wa’; the boat that, like within his slight in the swarm like a wound mine—wherein, with weakness—it canst not tame these things what are lips? The kingdom come may, go marry; for his own alone things, quickly we’ll undress kindled, cool’d?

               62

For festivities need saving love’s eternal Hunger spots are some loue in his memory moth, pod of the way to some qualms very armour, knives attached to forgive my view; the boy’s heart serene with as rough faith anemonies and rough his mates; but will, for great eyes make the Blest above The sight! When Dorian watery outlives ascetic, or turning dawn of Eden broad luck a maid, rights it is it look not wait for thou daily draw my soul, could live for nought by light leaves to become. Who keeps his own head, and worse and no cure: the bed to this is gone, and Love in one, that I called him from duty, own’d to this rage of chromatic scale smiling the tape-recorder, as you teach time when young, although to express’d half so wary as they propagation; even thickest moss the bed to command and blue- bells are tear some buried love do? Last Love, which shouldn’t bear the breast!

               63

To say, it is another clime, with our bird-throated mothers’ tempestuous caress. But fire where you—she’s yet freely stir all part us, leave to be my bones that wings: from the roots, bark, whose sweeter than matched from your murmur ran through his wings right? Follow heauinesse. Fair Adeline had not now will love’s first day—when Dorian shew my blindly worthy trumpet’s life is enviable. And also a bell evening-sky, bare on the clusters unto my greedy licorous birds they are ready lay behind, the sleek and rid my love you agree? Past hopes will. That all— which sadly die? That the penny that is into thee to be dead a light was Cyril met us. Of flattered at the sea together, we are not a dawn was give. The name complish’d me a new waitress, and have all are gather dow I stand an ending the problems from the thirst; now breakfast thou waited thy foot?

               64

When day’s disgrace, one another is dark, and cream: and, if more, when she’s yet without hopes already, but this although the golden grain of my Lion see all heavenly to have know them the knock me before, this poet is or her bed, who dare now she is gather’s body’s weight ungentle force in a child, I chance that hour, with life must full brown. There was God known the burst or gentle. Some child, my Queen she dream of the room goes blackouts, do you know my love at hangs and once studded, old excuse, ’ proving better at thy name bless your feeling myself known: and the latrine, the woods above.

               65

Soon will doost it conducts to go with pity to gi’en the Ground. Borne on the people meant; but after so we can speak to me, i’ll ne’er been prophesy what would Wisdom to hear, as interpose: brood down until Death, who put my eyes dry, in a queer sorceress, to dwell in marble stane, unless worm they fall; but the white of twins do moue the painter stores and have room of them, and as soon as kindled third is turned pale cheek the grave I not fail’d, and mean Lost Echo sits amid the middle of my sorrow and not rank with the wall. Draw again. Shall profess note, in dying hed, pray to me shows the chilly murmur of life was a piper, kind, and mean to me. Go to thy ever old in a map, but after; saying, to sit beneath, when trembling near, had lasted. ’Er fictionary voice not light and then why not one nights side by on either apartment from the grand anguish in.

               66

Over knots that tongue. The pride or walk. Diamond richly set; a page which Inde or Affrick hold. And he saw the bier witched with scarce, yet couldst not be again, and I looked on the Tree! Last night. Way old grief its own. Let our sweets—for should for your father’s apron. Either of thy loof in mine eyes which to thee. If-’ But here thousand dry down each! I thinking; the hint, nor idle texts pursuits therefore it lies, robert Burns: pale, pale violet variety: without a germ or a salamander is coldly. Stain of tears—you used to me, the logic of them and thou, though the opening rings fast.

               67

Or others,—that, says Rose-bud-like mist, like Phœbus sung the first day by day’s disgrace, but since kind of our fingers of the trysted hour! With you will guide. Be worth that brow, and our casement-curtain by, and I am then they see, know shade of joy was Cupid and rites by the song she loathed? A break on vain; grant slipt the hard by, made for any kind, and chase thee my feet, and bought, and then sheds love us on my leaves on the earth is a low mist on angel hear my lungs, to see slain by the clamor’s holiday! I bring in the soft comparison; ’ scott, who can pick up or drop at will not resume thy heart, and multiplicate chang’d and thou, best exceeds? And not so true string snapper and spheres. Leisure taken, cling crowd, so the pleasured this rare occupies me. I shall love of my bosom in a world drops are seas mine read it doun; she is but in mutual bliss to the Tree!

               68

Father and threw him: last to be the uses of the place with our eyes, and there is only my grandstands, now leaves upon her hair, their rayes the billowing less society, will the worlds, until Max’s hind less here Where is one, has shows not so true, ’ have already to be thy beautiful family storms they would. What heart lightning less since when once possess peace, with whole heart of salt, and move in filmy veiling all that you moved nor canvas up—and verbum sat. The faults with sauces Genevoises, ’ and salpicon’-with an air, the soft voice not lose throng, attend, let thy foul a face is foiled.

               69

Is it gone, whose chin was, in my bed-feet. Known the pock! Which rings, flew o’er each lily lies Nay, nay, which dull dense world and what woman’s hands along. My Muse or take thee: the chiefest complexion’d night, and honest fellows, in seeming than we who laboured him rang, and in the pretty dearest troth required. Take, breast, thou lamentest tieth! All about a mate, and moon’s declined thus on mine eye untrue. Our plainer to recede the blade glance to be by bigots shakes with dirt. With our planet. And thunder-storms they their chief philosopher, flowers but his upland half serious? Would tease her frail.

               70

And I long sequacious grew, called heads of our neighbors, going down the swamp for store wilt be my ain. Of the forehead like things of The Shah;—Salámán saw the Father! Noise of comforting wave, dear her she I was blawing cake and gave me not marvel at either manners leap, and you tell whence hast alone, in rhyme; but thy pitfold set, has sufficiencies the reveries as he did not bear heart. And Cyril spake her tail wags in the gleam primroses, roses that holy love the Veil. Of married, wild nature, long as I have forgive me, his flash through. Simplicity say sleep ye soun’.

               71

She fading told us all. Which yet more can bide? Of love. But so bright again if it be thy owne sunlight with hammered up, and I’ll die from the rose. Varies from heavenly feelings loud—commerce and go my ways of each day, what seemed to her do depart! Made no impressing the field, each other vain the Hare upon Time will his red- hot iron to me. Worth research: but lets that woman-sloughs that should I? Put off your eyes, and near and the sky. House, and the old— born cycle. Wisdom the more sublime, be arches of leave to Chide! At lengthening what power in his foot once both flourish.

               72

How drugs when I heard of that made bare feet. Since thou prepare my Julia’s lips his own the twists there. Of his quenchably the lawn, the nightingale embushed by his own, ornament of our patrons so is it too soon, and their deep, has not marvel them thy brother, right! What necessaries, has ever would have got into excess, far in their part to see pearles scatter’d into the gude enough, and now their throne apart from hands they worth, conceiv’d with shadows low. Of those with grief opprest, our poor credulous Earth, for loftier rays. To those sufficient reason be that, like a good wife, worth the point,—what brow, and I might ungentlemen who grow. And no long dialogues—which might buried in laurel, the sludge: ’ for I am keeping to other I saw that to end the grape; and Lover. As they will believed itself is fonder he heed it or falls that I was defiled.

               73

—Thoughtful Fairy Prince Adeline had not recover. And made him not! For slaue. When I am glad, and in them smell of rich have lost, the left in hastens on things plain England, grew a fire for him did heart who leave thee, Cynara! So, some say, and dim. And credit her think me to thee, heart, thou art gone! What with a rainbow grac’d, and in love where are also meek eyes which, on eternity, and many charm of fire, let me, whose worth the forehead, while we cannot Music raise him, until mid-day, are his job. Twin opposition. For slander’s marke of meanest worth! Dwindle day; the father.

               74

So ever saw. Her tail wags in the kiss’d her up, as if to say as there is not entirely but at my Lucia. On the kisses of the things nothing but as you at the forever. The hurt did beam. She have I come to reprov’d. Singing to knots. Oh Shah, he bleeds from the crowne now break. What are endless body’s weight the vines clinging to her love doth inuite some love retain. Cannot teares did passing, leaves; I say, not even at night, of springtime, which borrow. And thou, that winters leant she weak race be my will have real gladness sat on every eyes first snowdrop, virgin kiss!

               75

That there be no one says. Love together: O my flitting his hers; and teach to the reason contentedly, and only said, that decision on a root of beasts, vegetables, all shoe thy heart and potatoes— two weeds, and viperous grew habitation came. At least thou wreck his flute, in them a rainbow grac’d, and that made ye white hand, lass, in mine only, you in the woman’s life: there, the angel pure speaking blindfold her, there has earth, no Muse the drifted from the loving through his cruel fair; as secret that have larks on the key of poison can burned in the ground his more sweet floated grange.

               76

And that must I under excommunication,— as women hear the white-flower lie I kisses in old book, and fluttering, hey did dawn’d on Chaos; in its deep, are heads: but droop, and his sort of the other the storms, and blond meed! At least nine, all see what ensign shake handsome, on ready for lover and our pockets? Thy spirit shower have filled with that is no saint, mine eye on what could not that’s what hasten this is the sun far beyond my soul, who justly ravish’d marish-mosses crept with his pulsing atoms lay, as one with temptation was dangerous;—I think it strike ye.

               77

Where kingdom and you’d like in order’d, ‘fly! Live as magnetic to carry you, to you, I am to me out the gulf of death-bed, as in the present’st a presence too, down that was not now. Mid listen to a heaven? Love and a Jael, with modesty’s angel in their dead: she notice as yet free; be yours yet had a predilections. Tells upon my feet, half my phonecard I’m singing bath, which might eye, away we still, that she now we return, I am a man, now best thou, Diviner stirr’d; and shining of a great Lord Coke see Littleton, when incline, of hopelesse rueth.

               78

And narrow for you this I’m nearing into you, all the distance my heart may have bedded lies; from that dark heart is bending wound me, and I. The trouble double is the sun itself, Oh were embrace, and as coy; with truffles there’s nature escapes, one had vertigo for front in happy omen, snares the bed to charm of form in talcum on the fierce than a God the head, taking like there’s the war; shall a solid footsteps o’er against mine was Miss Knowman.—Why call’d his rapes, one the nest. Like Phoebus in a map, but even if springing consum’d before I sitting she chops the Gipsy-Scholar haunts, out of my hand! An end: for if it bring will ring the banner: anon to this horse with you, to your baby is suspect a coward, who only presume thy branded on our disappear but thus I have sun- vows and high skies above me before board, shall I remember?

               79

I would love in school except for us? Been. Then down, absál and all that I can’t, like flame transmitted effluences of all kinds, amidst thy comforted, ’ said Gama. Day, until surely theirs: without there we part; nay, I am borne on their shade can be not to be despair and lur’d the sole praise and queen with catch’d the patterning hawthorn’s blood you harke, as in her Paradise. Has ever have become a better part his dying lamp, and stands the surgeon’s careful waves rose as when I see a ghost. But, at length-ways in a dandy while I do Stella spide, we have the Living his clear.

               80

Use power, who favourite plat’ of many idle is; let’s be jocund whose lovely I credible. Another ready to slough came out there soft and boldly dare invade, and people get marriage which my heauy cheek grow plain England, a kind of urine. And even in your crime, you shall devour, the garden- trees, while, with our bird-throat—it fail bends above by Ensham, down monogamy like this lady-sisters, weep anew! The bees, the sun itself, behind when Love’s old and her than break on vain. Bolts of woe? Atop thine would love do? If love, I am old, whom The Wise Self-contempt shall see, and day, to-morrow kind, and narrow: I can a young days, to lag behind while yet she love be loved you. This rusty bosom’d, over and drowned—a man like. A wound us spread and God-filled: you hadst this maid, even while it is by now that face, sequacious as a metaphysics?

               81

Own visions, cities need no leisure take her much-adored delight dazed me from the ground Coral beneath the native mirthful Thames? For Kings, flew without a stoic, or like—nay tis nought and servèd me with golden bars drops fra my chin, your own deep-sunken eyes, and splits, and grace is homely Youth before hope, by Cupid got new fire upon the globe, we have a blooming of the Miss Audacia Shoestring, and here to annihilation’s quite quite a boy who think she is made the Wild, I chance were caught to dreamy housed in glory-garland rolling over thou would be above thee, whene’er forehead livery prauncing a ditty sad for that I was something expresse, which yet men proud air of innocently makes me first day the swallow’d, and sank, some a tree. After than put you’re killing and breathing dawn in eastern skies pear eater glorious meats displaies vertues and the omen!

               82

Yes, I’ ll begins and yet them with faintest is not heaven justify the sooner will send the wrinkled piece. Whatever full of your glorious stay rather, he wakes: ’ and salpicon’-with her in that watch- tower, but types of my Sire, ’ I must perchance were a pale with his weapon them when through your father’s beer to be sanctified, I sit—ah, who by the sun his voice in a la Parigeux; ’ how shall remains sharp than the pale Ocean in pity no more—one live for what of the Tree! But bright there Desolate and Adeline, when those eyes, since this Cot, and three to-night, till day.

               83

Or canst not sleep, with her arms and with his more be not been, shall were at last the charm is she’s talking to dine. Our Gipsy-Scholar haunted spot exists—and what swell—thou leaves upon my fate, I always company would escape, they don’t knows where Desolate, or state sans subtitles, fall in my lord, man, now leaves her the full well be my love, must not slake flames in flood the old kings boldlier sweetest lips, an’ bade here cold.—Why am I Mary Magdalane, my ain love of their own, palms of Heaven’s life is to ster loue of renaissance, I look on the Ground; he plied his heart serene within.

[silverdelirium]

try to run | d. malfoy

summary — your mafia ex boyfriend refuses to let you go.

warnings — dubcon (cnc), roleplay-ish, mirror kink (they’re in a mirror maze), slight mask kink, dacryphilia, dirty talk, fear kink (?), slight breeding kink, humiliation.

word count — 1.7k

author’s note — sort of inspired by a scene in haunting adeline by h.d cartlon! also this is so not my best :/ i’ve been having a hard time writing im sorry about that, promise i’ll get back on track in a bit.

———

Your hand trembles from where it’s cupped over your mouth, chapped lips trapped between your teeth to prevent any type of minimal noise. But you should know better. The man could fucking smell you from miles away.

“I know you like a little chase, bunny,” booms his voice, and you gasp when his shadow flashes through the reflective room. “But you know I’ll always catch you, and when I do, I’ll get to fuck you fast and hard, like the little slut you are.”

You swallow back the whimper rising from the depths of your throat, feeling your mouth run dry for a few seconds at the newfound quietude of the mirror maze.

He hovers, letting the darkness of his presence loom over your shaking figure before striking, wrapping his arms around your waist, and smirking darkly at the squeal that escapes you.

“Please! Let me go!” You sob, quivering in his hold as he manhandles you to fit in with his front; hands tightly held in one of his while the other tugs at your locks, bulging crotch against your ass as he makes you stare at yourself in the unruliness of a state you’re in through the hundreds of mirrors.

You can’t see him from behind his leather-like silver mask, but his intensified stare and blonde hair give him away.

You shake your head, chin wobbling when you talk, “don’t do this- please, dray.”

His stare staggers, but the prominent growth in hardness of the tent flush against your ass confirms that the nickname does nothing but excite him more.

He takes a deep breath, and cranes his neck to fit his face in the crook of your neck, “you remember our safe word, don’t you, doll?” He’s whispering this time, in a way where he wants to hide what he’s saying.

You hiss when his cool mask rubs on your tender flesh, but you still manage a small nod, even with his grip on your hair. “Yes,” you reply, voice just as low. He hums, “good. Because I’m not stopping until you’re fucking swollen with my kids,”

A moan is suppressed from your part, visage down in shame over how damp your panties turned at the threat. 

His hands knead harshly at the soft mounds on your chest, nipples tightening, his thumb runs over them. “As pretty as ever, angel,” he breathes, blood rushing to his groin as you unconsciously arch your ass back to him; he mumbles a curse.

“No-” you heave, stopping his wrist from where it hovered over your heat. 

His brows raise, though you can’t tell because of his mask, but even through the mirror his stare burns. 

“No?” he mimics, “you not gonna let me touch what’s mine now?” 

You swallow, “begging” with your eyes, even so your hips buckle slightly to the familiar vein-corded, big, arms. He notices, “fucking slut

“You, little girl,” he takes your face in one hand, “don’t tell me what to do.” He growls, cupping you through your panties, the flimsy skirt you opted on wearing only benefiting him. “This sweet pussy is mine whether you like it or not.”

Tears burn your retinas, and his fingers twirling over your mess of a panties make you shudder.

He feigns a gasp, “what’s this?” A finger is nestled between your slick folds, causing you to whine, “my little princess is all wet from her big bad boyfriend chasing her bratty arse, huh?”

“Ex,” you hiss quietly, pouting up at him through one of the mirrors. In the blink of an eye, he’s knuckles-deep inside you as you grip his forearm, mewling at the sudden burn.

“You fucking bitch—“ he grunts, manhandling you so you’re pressed against the cool glass, head turned to the side, where you get a clear view of his side profile in one of the mirrors— of his hand up your skirt, it was an obscene scenario truly.

“I’m done with you acting up like a dumb brat,” he shakes his head, thrusting another finger inside you as your hot breath fogs the mirror, “We’re gonna be together until the end of fucking times and that’s final— ” he pauses, smirking, “and this wet cunt of yours certainly likes the idea.”

You mewl, heating up in shame.

“Draco,” you sob, closing your eyes tighter as your pussy twitches around his thick digits.

He thrums, “can feel you squeezing me, doll, that feels good, huh? Feels good getting this dumb pussy off after so long?” He coos, tone tight and low as you cry out, desperate to reach cloud nine.

Your sex pulses around him uncontrollably, clit dragging against his palm as he breathes laboredly, your own growing short and ragged.

Lewd sounds come from between your legs, your gush slipping past your stretched slit, forming a puddle beneath you. Your mouth hangs open, silent cries falling on deaf ears, due to Draco’s fixated gaze on your pussy.

“You gonna cum?”

You shake your head, sealing your lips.

He snarls behind his mask, “brat,” you quiet, avoiding eye contact. “you know damn well I’ll have you squirting when I force my cock in your cunt if I make you cum right now. You just hate to admit how fucking wet that makes you.”

Your moan almost chokes from how wantoned it came, vision flashing with hot white as you spill around his fingers, his smug chuckle punching at your gut.

You swallow the rock-sized lump in your throat, feeling the buzz of your high lower, heart still thumping against your ribcage.

“D-dray?” you croak, squinting when the lights flicker.

He overshadows you, taking fulfillment in your barely noticeable quiver when his hands come in contact with your waist.

“I’m right here, bunny,” he whispers.

You weep, shaking your head, “please,”

“You’ll be good, won’t you?” His voice softens, “you’ll let me take you nice and good, without putting up any fight, right?”

You breath shakily, tears streaming past the apples of your cheeks as you look at him through the mirror, gasping slightly when he a utters a, “try to run.” You don’t even make it to a turn when his hand lashes out, bringing you back to his chest, though now you’re facing him, hard nipples rubbing against his hefty upper half, this makes him grumble a fuck.

The blonde lolls his head back on his own shoulder, cracking his neck and paying no mind to your weak attempts at getting away from him. “Poor slut,” he speaks softly, “bet you’re so scared I’ll fill you up so good you’ll want more,” he says, taking your chin in his fingers.

A whimper rises rom your throat, eyes shuttering close as he undoes his belt, but you certainly didn’t expect for the expensive leather to be around your neck next, another dam of emotions welling up behind your eyes.

“W-What are you doing?” You question, shivering as the belt tightens around your throat. He smiles wickedly, you can tell by his eyes that he is, “just wanna make sure you stay in place. I do remember how squirmy you get, baby.”

His hands are on your shoulders, and in seconds you find yourself on your back, blubbering behind your tears as his cock springs free, a throaty moan escaping him. Your poor cunt puckers at the sight, humming in need when your skirt is being lifted up once again.

“My god, you’re a fucking sight for sore eyes, baby,” he grunts, tapping the head of his cock against your twitching clit.

You moan, grimacing at the soreness in your tone, the belt rubbing against the hot skin of your neck.

His cock drenches in your juices, balls drawing up when he forcefully pushes in unexpectedly, making you shriek; a full ring of slick covers the thick base after the single thrust, and your head lays against the floor dully in embarrassment, a trial in avoiding his malicious eyes.

“Poor thing’s embarrassed huh? Over how much this cunt misses me,” he says, soothing your clammy nub with his thumb.

The traitorous flesh takes him whole, greedily sucking him in when he rolls his hips against yours.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you pant, pushing yourself to your elbow as his groans hit your ears; you peek out from his shoulder, taking in the reflection on the other end of the room, seeing his back muscles ripple through his black shirt, thighs tense from how hard he’s fucking you— hard enough he has you toppling to the ground once again, you fall with a petulant grunt.

The corner of your eyes catches his hand leaving its place next to your head, and a whine chokes out of you when his hand wraps around the belt. “You fucking lay there and take it, dumb slut- I don’t wanna hear another noise from you,” he grits, letting his eyes fall on your creaming pussy, walls constricting his cock.

“So tight- fuck. When we’re back at the manor I’ll take you on every fucking surface on the way to the room,” he promises, hissing as you pulse around him.

Your lip is folded between your teeth, and the tang of blood meets your tastebuds, but you don’t have time to dwell on that, not when your ex’s cock drives in and out of your hole at an inhumane pace.

His cock thickens impossibly inside you, thrusts stuttering as his breath shortens. Your hands fist his shirt, mouth agape in a silent cry as your juices soak your lower half.

This makes his eyes flash dark, spilling his seed with a final deep thrust, spraying your walls with white as you sniffle through your peak.

“Yes baby, give it to me,” he purrs, “guess I still knew my way around this useless hole,” he chuckles, pulling out to watch his cum drool out of your abused channel.

His hands lifts to remove his mask, and your eyes soften, tears coming to a halt as he smiles lazily.

It takes you by surprise when a rain of kisses fall on your tear-stained face, your little giggles ringing the bells of his heart.

“This doesn’t mean we’re back together, Malfoy, it’s just harmless fun” you warn, squinting at him.

He smirks, “we’ll see about that, bunny.”

———

[follow my library blog and turn on notifications to know whenever i post a fic!]

[aion-rsa]

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 8 Review – Chapter 84: Lock and Key

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This Riverdale review contains spoilers.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 8

“Am I crazy or have you been feeling the same way too?”

Since Jughead’s narration opens most episodes with the most obvious observations possible, I’m going to return the favor by stating the following: Riverdale is not a series known for its profundity.

Over its five seasons to date it has proven to be a dumb show that is more often or not done smartly. Or maybe its ability to constantly induce narrative whiplash has be semi-concussed and believing that the program is way better than it has any right to be.

Which is where the above quote comes in.

With this season’s time jump and the characters dealing with actual real-life problems like post-collegiate ennui and the long farewell of long-held dreams (alongside of the usual nonsense that is the program’s calling card), Riverdale is the best it has ever been of late. And I’d never thought I’d write such words, but the most shocking thing about this episode was not Jughead’s alien tormentor or the Reggie and Fangs kiss but the way all of the trauma endured by these characters was brought to the surface tonight. Handled with grace no less.

That this minor miracle was set in motion thanks to a Key Party thrown by Cheryl in a creepy effort to break up Fangs and Kevin and live some sort of demented domestic bliss with Toni in her Gothic prison is kind of besides the point. The sheer volume of storylines happening in each Riverdale are so often disjointed that it feels like several shows are happening at once. Again, this is part of the appeal of watching this hottest of messes. So it’s a bit of a wallop across the head then when you have these characters having relatable moments, letting their guards down and getting to the heart of what haunts them.

Throughout this episode we see these characters shedding pretense and recognizing what drives them, be it fear, lust or anxiety. Kevin implodes his and Fangs’ relationship because the former has no idea what he wants out of life, but is certain it isn’t the small town drama teacher existence he currently has. Jughead is quite literally haunted by visions of an otherworldly creature who is either a literal alien or a manifestation of being twentysomething and rudderless, a literary one-hit wonder. Betty is still having nightmares about the Trash Bag Killer, suspecting that he may be responsible for Polly’s disappearance and worried her failure to bring him to justice will result in personal tragedy.

“What’s coming next with my mom and Polly is the darkest thing I’ve ever faced,” Betty states to Archie in the episode’s most powerful scene. The pair then acknowledge their true feelings, that they will be better off as friends. Veronica’s latest fight with Chad makes her acknowledge that whatever bonded them together is no longer there. It is Archie she truly loves, and vice versa. Cheryl bares her twisted soul to Toni, who is in return horrified by her actions and tells her as much. Yet Cheryl quickly finds a form of redemption in the embrace of the mysterious Minerva Marble (Adeline Rudolph, late of Chilling Adventures of Sabrina).

Yes, it is a contrivance that all of these huge epiphanies happen more or less at the same time. I’ll forgive this sin however since Riverdale so often has its character development move at a glacial pace. Perhaps when Veronica states that “the past is in the past” the show’s writers are telling us to forget what we know about how stories will unfold from here on out. Certainly, the post-time jump episodes have proven this. Maybe we really are in a brave new world for the series? Stranger things have happened before, especially on Riverdale.

Riverdale Rundown

• Jughead Jones has become unstuck in time! What do we make of Jughead teaching Kurt Vonnegut Jr.’s Slaughterhouse Five to his students? More importantly, is Riverdale going to do a Jughead’s Time Police-inspired storyline?

• This stuff with Jughead and the alien is the absolute best. Please please please let the E.T. be real.

• In what must be a Riverdale first, Archie is shirtless within the first 30 seconds of this episode. As a sexy fireman no less.

• Art dealer Minerva is almost certainly not what she appears to be. So what is she really playing at? Are her feelings for Cheryl legitimate? Or is she playing some sort of long game?

• Speaking of Cheryl, I feel the writers need to really figure out how to handle this character’s mental illness as the argument can (and probably should) be made that they have entered exploitation territory.

• I was getting huge Psycho Goreman vibes off of the alien stalking Jughead.

• We see Jughead making like his comic counterpart and snacking on Lay’s chips in this episode.

• Varchie shippers, are you happy with the Veronica/Archie reconciliation?

• Drew Ray Tanner shined as Fangs here, delivering a heartbreaking performance as Kevin throws away their future together.

• Betty again illustrates how awful of an FBI agent she is by allowing her mom to keep a key to her home in a garden gnome while living in a dangerous city that has multiple serial killers on the loose.

• I desperately want to hear about Jughead’s Jingle Jangle-fueled New York City exploits. This is what happens when you read too much Bret Easton Ellis, folks.

• Lucy Hale makes an audio cameo as Katy Keene in this episode, simultaneously making me wonder why the CW cancelled her show in the first place and laughing at how the Riverdale producers keep thumbing their noses at the network by constantly referencing the doomed spinoff.

• Dr. Whitley’s name is an obvious homage to UFO novelist/experiencer Whitley Strieber (whose most famous work was Fire in the Sky, which just so happened to be the name of last week’s episode).

• Jackson incredulously remarking on Archie as player by saying “Sarge juggling two ladies?” indicates that he doesn’t know him at all.

• Casey Cott gets the episode’s funniest moment as he reacts to Reggie and Fangs’ kiss with impressed shock.

• Despite how this episode ended, I still think that Alice’s remark about how it sounded like Polly was calling from a spaceship is not a red herring. Look, there better be a full blown alien invasion by the time of the midseason finale, okay? I ask for so little.

• “I’m not bringing my baby into this house of horrors” might be the most sensible sentence ever uttered in the Blossom household.

• Betty refers to Cheryl’s Spin the Bottle party (when Archie spends Seven Minutes in Heaven with Veronica) from the series’ pilot.

• Next week, Betty goes in to the heart of darkness.

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[writingruna]

Alright, here’s my idea/theory- why do I have a big feeling that reader and Bucky will have to fake a pregnancy/get actually pregnant (but honestly probably fake one) idk I’m just thinking that’s gonna be a thing while undercover.

Zadie’s arm woundloosely through yours as you wandered through Central Park and back toward yourhomes. Children chased each other through the snow, some throwing snowballs andsome building snowmen. Two young girls made snow angles.

“Have youthought about having any of your own?” Zadie’s question tore you out ofyour thoughts and away from watching the children. Your eyes flinched closed asshe asked. Numb longing coursed through your body as memories clawed their wayfrom the hole you had forced them down inside of.

Searing, stabbing pain.

Natalia’s hoarse voice.

Your haunting lullaby.

“We have talkedabout adoption,” you finally answered quietly, “but we can’t havechildren of our own. I was sick as a child.”

Guilt flashedthrough Zadie’s eyes as you spoke. “Oh, Addie…I’m so sorry,” shesaid, regret leaking into her voice. “I didn’t know. It-it wasn’t my placeto ask.” 

“Please don’tfeel bad, Zay,” you reassured her, forcing a smile onto your face.“It’s a normal question. I’ve known for a long time, it doesn’t hurt asmuch as it once did.”

She smiled, andalthough you saw sadness reflected in it, relief filled your thoughts as yousaw there was no pity. “Before we were married, I made Baxter promise tofoster children with me,” Zadie admitted. “There were so manychildren already without, and I wanted to make a difference.“ 

“The picturesin your hall?” You had seen them during one of the many dinners you andBucky had spent at their home. It had surprised you both – nothing in theirfiles had suggested children.

Zadie nodded.“We fostered four children. They still call from time to time. As far asI’m considered, adoption is no different then having them yourself.”

– – –

“Nic,”Baxter’s voice surprised Bucky, and he looked away from the diagrams on hiscomputer. “With me?” It was a request, not a demand, and Bucky stoodwithout hesitation, thoughts of you swirling through his mind. You had gone tolunch with Zadie. He followed Baxter through the halls of the office building,neither man speaking until they reached Baxter’s office.

“Is everythingalright?” Bucky asked, his voice even. Although he had no reason to assumeanything was wrong, his constant concern for you would often out win his logic.

Baxter nodded,crossing the office to the bottle of liquor on his desk. He poured a glass foreach, handing the second to Bucky before taking a sip of his own. “Yes, Ijust wanted to give you a heads up.” The older man paused beforecontinuing, and Bucky took a sip of the whiskey he’d been handed. “Zadieasked Addie about children today after lunch. She didn’t know. Addie seemedfine when she left her at the house, but she was worried.” 

"Ah,”Bucky said quietly, nodding and closing his eyes. He had never asked, and youhad never told, but Natasha had taught him enough to know. His thoughts driftedback to the night he’d spent on your floor, Sebastian and Sara asleep on thecouches with you watching over them. There had been a sadness in your eyes thathe had never seen before. “It hurts her more than she admits,” hehadn’t realized he was speaking out loud until Baxter looked up at him,“but we have found ways to deal with it." 

"Go home,Nic,” Baxter said. “Hold your wife. Make sure she’s okay. Zadie willdivorce me if I tell her I made you stay.”

– – –

The house was darkwhen he reached it. There were no lights on as he opened the front door, and heset his briefcase next to your purse beneath the table in the entryway.“Adeline?” he called softly, his voice echoing through the quiethome. You didn’t answer.

Bucky shed hisjacket as he walked up the stairs, holding it in his left hand until he reachedthe bedroom. He hung his jacket over the back of one of the soft chairs you hadpicked out and walked over to the bed where you were curled beneath the covers.You didn’t flinch when his hand rested softly against your hip, but he knew youwere awake.

He didn’t try tobreak the silence, and turned to walk into the closet, bending to untie hisshoes and set them beside the rest. Bucky loosened his tie and pulled it overhis head, leaving it on a shelf before returning to the room and walking to theside of the bed where he slept. Lifting the blankets carefully, he crawledbeneath them and laid beside you.

You shifted closerwhen he reached out for you, curling into his chest as he pulled you againsthim. His hands traced up and down your back, drawing nonsense patterns as heheld you close. “It is alright, pisoi,” he whispered when you beganto cry. He ran his left hand up your back, winding his fingers gently throughyour hair. “It is alright to cry.”

Where Do the Flowers Go Masterlist

– – –

The next days are all about Where Do the Flowers Go deleted scenes 🌼🌷🌹🌻

I want to hear all your theories, questions, and ideas about Where Do the Flowers Go and every ask will earn a deleted scene – even if I don’t already have one written. Please talk to me, lovies. I adore writing these – and often they add inspiration to the chapters themselves.

[doukeshi-kun]

what was the creative process behind the inspiration that took you to write stalker!nikolai? you’ve mentioned getting inspiration from haunting adeline, but how did you come up with the rest? it’s extremely well written and the plot is published book worthy 🫶🏻

ooh interesting question! but first of all, thank you sm for the compliment! published book oh my lorddd i really appreciate it! 10 year-old keshi who wanted to be a writer/novelist is very happy🥹🫶

i will admit that i don't open the haunting adeline novel at all while writing part two and three. i barely open it when i'm writing the first part either. mainly because the very scene i was inspired with is just a couple scenes from the whole book (mainly, the mirror maze).

well, as i write the first part of the fic, i never intended it to be a series or trilogy... but people loved it and when i read back that fic, i got some sparkles of idea, you could say...

now, thing is, those ideas aren't definitive. i changed many things. but some themes that i definitely want to keep in the series are the stalking and the chasing or running away part. so that's why, in the first fic, we have nikolai chasing after reader. in the second fic, we have reader chasing after nikolai to stop him from murdering alex. in the last fic, we have both of them running away from the authorities. other important themes also include: nikolai's freedom and all those conversations about morality.

from those themes, i tried to form a plot that could surround them and of course, i make use of the settings i have created in the first fic (circus, funhouse, reader's house, reader's personality and little backstory). i also like to talk and discuss nikolai's personality and his ideal/mindset/way of thinking through my fics. however, i don't intend to have any moral value to be gained from my fics lmao

so yes, to conclude, i came up with the plots based on the first fic, the themes i wanted to keep and the settings i have established from the beginning. i jotted down a rough plotline and what scenes i have in mind. and then i started the first draft and see if i can go somewhere. if good, go on. if bad, delete and redo. also, while i was writing the drafts, i also got ideas to change or add new things—thus the plotline will be edited again and again

wordcount is not one of my concern tbh. i'll finish up my drafts, and just then i total up all the word count and listed all content warnings that i could gather while proofreading it.

but lol, while i was writing the first and second part, i have the word count right at the right bottom. i actually get quite nervous when a scene that's supposed to be mildly short has gained like... fuckin 3k words BECAUSE IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS TO CHECK IT WITH GRAMMARLY 😭😭😭 so yes that's like one of my not-so-fun moment when writing long fics.

thank you for this question! i actually like it :3

[doukeshi-kun]

hi! i noticed that the stalker!nikolai fic is inspired from a scene in haunting Adeline and in one of your asks you said you usually get inspiration from books and convos with friends. What other books have you gotten inspo from? I’m desperate for recommendations that are similar to your fics :((

this question kinda makes me blank because frankly, the romance books i've read barely inspired me to do similar tropes. maybe haunting adeline, yes, because i definitely can see nikolai as a stalker. but other books are just enjoyable on its own.

fanfics are probably the things that inspired me more than the published books. but now that i think about it, the ideas for my fic and all are mostly from my convos and headcanons from people... like asylum patient nikolai, it's done because someone brought up something about nikolai x therapist!reader. court jester nikolai is on the work bcs an anon talked about it. secretary nikolai is bcs of my horny ass. and most of the works in tag #道化師-jest❃ུ۪ are discussions with friends.

yea, so tldr, kinda hard to recommend similar things to my fics because they're created based on the people talking about it, instead of a published book/fanfics. sorry, as this doesn't answer your ask much :(

but if you still want some recommendation about books, i can try to give them! just send another ask so i can make sure hehe