#INFANT TONGUE TIES

[tonguetie25]

“Ankyloglossia” commonly referred to as a tongue tie is a string of tissue. This tissue is called the frenulum. It connects from the underside of the tongue to the floor of the mouth. You can see it if you look under your tongue in a mirror. This tissue can restrict tongue movements essential for breastfeeding, sucking, swallowing, eating, drinking, chewing, breathing, speech, jaw growth, posture and digestion.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #37 - Pierced]

“When Jungkook’s lip ring finally healed and you can’t resist each other anymore.”

Genre: Smut, married life!AU

Warnings: switch!Jungkook, switch!Reader, it goes from Dom!Kook to sub!Kook to Dom!Kook, tattooed & pierced!JK, he’s got his lip & nipples pierced, he ties his long hair together nfdnf, muscle & strength kink, lil bit of thigh riding, sex outside on a sun bed, messy oral (f.receiving), some biting, multiple orgasms (f.receiving), creampies, she rides him to an orgasm, body hair kink aye, she smothers him with her tits, nipple sucking, lotsa drool, subby boy tears, dirty talk, praise, a lil bit of degradation, he has such a lose tongue, they are very horny & needy & just wanna fuck, cuddly aftercare, they are in love!!

Wordcount: 5.4k

a/n: there is no thought behind this drabble. it’s a crime that i never wrote about his lip ring until now. enjoy besties, this was created from the depths of my pussy 🧡

You are in the little greenhouse in your garden when Jungkook comes home. Your tomato plants, which you and Jungkook have carefully raised from infant seedlings to healthy six foot plants, are finally starting to flower and you are currently making sure that no bugs or other insects nibble on them. Yes, you are very protective over your tomato plants. 

After reading an article about self-sustaining living, you developed an obsession with growing as much of your food as possible. You asked Hoseok for help – given how he is already a complete expert at it – and Seokjin gave you some tips as well. Jungkook called it way too time consuming at first, but soon gave in with a fond smile. He even helped you build the greenhouse and soon after, the plant growing fever took a hold of him as well. 

It was when the first of your tomato seed experiments grew a little sprout. You can still remember how Jungkook called you in the middle of your shift with the great news of “babe, you won’t believe what just happened but tomato number ten just grew a sprout.” It was a truly exciting day in your marriage. 

Now come early summer and all your vegetable and fruit plants are thriving, ready to be pollinated and later carry fruit. 

The glass door opens and Jungkook steps inside. 

“Hey there.”

You turn, placing the sheers down on your working table. 

“And?” you ask him, eyeing it. 

There was something else new in your relationship. It was on Jungkook’s body, his lower lip to be more exact. A small metal ring close to the right corner of his mouth. A lip piercing. 

It was a well-thought-through decision of his’, one you completely support. Not only because it is his body and he can decorate it with whatever he wants, but also because you always had a gist that he would look amazing with a lip piercing. And you were correct. He looks so handsome with it. Truly, each day you fall more and more in love with this man. 

The only downside came with the healing. No touching except for when he has to clean it. That is what the piercer told Jungkook. Which meant no kissing and truly, it left you feeling unbearably needy for him. Eight long and grueling weeks of not being able to kiss your husband. It sounds like torture and it truly was. Especially because you and he were so used to kissing all the time. Soft little morning pecks, sweet goodbye kisses, the relieved smooch of comfort after a long work day, sleepy kisses, desperate making out or the loving surprise kiss throughout the day. You and your husband love kissing. So to be unable to feel each other’s lips for eight long weeks felt like torture. You tried to kiss him one time, but that ended in Jungkook yelping up in pain and bleeding a little. You apologised a million times with tears in your eyes whilst he assured you that it wasn’t your fault and after that, you never tried to kiss again.

Today however, you hope that he comes bearing good news. 

“And? What did he say? Has it healed?”

Jungkook steps closer, but stays silent. 

“Talk to me, I can’t take the silence” you whine, shrugging off your gloves. 

He takes another step. 

“Come on, tell me. I wanna know”, you stress, stomping your foot. Truth was, you have been sitting on needles the entire day, wishing for his quick return. All you did today was take care of your garden and think of Jungkook’s kiss. If he doesn’t answer you soon – or take your face to kiss you stupid – you will burst. You can’t bear the longing anymore.

“Kookie, please tell me”, you plead, staring at his lips. 

Jungkook breaks the last of the distance between the two of you, cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. 

Your knees buckle, a moan slips past your lips. Everything that was wrong is right again. The world finally starts turning and colour returns to your universe. You are kissing your husband! You tilt your body back as Jungkook presses himself into you, your arms hook behind his head. Holy fuck. Yes.

You grab a bundle of his long hair, twisting it to the point where Jungkook moans into your mouth. Or perhaps he is moaning because all he has been craving was your kiss. Driving home from the piercer with news of finally having healed sitting heavily on his heart was torture. All he wanted to be was to be home with you and have you in his arms. Eight weeks without your kiss and Jungkook had reached his breaking point. If he had to live without your kiss for even one second longer, he would have actually combusted.

Jungkook breaks the kiss, breathing just as heavily as you. He didn’t want to break it, but air was sparse in his lungs. Fuck, if he could live on only your kiss, he would. But alas, he has to breathe, running his hands over your face as if it was the first time he ever touches you.

“I missed you”, he whispers, “I missed you so fucking much.”

“Me too, Kook. More, kiss me please.”

Jungkook obeys gladly, kissing you so deeply that nothing could separate the two of you. His strong arm slings around your waist, pressing you into his body. His long fingers close around you, reminding you why it is so nice to be touched by him. He does it with so much tenderness, but also with just enough strength to let you know that he was there. That you were his' and that he intends on never letting you go. 

You run your hand down his torso until you can touch his waist. He shivers and pushes you until the back of your legs hit the edge of the work table. Like this, he can cage you in and keep you right there with him. Not that he needs to do anything for that. You want to be with him. This is all you crave. 

You gasp for air again. Your faces are barely apart. His cock is hard. Well, not completely but still swollen enough that you can feel it poke your tummy. You grind yourself against it, feasting on the desperate whimper he lets out. You are so turned on yourself. Your desperation is soaking your panties. His kiss and loving touch does that to you.

“Fuck”, he chuckles breathily, “you’re messing with me.”

“I can feel it”, you sigh, “I’m so wet too.”

“It’s been too long.”

“Kook, just fucking take me.”

“Jump.”

You follow instantly. Jungkook catches you safely, tensing his muscles just for you. You fucking love to be in his arms and feel him tense. It gets you so fucking wet. Moaning his name, you cup his face and pull him into a kiss.

The walk back to the house gets difficult, but Jungkook wouldn’t want it any other way. These few seconds without your kiss where you talked felt like torture. He needs your faces to literally melt with each other. He missed you so goddamn much.

Jungkook manages as far as the terrace and then he has to drop you. Not because you grew too heavy for him, but because he needed you so bad that it got impossible to walk. So he sets you down gently, massaging your hips. He breaks the kiss, holding your hips to grind you against him. He makes sure to lift his leg so your pussy was grinding on his thigh. You whimper because of it, looking up at him with glassy, droopy eyes.

“Koo…”

“I need you to lie down, baby”, he rasps, “I fucking can’t wait any longer.”

“The sun bed?”

“Yeah, please. If you want.”

“I want to. You?”

“Baby, I’ve been thinking about you the whole drive home ‘course I fucking want you”, he says and pushes his thigh against your pussy, making you moan, “please. Please lie down for me.”

“You’re so hot, fuck”, you say and step back. You waste no time getting naked. You would have to fumble with your clothes later either way. It’s better to get it over with now and safe yourself the trouble.

“Fuck, sweetheart”, Jungkook moans, watching you with heavy eyes. He tongues his lip ring, driving you mad with it.

You step out of your sundress and panties and finally lie down on the sun bed. You give him a sensual writhe, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

“And now?” you ask him.

Jungkook takes off his shirt and shorts. He knows that he won’t be needing them anymore. His cock is completely hard, slapping against his toned stomach and leaking the prettiest droplets of excitement.

“So pretty”, you whine, “Koo, I want you.”

Jungkook takes his heavy cock and jerks it twice, “you can”, he lulls, falling to his knees in front of you. He grabs you by your ankles and tugs you to the edge even if that makes you squeak and later giggle.

“This was so much fun”, you squeal.

He chuckles, eyes glued to your glistening pussy and hands running along your inner thighs, “you’re so cute”, he says and pushes gently, nudging your legs open so he can lower himself to your pussy.

“Oh?” you squeak, tensing up, “o-oh”, you relax in a shudder, arching your back seconds later, “holy fuck.”

Jungkook growls against you, gripping your waist to give it a needy squeeze.

“I missed you”, he moans, “holy fuck, you’re heaven”, he adds and buries his face back in your leaking cunt. He doesn’t think about cleanliness right now. He is messy and sloppy and fucking dirty in the way he eats your pussy and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He can finally have you again, taste you, feel you, experience you and make you moan so fucking sweetly. Eight long weeks without your taste. Jungkook never wants to experience such agonies again. He felt like an addict denied of his favourite drug. And now he needs to be covered in you. It is all he needs.

“Slow please”, you beg with trembling thighs, “Koo, you’re too fast oh god.”

Eight long weeks without feeling his tongue. Bear in mind, you weren’t abstinent from each other. You still touched each other, made the other cum and found yourselves lost in deep rolls of your hips. It never felt truly fulfilling of course because you weren’t able to kiss, but you weren’t completely abstinent from each other. So you shouldn’t be that sensitive right now. But you are. His tongue feels like paradise. A paradise which is currently making your legs shake like there is no tomorrow.

He is so sloppy in the way he eats you out. His tongue can’t seem to stay at one place for too long as greed for more of you always keeps it busy. His lips are sucking and kissing every inch of your pussy until she feels all puffy and sensitive. You can feel his lip ring whenever he closes his lips around you. Hard, thin metal, hot from his body and your pussy and incredibly maddening to experience. There is this little grinding sensation whenever he uses his lips on you. You can’t get enough of it, reaching down to twist his hair.

You mess it up the point where it hangs into his face and gets stuck between his lips and your pussy.

“Baby”, he breaks away, “stop tugging so much, you’re messing up my hair.”

“I can’t help it, you’re so good. Don’t stop, please”, you whine, tugging him closer. More of his hair falls into his face. Jungkook chuckles and with a gentle shake of his head, shakes off your hands.

“No, please”, you beg, trying and failing to reach for him.

He leans back. You look at him with a big pout. It gets washed away instantly as you watch him use his teeth to take off the black hair tie from his wrist. He keeps it tangling between them, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. His lips glisten in your juices, his lip ring is wet from your sex. He reaches behind his own head and combs his hair back. His tattooed, sculpted arms flex and tense as he works, making you whimper because all you need is him. All of him. You need him so bad.

Once he is happy with the style, he holds up the ponytail with one hand and uses the other to get the hair tie. His arms pulsate and flex as he secures it, his chest stretches in the position, his nipple piercings practically beg for your attention.

Jungkook finally finishes the ponytail, giving you a taunting smirk. He is aware how into the little show you were.

“Kook please”, you beg, opening your legs for him.

“I’m obsessed with you”, he growls and grabs your hips. He spits on your pussy only to smother himself with you a second later and slurp up the mess he just made. He uses his entire head for the movements, changing between sucking your pussy and grinding the flat of his tongue against it.

“Kook”, you mewl, reaching for his hands. You know that you can’t hold his hair anymore. He made sure of that when he tied it back. But you still need to hold something of him. He makes you shake so much that you need to hold him for encouragement. He allows you to intertwine your fingers with him, running his thumbs over your skin in a soothing manner. It almost feels like mockery, how gently he soothes you while his mouth makes you shake so uncontrollably. A mockery you enjoy to the fullest because you get to hold Jungkook’s hands and that’s the best thing ever!

“You have no idea how much I needed this”, he rasps, letting his voice vibrate against your clit, “I want you to cum like this, baby. It’s all I need.”

“Soon”, you keen, squeezing his hands.

“Mhhm, baby”, his deep voice makes your thighs shake, “you make me the happiest man.”

And with that he disappears in your warmth again, giving your hands a squeeze and growling into your pussy. 

You fall apart on his tongue mere moments later. Everything felt way too good. It is all you needed to be fulfilled. 

You sob his name as you climax while Jungkook licks your clit through the fire and squeezes your hands. 

Seven times you convulse and tense. Seven times you lose control over your limbs. Seven times and then his tongue feels like too much.

“Break”, you beg him and Jungkook listens. 

“Good girl”, he praises, kissing your clit as a reward. You are still pulsating. Jungkook wants more, but knows not to overstep. 

Instead, he kisses his way up your recovering body, sucking on your nipples when he reaches them. His big hands cup your softness, massaging you gently. It feels so good to be touched this way.

“Kook”, you mewl softly, tangling your fingers in the hair he left outside. He has so much of it that it still easily hides your hand. The softness of it soothes you like nothing else. Jungkook contrasts it by giving your left nipple a soft bite. It stings, making you keen in pleasure.

He purrs, letting your sensitive bud slip from his teeth just so he can drag his lips up to your face. His lip ring tickles wherever it touches you, leaving you to writhe and whine.

“Look at me”, he says once he is eye to eye with you.

You follow instantly, cupping his cheeks because all you needed was to hold him.

“You did so well for me”, he praises, smiling softly, “but I’m not done with you.”

You whimper, arching your back.

“You made me hard and you gotta be my good girl and take care of it. Yeah?”

You nod your head vigorously.

“That’s my good girl, I knew you wouldn’t deny me”, he says and brushes his thumb over your cheek, “can I get comfy and then you ride my cock? Mhm baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Koo”, you say, trembling in anticipation.

“Thank you, baby. You have no idea how happy this makes me”, he says and rewards you with a kiss.

You moan deeply, hooking your arms behind his head just to make sure he can’t escape. He tastes like your orgasm. Sweet and intense. You want to lick it off of him. He tastes so good. Holy fuck, you need this kiss to never stop.

Jungkook is halfway on the sun bed this way. With one foot he is standing on the ground, while he has the other pulled up on the sun bed, resting his knee between your legs and grinding you against his skin. You’ve got him all sticky and wet like this. Jungkook gets off on the feeling like an addict.

“Koo”, you whimper and wiggle away, “Koo, it hurts. Too sensitive.”

“Hurts?” he lessens the pressure, “I’m sorry, baby. How’s that?”

“Good. Doesn’t….Kook, please fuck me.”

“So needy”, he teases and smiles cockily, “fine, let’s switch places.”

Your places are swapped within seconds. The sun bed is big enough that it can house Jungkook and you comfortably. Your knees have enough space to rest beside his hips and you could even spread them wider if you wanted to. Soft cushioning gives you enough knee support as well. The black fabric has been warmed up by the sun, but it feels comfortable on your skin. 

Jungkook falls back and yelps up.

“What’s wrong?” you gasp.

“Ponytail. Uncomfy. It’s poking my literal brain”, he says and sits up. You have to be honest, all you did was stare at his toned abs as he did. They were bulging and shifting like crazy. They still do, because Jungkook opens his ponytail with both hands, using his abs to keep himself lifted.

He is the sexiest man alive.

You reach out and run your fingers over the ridges of his abs. The scorching sun and your body made his skin burn up. The faintest layer of sweat has collected in the valleys of his abs, now sticking to your fingertips and getting spread all over his silken skin.

Jungkook watches you with hungry eyes, lifting himself just a little bit more to make his abs bulge even harder. You gulp, grinding your pussy down on his thick thigh. You are so wet, Jungkook can feel it. Adorable, he thinks, you aren’t even aware of how much you stare.

You dance your fingers down his abs until you reach his happy trail. Jungkook has never been a hairy man. He has his healthy amount of leg and arm hair, can grow out his pits and always keeps his bush well taken care of. But other than that, he has never been one particularly hairy fellow. So his happy trail is faint and you like to call it pretty, but it’s there. Even if just a little bit, it’s there and you are currently dragging your nails through it and Jungkook feels himself shiver at the sensation. You add more fingers once you reach his pubes, burying them deep in them just so you can scratch along his skin. His cock throbs because of you, leaking desperately.

Your eyes finally flit up. They are burning in fiery hunger for him. Your fingers still play with his hair, scratching him just above his cock. He smirks cockily.

“I wanna bounce on your cock till you’re begging me to stop”, you rasp and grab the base of his cock.

His smirk drops as his lips part in a gasp. Jungkook writhes because of how harshly you hold him. The pressure goes straight to his balls, keeping them from leaking any more precum for you.

“Fuck. Sweetheart”, he moans and throws the hair tie to the side. He finally drops down, gripping your thighs to the point where his fingertips dimple your flesh. His hair spreads on the cushion messily. Strands of it fall into his face.

You lift yourself and position your pussy over his cock. You give your clit a soft spank with it, sending a jolt through Jungkook’s legs.

“Ready?”

“Uh...yeah? What a ques-”

You sink down on him in one go.

Jungkook throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut.

“-fuck!”

“Mhhm Kookie baby….you’re filling me up so well”, you moan and begin bouncing on him. You don’t need to get used to him. He fits you like no other. All you need is to fuck yourself senseless on him and steal his sanity while you’re at it.

Jungkook moans loudly, his hands slip to your waist to hold it. He doesn’t guide you. He doesn’t need to because you know what you are fucking doing, but also because he has no strength in him to tell you what you should do. Once he’s on his back and got you on his cock, he is your fucking slave. If you want it fast and rough? Jungkook is happy to get wet and sensitive in your perfect cunt. If you want it slow and deep? Jungkook is more than happy to grow as big as he can and whimper your name. You want his orgasm quick? Jungkook just hopes that he can breathe between all the moaning he has to do. You want to drag it out? Fuck, he’s going to suffer but he’s not going to complain for even a second. He’s your little sexdoll and you can get yourself off as you desire.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck”, he chants, feeling his brain pound behind his skull.

“You’re so big Kookie baby, I can’t get enough of you”, you moan, leaning your weight on his tummy. You know that he can take it. His abs are rock hard under your palms, convulsing each time your cunt meets the base of his cock and your ass slams down on his thighs. “it’s like you’re made for me. My pussy can’t get enough of being drilled by you, baby.”

“Don’t please”, he begs, “either fuck me or talk, don’t do both”, he whines.

“Why?” you chuckle.

“Cause together is too hot”, he mewls, rolling his head to the side and squeezing your waist, “I’m getting fucked so good”, he keens with his voice pitched in utter pleasure.

“You’re adorable”, you say, sliding your hands up his torso until you can rest them next to his head. Like this your tits bounce all into his face, “open your eyes, Kook.”

Jungkook obeys and sobs your name, reaching for your tits instantly just to press them together and bury his face in them. He sucks and licks and kisses, using way too much spit for it which makes it all the more addicting. You know that once he is done, your skin will be covered in sensitive spots where he sucked for too long and your nipples will be throbbing. Just how you like it. You arch your back to smother him even further and stick out your ass. His cock curves in this position, grinding over your favourite spots inside with each movement.

“That’s it, suck my tits. You’re such a hungry little baby”, you taunt him as you wiggle your hips on him in a skilled rhythm. The kind which makes his toes curl and forces him to make the neediest little sounds into your tits, “so good baby, you’ve got the best fucking cock.”

He is stuck on your right nipple. You know that he has no control over it. You are scrambling his brain. He can’t think. Nor move. Sucking on your nipple is an instinctive, dumb reaction to getting his cock bounced on. This isn’t something he does willingly, it’s the only way he can take what you give him. And it’s starting to hurt. Jungkook sucks with such vigour that it’s getting uncomfortable.

You tug him away with a harsh grip on his hair. His spit drips all over his lower face, his eyes open. There are tears sitting on his pretty, dark lashes. His cheeks are flushed pink, his gaze just that little bit droopy.

“I have another nipple too, you know?” you say, “use your brain to think.”

His cock throbs inside you and leaks angrily. He squeezes your waist, curling his toes.

“You’re so mean”, he presses out and arches his back.

“I am? Oh baby, I’m sorry”, you coo, “you know that I don’t mean it.”

Jungkook whimpers and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue. You know that he is asking for your nipple. But you are in a teasing mood.

You lean down and lick his tongue before you wrap your lips around it to suck on it to the point where he moans into your mouth and scratches up your back. The sensation leaves a slight burn behind and forces you to growl into him like a needy animal. 

Jungkook swears that he is going to pass out. You are messing with him way too much. He expected anything but this. Maybe he should have expected it. He is married to the nastiest, most amazing sex goddess after all.

You release his tongue with a purr, claiming his lips next. The kiss is deep and messy. Tongues dance with each other in an unidentifiable rhythm, teeth manage to clash together every so often which results in you giggling and moaning into the other and your lips can’t seem to get enough of feeling the other’s. His cock feels a million times better now that you are kissing him. You don’t feel the need to give him ruthless bounces anymore. Just deep grinding. The kind which shifts his cock inside you and always keeps it pressed to your favourite spot. Your clit grinds against his tummy this way as well. The pressure and his warmth are enough to send a constant stream of electricity through your veins.

Air is sparse in your lungs. You gotta breathe. You break the kiss. Both of you pant for air. Just ten seconds of distance. He uses the time to hold onto your shoulders, you use the time to twist his hair. His lips call you back. You kiss him, concentrating your attention on his lip ring area. Your tongue traces the metal ring, your lips kiss and suck it and you even dare to tug on it with your teeth as carefully as possible.

“Holy fuck”, his talking forces the piercing to slip from your lips.

“What’s wrong? Hurts?” you ask.

“That feels incredible”, he says.

“Mhm. Yeah?” you flick your tongue over it, “not gonna lie, kinda obsessed with it.”

“Just kiss me, mommy”, he whines and hooks his fingers behind your head.

“Did you just call me-”

“Shut up”, he interrupts you and pulls you down into the kiss. He keeps you close with his nails scratching over your scalp and his puffy lips chasing your kiss. He props his feet up on the sun bed and thrusts up into you.

You squeak, falling to your elbows this way. Your tits squish against his chest, rubbing against his nipple piercings and making him whimper. Your sweaty skins melt together. He took over, now slamming his cock into you in a deep and hasty rhythm. You convulse on top of him and break the kiss just to hide away in the crook of his neck and wail his name.

He hugs you against his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

“I love you”, he growls, “holy fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too”, you squeak, “Kook, Kookie, Jungkookie oh god baby.”

“I fucking love this pussy”, he grips your ass and uses the leverage to move your hips on his cock, “shit, you feel so good.”

“Oh god”, you sob, “Kook, this making me cum.”

“Yeah? Good”, he spits and moans squeakily. Despite his rough fucking and harsh grip, he moans cutely. His voice is all pitched and breathy, barely wanting to come out from how messed up you got him. The contrast is making your head pound.

“Holy fuck, I’m close”, you get out, “fuck, your cock’s so good. Fuck baby, fuck.”

“Same, fucking same”, he growls, “don’t hold back, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Deeper.”

Jungkook tenses his thighs and fucks his cock as deep as he can go.

“Yes!” you wail, starting to convulse on top of him as your body prepares for the messiest high, “yes! Yes! Yes!”

“That’s it baby, take my cock. Take my fucking cock, you’re doing so good. Oh fuck, I’m gonna nut so hard”, he is rambling. He always does that when he gets too lost in you and his mind is running on nothing but you, “gonna fucking cream your sweet little pussy, god I want you so bad. Fuck baby, you drive me insane.”

“Koo, I’m cumming”, you mewl and break apart, clutching him for dear life as your veins fill with fiery ecstasy.

“Yes baby, fuck holy fuck”, Jungkook’s voice changes in pitch, he barely gets the words out, “oh fuck, you’re squeezing my cock like crazy. God, I love you. My princess, keep cumming, that’s it.”

You have to be honest, you barely take in what he says. You know that he is talking and it’s making you so wet that he barely manages to stay inside, but his words don’t really stay in your brain. You are so far gone in the blissful embrace of your orgasm. He makes you feel just way too good.

“Oh god, baby I can’t hold back anymore”, he mewls and squeezes you tightly, “___!”

His hips drop and still, his cock throbs inside you and the loudest squeaks leave him. You can feel how his hot cum shoots up your pussy and how it’s leaking out of you because you’re milking him like crazy.

Still delirious from your own orgasm, you grind on him messily and without any sort of rhythm. You just want to make him feel good and be with him for as long as possible.

Your bodies naturally slow down. You know each other so well that it is your bodies’ instinct to stop once it turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable. Messy grinds turn into barely there rocks of your hips, these turn into the occasional clench of your walls until even that stops and you are resting atop his chest while both of you are panting for air.

You don’t need to talk – hell, neither of you could – as recovering with each other is already enough to comfort you.

Once those seconds turned into minutes and Jungkook’s softened cock naturally slipped out of you, you are the one to finally break the comfortable silence.

“So that just happened.”

“Yeah”, Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing his palm up and down your back, “fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck”, you agree, “that was amazing.”

“It was fucking incredible”, he says and laughs again.

You join him because it feels good to laugh with him. Especially after sex.

“So uhm”, you say, nudging his neck with your nose, “wanna talk about the M-bomb you just dropped?”

“Shut up”, he whines, “I had your tits in my face and you were so sexy, it slipped outta me.”

“No don’t apologise, it was hot as fuck. You just never said that before”, you say and giggle, “you’re cute, baby.”

“Mhhm, it’s ‘cause you messin’ wit’ me”, he lulls and hugs you tightly, “always makin’ me feel so good.”

“Yeah same. You make me feel so good too”, you say and lift your head just so you can finally look at his face. He looks as ruined as you feel. It’s the sexiest look on him, “I’m already obsessed with the lip ring.”

“Yeah same”, Jungkook says, licking over it, “now I gotta think of techniques to use it on you when I eat you out.”

“Mhhm that sounds like fun”, you say, tracing it with your finger, “I can’t wait to explore it with you.”

He smiles, scrunching his nose up. He is so happy when he’s with you. You feel the same. He’s the best thing in your life.

[peachesofteal]

Floorplan

Steve Rogers/female reader 2.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Nomad era Steve. Reader and Steve have a baby together, mention of pregnancy. Possessive Steve Rogers. Praise kink. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Orgasm delay/denial. Could be considered toxic. Steve has issues with boundaries. Angst. Steve Rogers is keeping a secret.

Steve Rogers is keeping a secret. 

It’s heavy, heavier than most, this you know without a doubt, because you carry it as well, it’s existence a variable in your life that you never expected, never even imagined, if you’re being honest. 

A variable that ties him to you, indefinitely. For eternity. For better or for worse, without the papers or proof, the only exception being the small infant that sleeps in the room down the hall, while her father has you pinned against the bed, fingers digging into your thighs, splaying your body wide for him to do as he wishes, because you’re so fucking weak.

“Steve.” You hiss, word drawn loud from your mouth when the tip of his tongue works in tandem with his fingers, playing your clit easily, hips eagerly rocking against his face. 

“Pillow, honey. Don’t want to be too loud.” He murmurs a reminder into your cunt, crooking a finger up against that spot, the sweet spot that waits for him inside your body, working you into a mindless haze, building you up closer and closer to an orgasm until you’re panting, curve of your spine shining with a glimmer of sweat. “That’s it, that’s it. Almost there.” He hums, pulling away at the last second to peek up at your face, beard wet with you, absolutely soaked with your arousal. It glistens in the low light of your bedroom, and he smirks before going back to his meal, dotting gentle and slow kisses down the inside of your thigh that make you whisper desperate pleas. 

“Steve, please, don’t-“ Don’t stop. Keep going. Please, please, please. 

“Shhh. I know.” He coos. “Just need to get you ready for me sweetheart, that’s all.” And, if you weren’t so lost in the haze of your pleasure right now, you’d probably have something sharp to say in response. He always does this. Brings you to the edge over, and over, makes you wild for him, ache for him, just so he can pluck your strings perfectly, harmonize your need with his since your mind won’t budge, his possession of your body always tipping you over the cliff and into his arms, every time, without fail. 

Even a sailor lost at sea needs an anchor. 

And he is lost, has been, for some time. Since Bucky. Since Tony. Since he broke everyone out of the raft and went on the run, dipping in and out of towns and cities across the globe. 

That’s how you met him. That’s how you brought him home one night, that turned into two, that turned into more, and more. Your greed, your desire overriding your good sense because he was leaving soon, and he wouldn’t be around, and it’s all just some fun- I can keep a secret, Steve, you don’t have to hide from me. You’re safe with me. We’re not even together, just enjoying each other’s company, yeah?

You never thought you would survive it, loving him. Loving a man who’s not a man at all, who’s lost in the wilderness, who’s relearning everything about himself and the world all at once. Cast out by his country, his own namesake. Living on the run. Living with his band of misfit toys. 

So, you kept it to yourself, even though he didn’t. Even though you heard him whisper it to you in the middle of the night, when he thought you must be asleep. Even though it felt like obsession, possession, both ends burning the midnight oil. You kept it to yourself, kept the smile on your face, kept the swell of your emotions at bay. 

If you don’t love him, it won’t be as bad, when he goes. When they move on. 

Then, Steve Rogers did something he didn’t even know he could do. Something he didn’t intend, he claims, something he was told should be impossible. 

He gave you a baby. 

He gave you a baby, and everything changed. 

You’re just about to spit out something insistent, something needy, as he calls it, when you’re being moved, flipped over to your belly with no warning, the warmth of his chest bleeding across your back. His beard tickles against your ear, mouth pressing sweet kisses to your temple, and you can smell yourself on him, the proof of your weakness for him all over his face. 

“Here we go, good girl. I’ve got you.” The solid weight of his cock lays between you, the spill of his pre come smearing against the inside of your thighs and then inside of you, the heavy, thick head pushing in little by little, your mouth drooping wide on the pillow. 

“Ahh-“ you groan. It bites, the stretch, the sting of it all, and he knows, he loves it, and you do too (even though now you never tell him, because it’s not like before, not like when you weren’t the mother of his child, not like when things were simpler, when you could have walked away, when you weren’t falling down the rabbit hole with a man who has lost his entire identity, his country, his life-)

“God, honey. What a sweet little pussy you have for me, huh?” His teeth find the skin of your neck, below your jaw, and they graze with a nip, light pressure to punctuate his ownership. For me. For me, for me, for me. “Just perfect. My perfect, good girl.” You try to bite back the moan that rises in your throat but it’s impossible, and he’s no fool, the curl of his smile imprints across your skin, cock sawing in and out of your body like you were made for it. 

He says you were, of course. That you were made for him, and for no one else, and he doesn’t care what happens in the next year, or two, or ten. You’ll always be his. He’ll always come back. He’ll always be here. 

“What will you do if… when you go home, to America?”

“I’ll bring you both. Put you up in a place. Or maybe I’ll buy you a house, honey. With a white picket fence and everything. Give you another baby. Give you two more babies.”

“Steve-“

“No, no. Don’t.”

“Steve.” You whine, still mouthing the pillow, fingers tight in the sheets. You clench down around him, unable to keep yourself from barreling towards your orgasm any longer, and he whispers encouragement in your ear, soft praise of how good you feel and how wet and are you going to come for me, honey? You going to give a me a good one? Let me feel you squeezing my cock with it?

Your first orgasm comes with ease. So does your second. 

Your third comes with tears that he laps up across your cheek, as too many words get stuck in your throat. I love you. I hate you. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you to leave. 

It builds, each time he slips inside the house at night, each time you come home from work or errands and he’s sitting on the couch reading a book, or sketching, just waiting for you and Emmaline. It builds and builds, when he’s got you bent over the kitchen table, cheek pressed to the wood, sinking his cock into your body with an unmatched fury, breathing claims of ownership against your skin. Mine, for me. My girls. My baby. 

“Maybe I’ll give you another. Fill you up until you’re overflowing, get you pregnant.” It’s an overload, a killshot straight to your heart, your nervous system, and it engulfs you in fire, your body clenching around his cock involuntarily, like all it wants is to be bred by him, fucked deep with his come until you’re round with his baby, again. And he knows it, knows it too well. Sees the way your eyes shutter, can feel the way your body begs for it. You want to come, and he’ll torture you with it, dragging it out until you’re breaking apart. “Go ahead, tell me honey. Say it, do you want it?” 

“Y-yes, please. Please, daddy.” 

Everything you carry, all the tangles, the snarled mess that exists in your heart for him surges, and his hand sneaks between the mattress and your body to cup your belly, palm warm like a brand. Like it’s always been, now, and before- 

He holds you from behind, hands flush overtop your navel, stroking the roundness of your stomach with longing affection. 

“How’re my girls today?” 

“Tired.” You shift, and he hums in response. You’re about to snap at him about being here in the first place, remind him he can’t just use his key whenever, let himself inside whenever, but his hands drift to the bottom of your belly and lift, robbing you of all the lectures and rebuttals as the pressure on your spine is instantly relieved. 

“That better sweetheart?” 

He’s deep, so deep that it burns, head of his cock punching against your cervix, hitting that spot repeatedly. You gasp, burying your face in the pillow, smothering the shriek of your moans. He’s close, you can tell, you can feel it, the way his muscles start to become rock, the strike of his hips against your ass moving you further up the bed until your neck is craning to the side to avoid the headboard.

“Here it comes honey, lie still, just- just let me- let me give it to you.” It’s a stammered slur being pushed out through a too tense jaw, restraint burning in his muscles, arms cradling you like a precious, rare gem to be coveted, something more important than duty and a shield. 

Later, he’s still in your bed, even though he said he wouldn’t be. 

He’s heavy, and hot, so hot that you don’t need a blanket when he holds you. You find it fascinating, even more curious that your own child runs hotter than normal too, more evidence of the clear truth that both you and Steve are working vigilantly to hide and disguise. 

“You should sleep.” He’s insistent, and your lashes flutter closed with a big breath. 

“You don’t have to stay.” He wants to. He’s stubborn about it. It’s the reason he gave for appearing on your doorstep earlier. 

“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come sooner.” 

“It’s not like I know where you are these days.” 

“Don’t. Don’t… start this.” 

“She has colic, Steve. There’s not much you’re going to be able to do, we just have to ride it out.” 

“I don’t care. I’m here.” 

He was the one who had managed getting Emmaline to sleep earlier, rocking her in his arms until she settled, sweet little baby finally succumbing to lullaby of sweet dreams in her dad’s arms. 

He’s so good at it, taking care of her, understanding what she needs and when, that you hardly sputtered a protest when he clicked her door shut and pulled you in for a kiss, pushing you into your own bedroom and laying you out on your back, a hand pinning your stomach to the sheets, another gripping your thigh wide for him, his strength forcing your body into a trap, where you were powerless. Stuck.  

“I guess I gotta put both my girls to bed, right? Isn’t that what you needed? Just needed daddy here, honey?”  

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll get her, when she gets up.” The fire of his skin makes everything in the room feel heavy, feel heady, and it’s so easy to slip into your imagination to pretend, dream about a world where your relationship wasn’t shattered, where Emmaline’s dad wasn’t just a shadow in the dark half the time he’s in the house, in her life, in yours. 

“You can’t just keep coming here, acting like everything is normal.” You whisper to the ceiling, but he doesn’t respond, just hums into your skin, deaf to your sense, your logic. 

You’re right. You know you are. Why can’t he just see that?

“Steve.” You pick at him. Pushing and pushing, careening closer to a breaking point, an inevitable end when he will sigh with the weight of exasperation, and then ease himself out of bed and disappear into the night. 

“This is the normal, for now.” He says instead, a rebuttal that takes you by surprise, a change in his usual course. Fingers stretch over yours with a yank, pulling you closer into the bend of his body. “But it won’t always be like this. We’ll go home soon.” Home. It sounds nice, but feels like a threat, considering this has been your home for years now, and this was where you were raising Emmaline, and this is where you had settled into life, started a career, put down roots. 

“Steve, I’m already home.” You remind him and he chuckles softly against your brow. 

“Are you?”

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 4: Visitors

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied child loss Note: Thank you for all of your support! I'm starting to run low on ideas for the Rileys. If y'all would like more, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments or my DMs! I will say, my BIG Ghost headcanon is that he has a tongue piercing, so do with that what you will *side eye* Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

John cracked the door to the hospital room and poked his head in. “I heard you kids are ready for visitors?”

“You’re in your forties, Price. You’re hardly older.”

“And yet, here I am, honorary granddad.”

Simon was too focused on the small bundle in his arm, gently tracing a tiny button nose before laying his open palm on her belly. He had shed his balaclava hours ago but still sported a skull-printed facemask. He recently left his hair longer than usual on the top but kept it tight on the sides. It was thick and almost shaggy, blonde locks starting to wave and curl at the ends.

The group entered the room, a massive barrage of foil and latex balloons squeezing through the door frame behind them. The sergeants wore beaming smiles as they rushed to Freyja, laid back in bed, and each thrust huge, full bouquets of flowers. “Oh dear Jesus,” she laughed tiredly, taking them both and resting them on the table at her bedside. She would ask the nurses to take care of them later. Surely they would have some vases she could borrow until they went home. 

Most of her labor was spent on her feet, unable to bring herself to get in bed for hours. She took to either hunching over it, Simon’s calloused hands gripping hers and dragging up and down her spine, or practically hanging from his shoulders, her forehead pressed against his chest. In a state of pure exhaustion, Price convinced her to give her feet rest, even if only for a little bit.

Not wanting to overwhelm her as the boys fussed over her, John calmly approached with a soft smile and placed a hand on her head. “You broken?” he asked, petting her hair as the boys tied off the balloons to the rails of the bed.

“I’m good,” she smiled back, leaning into the touch. She motioned for a hand, and Price and Soap helped her adjust to sitting up straighter. Johnny bent down and pressed a loud, wet kiss to her cheek, which she batted away with a scrunched nose. “Si, bring her here. Price first.”

“Aww, not fair! ‘M the best lookin’ uncle! I should go first!”

“Johnny,” Simon warned, giving the Scot a warning look. “Keep it down before I revoke your godfather privileges.” It was an empty threat, but he piped down anyway.

Soap was a human battering ram leaving the base, plowing through any soldier and recruit that got in the way as Gaz, Ghost, and Freyja followed closely behind. John saw a small smile on her flushed face when Gaz and Soap squeezed into the front seat together, chanting We’re having a baby over and over, to which she retorted, I didn’t realize the 141 was a military polycule.

John nestled the infant into the crook of his elbow, her swaddle shifting to leave her arms free. She squirmed, moving from Simon’s arms to John’s, her pink little face scrunching up in irritation. He gently brushed a finger along her sternum, which her tiny hand wrapped around, and she settled again. “She’s beautiful, Y/N.”

Johnny leaned over the Captain’s shoulder, Kyle doing the same on the other side. “God help her if she gets your ugly mug, Lieutenant,” Gaz teased, wiggling one of her feet within the blanket.

Ghost decided to let that one pass. “This is your granddad, lovie,” Simon said, his quiet voice rumbling. “Price, this is Joan.”

John’s eyes flickered between the man in front of him and the woman in the bed behind him. “Joan?”

“Mmm,” Simon nodded, his mask shifting as his cheeks rose underneath. He wasn’t usually so expressive but was exhausted and feeling particularly sappy.

John’s eyes watered, and he blinked back at the newborn. He had spent five long, sleepless days in that same hospital, forever yet not so long ago. John didn’t have a wife or children of his own. His team was the closest thing he had to family. He felt a fatherly responsibility to all four of them. Even then, it shouldn’t have been John Price cradling her face, whispering words of helpless encouragement, countless hours desperately pleading with command to pull Ghost out of his mission, to no avail.

Simon didn’t return until four months later.

He couldn’t remember a time before that when he had felt his heart break cleanly in two. Notifying next of kin was difficult but quick; drop the news and move on to the next. But the pain and, for lack of a better for, agony Freyja suffered during Simon’s access was unlike anything he’d witnessed.

Now the warm, healthy baby in his arms was his namesake.

“I’m honored, Simon. Thank you, both of you.”

“We were thinking ‘Joanie’ for a nickname.”

Soap whipped around, wide eyes meeting Freyja’s. “Like…Johnny? Me?” he whispered, his skin suddenly hot and his ears turning a bright shade of red. At the slightest sign of confirmation from her, he tackled his Lieutenant with his entire body weight, arms thrown around his neck. Simon grunted at the sudden contact and stumbled just a step. He awkwardly patted the man’s back with one hand.

“Johnny.”

Sniff.

“Get off of me.”

“You named yer daughter after me!”

“I named my daughter after my Captain.”

“Sure, Ghost. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

~*~

Simon was pulled from his slumber by the soft rustling and whines from the foot of their bed. Soft morning rays peeked through the gap in the curtains. Before her cries grew to high-pitched shrills and woke Freyja from her much-needed sleep, he rolled out from the covers and shuffled to pick her up. “Mornin’, lovie,” he hummed, unwrapping the tight bundle and freeing her limbs. Simon chuckled at her long stretch, carrying her out of their bedroom and quietly closing the door behind him. She deserved a little extra sleep.

He puttered around the house with Joanie in one arm, softly chatting about their plans for the day. Simon spent a lot of time talking to her, eyes resembling his gazing up at him, smiling or gurgling occasionally when she gummed her hands. He would tell her about any messages or videos her uncles had sent, funny stories from base, tales of his and Freyja’s travels during their time in the service. He had yet to talk about his parents or her Uncle Tommy, and anything related to missions was absolutely off the table.

A tiny, soft palm smacked his chest, grabbing his attention. His lip tugged at the corner, and he playfully tapped her nose. “What’re ya doin’, there? I’ve got nothin’, unfortunately. ‘M not your mum.” Freyja would tell him his accent got thicker the more tired he was if she were awake. He never really noticed a difference.

The bottle warmer on the counter pinged, indicating that it was ready. 

He settled in the deep corner of the couch as she ate, staring up at his like she always did. “Pretty girl,” he muttered while thumbing her cheek, which was starting to get that chunky plushness with every pound she gained. He stared and stared until she shoved at the empty bottle. It was placed on the coffee table, and Simon slid down until he was on his back, with her small body perched on top of him.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you and your mum.” She lifted her head at the sound of his voice, another skill she had been approving. “Your granddad’s always tellin’ me I’m too hard on myself. ‘You’re a hero, Simon, you save thousands of lives every day’,” he said, mimicking John’s posh accent. “Certainly don’t feel like a hero. It’s our job to protect people. ‘We get dirty and the world stays clean’.” Simon snorted, and the baby cooed at him, stretching to palm at his face.

“How’s that work? I’m supposed to keep the public safe but I couldn’t protect my family. I was gone. Your mum almost died.” He blinked away the hot tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat to chase away the burning ache forming. His fingers rubbed her back to ground himself, taking deep, steady breaths. When Simon turned his eyes from the ceiling back to his daughter, he saw her fighting sleep, eyes fluttering.

He could stay like that forever.

“But then we might not have you. Funny, that.”

Snoozing soundly against his warm skin, his hand firm enough to keep her in place so she couldn’t slip off. Simon got as comfy as he could without jostling the baby too much, wedging a throw pillow under his neck. 

He had never considered leaving his profession before seeing an empty nursery, dismantled and stripped to not look at it for another moment. They had both lost small pieces of themselves then. Simon had to learn to cope with the guilt of not being present for his wife during her darkest times, and Frey struggled to grasp her new reality, one that went against all of her plans at the time. 

But she was stubborn and determined to work, knowing he wouldn’t leave the force without her.

At the time, he was furious at her American pig-headedness and inability to listen to reason.

Now, with new photos littering their shelves, new toys and clothes strewn about, and his phone relentlessly ringing with desperate pleas for FaceTime calls and pictures, he was grateful. 

~*~

Where the fuck is he?

Freyja moved through their house with brows furrowed together as she searched the rooms for her husband. Panic briefly overtook her when she woke and found an empty bassinet until she realized the bed next to her was as well and figured Simon had taken their daughter to another room. 

But which one?

Eventually, she found him sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling off the chaise and an arm thrown over his eyes. He looked peaceful with their newborn against his bare, scarred chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. Her heart swooned, and she snapped a quick picture of the scene. Simon lifted his arm at the shutter click, his eyes half-lidded. A sleepy grin tugged at his lips, and he beckoned her over. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered as she bent down, securing a lazy kiss with a soft groan.

Their first few weeks as parents were blissful, even with the lack of sleep and drastic change in routine. Joanie was sleeping well, but Freyja and Simon struggled to get used to her sleep schedule. Anxiety and PTSD flared when she dreamt, and she often shot awake at any little noise, immediately going to the bassinet. He had nightmares but had gotten used to them since childhood, whereas her night terrors only started in the last couple of years.

Even at her young age, it was clear that she was already a daddy’s girl. Little Joan recognized his voice from across the house and sought him out, refusing to settle until she was in his arms or strapped to his torso. She preferred sleeping on their chests, listening to their heartbeats. She especially loved skin-on-skin contact.

Simon took to fatherhood immediately, fussing over her every need and want and happily chatting away, although they were one-sided conversations. His dad jokes were almost unbearable. If you had told her a few weeks ago that there was room in her to love Simon even more, she would have told you you were crazy. But watching him with his daughter proved her wrong. Her heart grew impossibly with every passing day.

On top of that, the sight of him with their daughter snuggled up with him, his tattooed sleeve, blonde hair mussed with sleep? God damn.

“You should know I’m dying to jump your bones right now.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled wider. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, the daddy energy’s really doin’ somethin’ for me.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, love. I’ll take ya to bed as soon as you’re able. It’s only been two months.”

Small hands grasped at his skin, alerting him to her stirring. Simon gently shushed her as he sat up, shifting her to his shoulder; she somehow looked even tinier in his hold. Something fluttered in her chest again as he nuzzled Joanie’s shoulder, and she beamed at him. He shifted under her gaze, looking amused.

“Staring’s kind of my thing, Frey. It’s unsettling.”

“I told you, fatherhood looks good on you.”

BANG BANG BANG

“Good mornin’ Mexico!” Soap’s voice cried through the door, followed by Gaz’s chesty cackles.

Only Freyja jumped when the door shook, but they both looked towards it, Simon’s brow raised. “Bloody hell, are they daft? It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday!”

“Which means it’s their only free time, and they want to see us,” she scolded and nudged him to the kitchen. He acted tough, but she knew her husband well enough to know how much the team’s affection meant to him. Neither of them had any family to speak of, whether in England or America. It takes a village to raise a baby, as they say, and what a town they had.

With a wicked smile on her face, as Simon passed her, she wound up and slapped his ass with a sharp crack, earning a hiss.

“The fuck, Frey!”

“Your fault for walking around like that! It’s scandalous!”

He was wearing grey sweatpants.

“You’re pushin’ it, love. Don’t be a cheeky brat.” (Translation, ‘I love it, please do that again’).

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Freyja tied her robe in front as someone banged on the door again. “Jesus Christ, hold your horses!”

The second the lock turned, Gaz busted the door open (it bounced off the coat rack behind it), ready to pounce. “Where’s the babe?” he cried, hands on her shoulders as he physically moved her out of his way.

“Hello to you too, Kyle. Lovely weather we’re having.”

He pecked her cheek with a quick Hello, then immediately flipped her off, storming past her towards the kitchen where soft baby noises came from. From the other room, she heard the sergeant practically squeal, “There’s my girl! Give her here!”

“Sergeant—”

“Kindly get fucked, mate!”

“I’m warning you, Garrick!”

A scuffle and light cursing rang through the house, and Soap’s laugh shook the walls as he hugged her tightly, squishing her. “Pure mental about that baby, he is,” he said, then kissed her forehead. “Oof, ya look like shite, hen.”

“Thank you, Soap. It’s truly a marvel that you’re still single.”

They joined Ghost and Gaz in the kitchen, Johnny carrying two large paper bags. The warm smell of butter, grease, and onions wafted through the air, and Freyja deeply inhaled, savoring it. “We brought breakfast as payment for your troubles.”

She snatched one from him, pulled one of the takeout boxes out, and threw herself at the table.

“Did you put the kettle on?” Kyle asked, smiling down at Joan and tickling her belly. She kicked her legs furiously, grabbing at his fingers with both hands in a tight baby grip. “Holy shit, the bloody grip on you!” 

Simon huffed and muttered some choice words under his breath. “I was workin’ on it when you nearly broke my door in and kidnapped my child.”

“Sweet, I’m dyin’ for a cuppa.”

As if reading each other’s minds, Soap and Freyja groaned, in sync, “Fuckin’ Brits.”

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Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[crybaby-bkg]

Kirishima who likes that cheesy, shitty porn that makes you and Bakugou cringe, but you two can't help but indulge the big guy when he wants to role-play.

bakugou has been a swimmer since he was an infant, but pretends to drown in you guys' pool so Kiri can jump in and save him as the life guard on duty. gives bakugou mouth to mouth which always seems to devolve into tongue kissing and a cough from you to at least get back on script. it somehow ends up with you thanking the life guard for saving your boyfriend by offering up your mouth to him while he continues to tongue down Bakugou. its a little stupid, but everyone always gets off.

or, his other favorite one, where he's coming in for a massage and you and bakugou are both the masseuses. Bakugou works his back muscles and you flip him over to do his front. you always somehow end up bouncing on Kiri's cock while Bakugou fucks his mouth. you don't mind that one as much, because Kiri's chest oiled up always look so delectable, and the sounds he emits low in his throat when you play with his nipples is always worth the ache in your thighs the next morning.

you've done hero-villain-civilian role-play before too, where you're the helpless victim fallen prey to a mysterious blood riot and trying to be saved by dynamight. that one, despite how much you both complain about it all, seems to elicit the eagerest responses from all of you. its something about playing helpless while being taken from behind that does you in. especially when you're bent over in Bakugou's lap while he's tied down to a chair, unable to save you, his sweet little civilian. eye to eye with him, his mouth gagged, while Kiri fucks you so mercilessly that your drool hits Bakugou's chin and his evil laughs makes both of you close to orgasming.

now that one makes the role-play seem just a bit less cringy. but only when its you guys doing it, not the fake shit Kiri watches. if wants cheesy porn, then you two are willing to help him play it all out in real life.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Epic the Musical What if

(What if Athena didn’t say goodbye to Odysseus?)

-Everything up to the events of “Remember them” occurred.

-Athena was prepared to say her goodbye. But Odysseus isn’t angry and shouting back… he breaks down.

-Odysseus confesses that she’s right. He should have killed the cyclops. That he has been acting irrationally. He admits that killing that infant really messed him up.

-Athena realizing that yes, Odysseus did indeed screw up. But that he’s admitting his fault. And even she admits that she wasn’t really a fan of baby murder. So she sings instead of my goodbye, it’s called “Refresher” as it’s her bring him back to how he should be.

-The events of “Storm” and “Luck runs out” are the same.

-Athena appears to help Odysseus when talking to the wind god.

-Athena tells him to prepare a second bag. One to show his crew. A decoy bag. Where he keeps the real one hidden from their view. Odysseus doesn’t question the advice. The song “keep your friends close” is relatively the same. Except that Thanks to listening to Athena. The crew only opened the fake bag. One that Odysseus made that would splatter ink on who opened it.

-Odysseus spent 9 days not sleeping only to be awakened by the shout of surprise by his crew.

-Odysseus saw it was Eurylochus that opened the bag. Seeing his stained hands.

-The New song “Traitor” plays. Basically Odysseus calling out Eurylochus. Angry for his actions. And Odysseus questions what he should do. As he almost opened the real bag. Athena tells him he needs to show the crew what happens to traitors.

-but just before he kills Eurylochus. Poseidon shows up. He sings Ruthlessness. But thanks to Athena being by Odysseus side. She tells him to open the bag and point it at Posideon. Cutting off Poseidon before he killed the people on his crew.

-The storm did blow them off course, though instead of the land of Giants, They ended up at Circe’s island.

-Athena tells Odysseus that Eurylochus will betray him again. Which makes Odysseus heart ache as he admits that he wasn’t going to kill him if Poseidon didn’t show up. But he resolves himself to do it.

-Eurylochus however prepares a “Mutiny” with some of the sailors. But they quickly beat the small rebellious soldiers. But they flee, running into Circe. Who turns them all, including Eurylochus into pigs.

-Athena tells Odysseus not to pursue. “They have a worse fate in store.”

-Odysseus finds out it’s Circe’s island and he asks Athena if they should talk to Circe. Athena says “No,” they are better off leaving.

-Odysseus agrees, they get some supplies, leave their former crew mates as pigs and leave. Odysseus does find the pigs and sings “the price of treason” to Pig Eurylochus.

-They basically skip the underworld and we get right to the Thunder saga. They run into the sirens. Cue, “Suffering, and Different Beast.”

-They easily capture the Sirens. But instead of killing all of them. Athena tells them to cut the tongues out of 6 of them. And tie them to poles.

-The events of “Scylla” occur, but none of their men die, only the Sirens they used as bait and tied torches to. Scylla didn’t question the sacrifices as food is food.

-With that, Odysseus and crew finally get to Ithica. Where Poseidon was waiting.

-Poseidon didn’t get a chance to really get his point across and is very salty. A variant of “Get in the water”

-Athena manages to talk to Poseidon. This allowed most of the crew to make it to shore. Except Odysseus. Who Poseidon said needed to learn a lesson.

-That’s when Odysseus suggests a rematch. He will fight Polyphemus one on one. That way he his son gets his chance at retribution.

-Poseidon was amused by this and agreed.

-Poseidon brought Polyphemus to neutral ground as Athena brought Odysseus. To the island of the Sun god.

-The new Song “Eye for an Eye” plays.

-Odysseus realizes he is REALLY outclassed. In this David and Goliath style fight. But he remembers he is a warrior of the mind.

-Odysseus manages to bring Polyphemus down. And the blinded Cyclops begged for mercy. The new song “mercy” plays. Where Odysseus recounts his attempts at mercy. Ending with him killing the cyclops. Poseidon accepting the duel and says that if he spared his son he would have killed him immediately.

-Odysseus finally makes it home, in a song called “Homecoming”

-Odysseus arrives with his men greeting him at the beach. They wanted to be sure their captain made it back. He returned with his men. Though he does lament the loss of Polites and betrayal of Eurylochus. But says he is glad he still had one friend at his side, Athena.

-Odysseus gets the suitors to scatter as Odysseus and his men greatly outnumbered them. Odysseus greets his wife and his 13 year old son. Grateful to be home.

[fandonnavyce]

Jason in Wonderland - Part 3

Who Are You?

Part 1, Part 2, AO3

“Not all who wander are lost.” Gotham smiled. It was cruel. It was uncaring. It was welcoming.

“A̵̍̑͜r̶̞̳͋e ̸͍͜͝ÿ̶̢̥́o̸u No̸̖̯̽t̴͘ Họ̸̅̅m̸̿ẻ̸̩͘?̷̅ M̴̢͙̜͇͓̂̑̉͝͝¥̶̖͙͖͇̳̃̿͑́͠ Sð̶͓͚̟̟͚͗̅̃̋̒ñ̸(Mine, mine, MINE)(My-Twice-Born)(My Red Knight)(My Beloved Bloody Butcherbird).”

“Your Son?” Jason tasted the name, the title, on the tip of his tongue.

Gotham smiled. Gleaming white teeth, straight and perfect, sparkled. ‘Dangerous’, Jason's instincts murmured.

“My Dear Robin,” she called.

Jason blanched.

“I am Not Robin.”

Gotham smirked.

“I am Not Robin,” Jason protested vehemently. Gotham gave an arched brow.

“My Son, My Robin, My Knight. Blood Red Shrike, Redbreast Bright. My Son, My Robin, My Knight.”

Gotham sang.

“O’ Robin. Wast Robin not borne from mine own very flesh? Didst thee not nurse on mine own blood and tears, teethed on mine own bones. Sleepeth and swaddled under mine own night skies blanket? Hath I not raised Robin on mine own streets?

O’ Robin. Didst Robin’s first steps not tread in milk-teeth sneakers upon mine own broken back? First words not chirped to mine own visage, in mine own ears With a chick’s cheeping?

O’ Robin.

With downy feathers of red, green, and gold didst Robin’s first flight not beginneth                      with a leap into mine own arms?

And after thee wast Lost to me on distant shores Forsaken Son, didst thee not Returneth to me? Thou art Walk Against Death as my Red Knight When you crawled out from Death’s Hold and Birthed yourself from my soil bed Wast thee not then Born Again? O’ My Darling Robin

O’ Son of Gotham Son of Catherine, Son of Sheila, Son of Willis, Son of Bruce, Scion of Alfred, Scion of Wayne. Jason Peter Todd, Gotham runs in thy veins. It’s in thy blood. I’m in the marrow of thy bones. Tis in thy DNA

If You, who left and returned to my bosom, If You, with me in your lungs, vanquishes those that prey on the humblest, are not My Robin then… Who Are You?

If ye, Who didst turn a Circus Child’s erstwhile boots and infant wings Into a Gotham Legacy, art not Robin mine then…

Ẃ̸̰h̵̞͎̓̔o̷̪͌̀ Aṛ̴̽t̷̛̖͉̾ T̴̩͍̿ḫ̴̇o̷̙̼̔ù̸̜̊?”

Jason’s mind blanked. Suddenly Red Hood, a name Jason had ripped off that blight on Gotham. That he wore second-hand. That he executed, ruled, and governed with, suddenly seemed ill-fitting, (too small) and unsuited (wretched) relative to everything else he had been. Bright, Wonderful, Magic. (I’m Robin and being Robin gives me Magic)

“I, I, I hardly know” Jason replied. “But I know I'm much changed from then, since when I was Robin.”

“What do you mean by that? Explain yourself Ṙ̵̳͊ob̵͛͝ḯ̵̙͕̍n.”

Jason shook his head. “I can't explain Myself beyond that I'm hardly Robin anymore. I don't even know how I, myself, came back from Death, you see.”

“I don't see,” said Gotham.

To Gotham, Robin was Robin was Robin was Robin was Robin.

“I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly.” Jason answered politely, “I don't understand Myself. Only that being so different is maddening.”

“It is not,” said Gotham. A Spirit born from the minds of thousands across generations; Gotham was Gotham was Gotham, no matter the skin or time the City wears.

“Surely, being like one kind of person then being like a totally different kind, whilst still being treated like they're the same. Is that not strange?”

“No.”

Jason scowled, frustrated at his failure to get his point across, and at Gotham’s refusal to see his way.

“Robin died!” Jason ground out, “Robin died with broken wings, a busted skull, choking on smoke, and with fire eating away at my flesh.” Jason gasped for air, “Robin died! And when I came back, I wasn’t Robin, I WAS MAD!!!”

Doubling over, Jason keened. His throat choked. His skin itched. His chest burned. Frustrated, desperate fingers clutched and dug for absent relief. His head SCREAMED!

Then he felt a gentle kiss upon his brow. A Mother’s Benediction. Jason gasped. Frantically, he rubbed away the welling tears of relief at the sudden calm.

“What was that?!” Jason demanded in quiet, seething, wide-eyed disbelief.

“You seemed to have developed a hypersensitive autoimmune response. Recollections of your demise seemed to have triggered an anaphylactic shock on an ectobiological scale. Your hybrid ectobiology are causing seizures that are, despite overt superficial similarities, of a state atypical of a Ghost’s Death Day because of- ”

“Speak plain english!” cried the Butcherbird to his Lady Gotham. “I don’t know the meaning of half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do either!” Jason breathed heavily in the silence. Gotham’s eyes are hooded, as garnet hair flutters and writhes upon her bare shoulders.

“You had an allergic reaction. At the very core of you.” Then with a wave of her black gloved hand, the scene blurs.

...

Jason stands on a rooftop with a gargoyle for company and two others:

Gotham’s Dark Knight and Robin Boy Wonder.

The Dark Knight is an amorphous spiked shadow-blob from the neck down and a facsimile of a horned shadowy head with a pair of white beaming eyes from the neck up.

Boy Wonder meanwhile is a five foot nothing dark haired kid dressed in a colourful top, a bright yellow cape, and green booty shorts with matching pixie boots. His indistinct youthful features behind the domino mask place him anywhere between the ages of 8 and twice that.

“Holy macaroni, you’re in rough shape!”

“Hmm”

Jason blue-screens.

“Did we break his brain?”

“Hnn”

“Should we-”

“Who are you?” Jason interrupted. Jason already knew. But he just wanted them to say it.

Whispers rasped from the rustling wind.

  “I am Vengeance . I am The Night .”

  The Dark Knight’s shroud flared to impossible, intimidating heights.

 “ I’m Batman.” 

Jason felt his skin break out into goosebumps as he stared up into the night sky dominated by Gotham’s Dark Knight.

“AND I'M ROBIN!”

Like a bright firework bang, Robin shone high in the sky.

Fwip, fwip, fwip, fwip.

An iconic dazzling quadruple flip splashed against the sky. Robin gracefully danced with gravity to finish with a beautiful descent. The moves were Dick Grayson.

But that was a rough Gotham brogue - kenned from the mouths of street alley rats.

[princess-pray-a]

Characters: Gilbert, Chevalier, Clavis reader

Paring: Gilbert X reader

Words count: 750

Synopsis : Clavis and KING Chevalier visit Obsidian as Rhodolite representative on birth of Gilbert and former belles (your) child. As Gilbert let's them meet the baby they both witness something that leaves them surprised and smiling in the end .

Gilbert holds his little baby just so precious, his eyes so soft on her his bloodlust gone the room felt so calm like a shrine ! Everyone including Clavis and Chevalier could feel that the conqueror beast was conquered by a little kid , something not even the most genius of men could do . His smile is so care free as he gazes at his little daughter . “ My little tiny bunny , you look soo much like your mother , let daddy protect you ok !?” He speaks to her his tone coated in honey, after coming out from his world of happiness a joy after being a father for the first time Gilbert glances at Clavis and Chevalier .” Fufu look how cute is my daughter Chev I bet you are jealous but you too have been an uncle , And Clavis I hope you won’t drag my little one into your pranks ! But I am assured you will help me like a good friend won’t you !?”. “ The mood grew slightly tense as Clavis understood who it was before him . The conqueror beast was a beast after all now a protective one . Chevalier heaved a sigh “ Ridiculous, I don’t care”. He was almost going to leave the room when Gilbert blocked his way out .” Aha nope nope atleast have a look at her , no wait fufu hold her see for yourself how charming she is!” With the gleeful smile Gilbert hands his daughter to Chevalier , Chevalier who was clearly annoyed now holds the infant with somewhat awkward clumsy handle on her yet being careful not to hurt or drop the little one . When he gazes at her face her brown doe like eyes sparkle and a giggle escapes her lips while her hands extends towards him, trying to grab him , Chevalier who always had even adults cowering at his intense icy gaze felt a sense of warmth and surprise at how this baby was clearly enjoying herself held by a man known as brutal beast , it probably was because she herself was the daughter of the women with the most beautiful heart in rodholite “ BELLE” and the conqueror beast as her father. Chevalier smiled a little the same soft smile he rarely showed some selected people . “ Ah Chev smiled ! Wow she even won over the brutal beast “. Clavis exclaimed . “ hhaha didn’t I say you Clavis … she “ Gilbert was trying to explain about how wonderful his daughter is when he got interrupted, he couldn’t believe his ears “ ma.. ma … mama” his little baby was looking towards the door while held by chevalier, there stood the love of his life mother of his daughter , you , THE WOMEN. WHO ONCE WAS BELLE. That was your daughters first words . You and Gilbert rushed to her but she was not done yet . “ pa.. pa .. papa fuuup “ she called gilbert. Chev holding the baby didn’t know what to do . He was confused why were both you and Gilbert acting so strange its just some words by a baby while Gilbert and you both were tongue tied and almost going to burst to tears. “That’s our baby’s first time speaking “ Gilbert spoke softly . Now he gets it getting to witness a child’s first time speaking is definitely something to behold he realized how warm Gilbert gaze felt . But what he didn’t anticipate was the child’s next move .“ cheu, chewu, chev “ she called out to him with her so precious smile . How could someone so small be so courageous . It wasn’t anything big but it was big for chevalier it was Important for him. And not only him she glance at Clavis and started calling out to him as well “ clai, clavi, Claveshee “ . Now it was Clavis’s turn to run to Chevaliers side “ dearie me ! You are definitely dangerous taming 3 beasts as soon as you start speaking How am i going to leave your side when you call out to me soo lovingly !you are going to be more courageous than your mother who married the world wide disaster !”Captivating the brutal beast , the conqueror beast and the pleasure loving beast all at once with her charms your little baby was definitely was an enigma who was to turn the world upside down ! . You thought as Chevalier handed you your baby while Gilbert pressed a kiss to your forehead ! While the four of you made your way to the gardens to witness something even more wonderful with you little life in arms.

THE END …

A/N CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING TO THE END ! I was soo much in awwe with the new card for gilbert in jp where emma has been changed to kid it made me write it💓💓💫😌 my hearttt feels blessed hope you like it !!

Want more content??

Check here

[bookishblogging]

ALL ABOUT: Hermes 📬

"To Hermes, Fumigation from Frankincense. Hermes, draw near, and to my prayer incline, messenger of Zeus, and Maia's son divine; prefect of contests, ruler of mankind, with heart almighty, and a prudent mind. Celestial messenger of various skill, whose powerful arts could watchful Argos kill. With winged feet 'tis thine through air to course, O friend of man, and prophet of discourse; great life-supporter, to rejoice is thine in arts gymnastic, and in fraud divine. With power endued all language to explain, of care the loosener, and the source of gain. Whose hand contains of blameless peace the rod, Korykion (Corycion), blessed, profitable God. Of various speech, whose aid in works we find, and in necessities to mortal kind. Dire weapon of the tongue, which men revere, be present, Hermes, and thy suppliant hear; assist my works, conclude my life with peace, give graceful speech, and memory's increase." Orphic Hymn 28 to Hermes

Ἑρμης - HERMES

Hermes is the Olympian god of herds and flocks, travelers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy, language and writing, athletic contests and gymnasiums, astronomy and astrology. He also was considered to be his divine father's personal messenger, and was the guide for recently departed souls through the underworld.

His parents were the Olympian Zeus and nymph Maia- more notably known as a daughter of the titan Atlas. The Odyssey places him being born on Mount Cyllene in Arcadia, but other sources argue this fact. It was said he was born on the fourth of the month, making the number four sacred to the god.

Mere hours after his birth, he escaped his cradle and stole Apollo's cattle. Soon after this, Hermes invented the lyre and Apollo was so captivated by the instrument that he allowed Hermes to get off without any punishment for the infant's trickery.

Hermes has multiple titles and epithets, many of which can be found here.

Symbols of Hermes

Herald's Wand

Winged Boots

Travelers Hat

Ram

Hare (Rabbit)

Crocus Flower

Strawberry-tree

Some of the god's notable divine offspring include:

Angelia: Goddess of messages

Eleusis: Goddess of the Eleusinian Mysteries

Palaistra: Goddess of wrestling

Pan: Goat-footed god of the wild

Priapos: God of garden fertility

Want to read more? Check out my sources!

Hermes Theoi Page

Hermes Wiki

Hermes Offspring

Hermes Family

Pan Wiki

Hermes Epithets

[meekmedea]

I love clemensias relationship with her father in your fics, but I feel like we rarely hear about aelia. would you be willing to share some thoughts about aelia and endymion’s relationship and/or aelia and clemensia’s?

Aww glad to hear you enjoy Endymion Dovecote's appearances! You're right - we don't hear as much from Aelia as we should, so we should fix that :)

Endymion Dovecote/Aelia Beauchamp

While they met during their Academy years, they didn't truly know each other/get together until University.

The clementines.

How it started: a sour clementine that Aelia was complaining about to Psyche (Felix's mom) and Endymion overheard.

Those words stuck around as he was looking for things to invest into. And oh, what's this, a new/sweeter variety of fruits? SOLD. He'll invest if they start their research with clementines.

He impulsively bought the rights to the clementine variety once it worked. And has since never regretted it.

Endymion didn't mean to pull a Pavlov with the clementines - but he sort of did, as he kept getting tongue tied around Aelia. (Nero Price made fun of Endymion for weeks as he watched this unfold)

Eventually Endymion got past that, finally got the ball going on conversation. Sparks flew and the rest is history :)

Terrified that she'd scared Endymion off after the first time she'd introduced him to her family, but he decided to stick around and she was like 'Mine.'

Despite him being well off, after getting married, Aelia continued to work at the Beauchamp owned jewelry business - Lavinium. (Some of the 'old guard' look down upon her working - "it's her merchant class roots" - but neither her or Endymion care for the rumours.)

Aelia's jewelry is well known amongst the elite - one, she comes from a jewelry family. Two, every year for her birthday, Endymion schemes to get her something custom and gorgeous.

Aelia & Clemensia

When pregnant with Clemensia, she was craving clementines a lot. Enough so that she could polish a good amount in one sitting.

Definitely the one who Clemmie got her fashion from. Pre-Rebellion, Clemmie was probably one of the most stylish infants around for blocks.

Probably brought Clemmie around Lavinium too during that time. (Unexpected bonus - Clemmie boosts sales when she goes up to customers and is like "Woah, you look so pretty ❤️" The Dovecote charm has customers being like, "You're right, it does look gorgeous! I'm buying it. 🥰")

Aside: ulterior motive - get Clemmie associated more with Lavinium and considered a possible contender to inherit after Aelia's brother. The Beauchamp family inheritance is messy if you've seen previous posts about them haha

Actually not that great with hair - Aelia can do basic hairstyles on her daughter, but Endymion is actually way better at it. (She's a bit jealous haha, but Endymion will do her hair too).

Aelia is a bit stricter of Clemmie's parents and in times of stress, also the more level-headed. (Neither are super strict, it's just that Endymion is more likely to give in to Clemmie than she is).

Photo of Aelia Dovecote née Beauchamp on a casual day...

Art isn't mine, but from using this pic-crew

[rriavian]

WIP - Transmutation

Just a little snippet of a wip I'm working on. Honestly never thought I'd write something canon compliant with the end of the comics because I really don't like it. However, @bobbole and @windsweptinred have coaxed me into thinking about it and so this is part of a larger fic (will be Corinthiel but this snippet can be read as gen).

Warning: Spoilers for the Sandman comics below.

-

There is a dreamstone around his neck.

This one is emerald, a green like the lush summer fields, like trees, like leaves so aglow with life it's a wonder so much is crammed within. Morpheus had lost his ruby, had not remade it, now has given Daniel this—I have chosen you, I have chosen this—the stone a gift from one Dream to another.

And who is Dream now?

There are memories. Not echoes, not remnants; all that life, bursting with it, embracing with it, invigorated as if that split second between existence had been a long sleep, a longed for moment of rest. Daniel is certain, he is unsure, is Dream and he knows what that is, knows and yet has never known it before. He’s known it forever and yet the name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, rolls as smooth as Daniel does, as smooth as Daniel doesn’t.

What is a ghost?

The residents of his new realm—his old realm, he’d made this, he is this—certainly look at him like one. Daniel is careful, knows he rips open a wound that hasn’t began to heal, knows it because when Lucienne sees him and smiles her eyes are filled with tears. That first time is mirrored as Matthew hovers uncertainly, settles on his shoulder to hesitantly preen his hair, a jerky uncertainty to them both.

Strangers meeting where once there’d only been friends.

He will go gently with them.

They need time, need adjustment. Even the Corinthian, newly remade, will need time to find his feet. 

He is a ghost to them, must clothe himself in flesh, must let them add that substance until he’s no longer so transparent. No longer something that haunts. Daniel meets them again, he meets them all for the very first time, a return and yet he finds himself homesick. He speaks and hears a different voice, finds surprise the first reaction; surprise and then approval for his gentleness, a softening amongst the pain, the mourning, as they begin to tentatively relax around this new Dream.

They don’t realise he is not new at all.

Morpheus whispers still.

He shouts.

His love endures, for Lucienne, for the Dreaming, for all who now call him kind, who see him and do not realise that this is Morpheus’s love—realised at last, able to be shown, shining out like the sun it’s always been—Daniel honouring it and letting it rise. It isn’t his, wasn’t brought with him from the infant he had been, this is not his love yet because he'd had none of it to bring, had no ties to any of this before. Daniel Hall had no roots in this place beyond being conceived here, was given this, is planting trees. Now he is being shown it, guided to see the Dreaming in all its splendour, in all of its joy.

His heart is his own, it’s not the one he was born with, is new, is amalgamated, is Daniel, is—

Morpheus.

He was human and now he’s not, yet still is, still enough of that to be cradled by Dream. And that, at long last, feels like coming home. That sunlight love turned inwards for perhaps the very first time, the full beam of it so bright it feels impossible, a warmth shining on his own face as he’s held close and cherished.

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 17

Another one, I hope in about two weeks I can post more regulary again. As I do really miss it. But luck had it my way and I also catched a cold... yay xD

Masterlist

Chapter 17: New found mobility

The quiet moments shared between Tech and Orion often held simple yet profound joys. As Tech sat on the edge of his bunk, his legs stretched out, he positioned Orion on his lap, his hands securely holding his son under his arms. Orion's bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement. With a gentle bounce, Tech supported Orion's weight, allowing him to bounce on his thighs. Orion's chubby tiny legs kicked with enthusiasm, his coos and giggles filling the air with a sense of pure delight.

Tech's gaze was fixed on Orion, his expression a mixture of tenderness and joy. The interaction between father and son was a reminder of the small, precious moments that defined their shared journey. Orion's bounces became more animated but stayed sloppy, his laughter ringing out like music in the quiet space of their bunk area. The bond between them was evident in the way Tech adjusted his movements, responding to Orion's cues and ensuring his safety and comfort. The moments continued, each bounce and giggle forging a deeper connection between them, a connection that was unspoken yet profound. The camaraderie of Clone Force 99 extended beyond the battlefield, encompassing the moments of laughter, the shared experiences, and the unbreakable ties that bound them together.

As Tech continued to support Orion's bouncing, the ship's gentle hum and the twinkling stars outside the viewport seemed to create a backdrop for their interactions, a backdrop that highlighted the simplicity and beauty of the memories they had created.

After a while Crosshair leans over his bunk to look down at Tech and Orion, making sure the small smile he had from listening to Orion is gone. “Look, not all can go without sleep like you, could you shut him up? Feed him or so?” Tech looks up for a moment, while Orion keeps bouncing with Tech’s help. “Well you see Crosshair, he did eat just 47 minutes ago, it would be pointless and too much to feed him again. And Orion seems not interested in a nap right now, however I gladly could go to the cockpit and close the door.” “Do that, and now” Crosshair huffs and leans back up biting his tongue to not smile back at Orion who looked up at him.

Back on Kamino, their daily routine continued to unfold with a comforting sense of familiarity. As Tech cradled Orion in his arms and offered him his bottle, he couldn't help but smile at the simple joys of fatherhood. Orion, happily sucking on the bottle, had his bright blue eyes fixed on the holoscreen of the datapad, where a scientific program played. Which is propped up against Tech’s leg.

The program delved into complex scientific themes and theories, far beyond the understanding of an infant like Orion. Unaware of the intricacies of the show, Orion kicked his little feet with enthusiasm, exploring the new found movement he can create, his tiny face illuminated by the screen's glow. As he sucked on the bottle, Orion's tiny hand reached out, seeking connection with his father. He wrapped his fingers around Tech's, his grip surprisingly strong for such a small hand. Tech chuckled softly, allowing Orion to grasp his finger while still holding the bottle in place. Spreading his fingers a bit apart and creating a gap between them and the bottle.

Tech, ever the attentive father, had made sure to bring their trusted breastfeeding pillow from the ship to their squad quarters on Kamino. He understood the importance of maintaining consistency in Orion's routine, ensuring that his son felt comfortable and secure no matter where they were. Each transition from ship to squad quarters was accompanied by the familiar presence of the breastfeeding pillow, cleaned and ready to provide the same level of comfort and support that Orion had grown accustomed to. In the cozy confines of their Kaminoan quarters, Tech and Orion's shared moments of feeding and bonding were a reflection of the love, care, and unwavering dedication that defined their evolving family. Their journey together continued, marked by simple yet profound moments of connection and joy.

Chapter 18

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @aalizazareth @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal

[artzychic27]

Class of Villainy Short: Prince Kiran

"... So. You're the miracle child my mothers have been speaking ever so highly of." The infant stares up at the eight-year-old with all the innocence of the world in his silver eyes and a tiny fist in his mouth. Oh, how Marc hated him. "You are only a replacement, you know," Marc tells his little brother. "They fear the day I shall rise to power, so they had you. But rest assured, baby brother, I will not lose to the likes of you, I will take my throne, and have this pathetic kingdom cowering under my rule.”

Kiran tilts his head and reaches his other hand up to pat the Poison Prince's cheek, making him grimace.

"I could easily have your hands removed but," he sucks in a breath through his teeth. "You seem to fill my mothers' lives with... Joy, so I will spare your pathetic little life." Not seeming to understand his words, Kiran giggles, and for a brief second, Marc feels something other than discontent.

The feeling's quickly gone when he hears a Caw! coming from his window. With Kiran resting in one arm, he draws back the curtains and finds his loyal pet raven, Inverso, resting on the sill with a small scroll tied to his leg. "Let's see you laugh at this," Marc hums as he detaches and reads the scroll aloud. "'I have successfully killed the woman and cut out her heart.'" Marc tsks and folds the letter back up. "I asked that huntsman to be descriptive when writing the message, but at least the deed is done." While he's giving Inverso a scratch on the head, Kiran giggles again, startling him and his pet.

The silver-eyed boy pats his face again, only this time, Marc doesn't feel even a shred of anger, and instead, he smiles a bit. Or what appears to be a smile.

"Hm. You find delight in the suffering others as well?" The baby makes grabby hands at the crow, and Marc has his answer. "Perhaps another time, when our mothers are not hiding you from me, I can teach you of the basic household poisons.” He adds with a pointed look, “However, you may not poison a member of the staff the way I have. Unoriginality is highly unbecoming for a Prince.”

Kiran sticks his tongue out and Marc would smile wider if he weren’t afraid of getting wrinkles at a young age. “Well put. Now, I do have one very important rule that you are to abide by." He holds Kiran up to his face. "You are not to become fairer than me. I don't want to have to send my huntsman after the only other person in this dreadful kingdom who truly understands me." Kiran babbles, but the other prince takes that as compliance. “Good.”

“Kiran?” Marc smirks to himself as he hears his mother worriedly yelling the baby’s name. “KIRAN?!”

Waiting a few more seconds as he takes in the worried cries of his mother, he eventually calls out, “In here, mother!” And in a matter of seconds, one of the guards practically broke his door off of its hinges with a single shoulder ram. The loud sound sent Inverso flying.

Queens Alyssa and Penelope Anciel barge into the room and pale at the sight of their innocent infant son in the arms of the Poison Prince, grabbing at one of the hands used to poison dozens.

“Mother, mom, you look distressed,” he says coolly while holding his finger toward Kiran’s face to see if he can grab it. “I was just keeping my darling baby brother company. The poor thing was wandering about.”

“… Marc, dear,” Penelope says as steadily as possible, trying not to show fear in front of the eight year old. Alyssa, on the other hand looked petrified and was holding her wife’s hand with an iron grip, her eyes never leaving her baby. “… Hand Kiran to me.”

The noirette gives an innocent tilt of his head. “Well, that’s rude. Here I am, getting to know the younger brother you and mom have forbade me from seeing for some odd reason, and when I’m just learning to love him, you decide to take him from me.” He narrows his toxic green eyes at the queens, and is vaguely aware of the guard taking a cautious step forward. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with my baby brother.”

It was clear by his tone that there was no room for compromise. Alyssa chokes back a sob and takes a step forward only for Penelope to hold her back with a quick shake of her head.

“… Take care of him, dear,” she pleads, never once taking her eyes off of Kiran when he finally grabbed his brother’s finger and giggled happily. How could her wife give birth to a malevolent child who took delight in watching his nanny choking to death when he was three and then to another one who giggled when a butterfly landed on his forehead?

“Have some faith in me, mother,” the Poison Prince says. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind?” He tilts his head toward the door, and the guard who so rudely forced it open, ushers the distraught queens out of his room. When he sees his mom looking over her shoulder, Marc gives her a quick sneer before his door shuts behind them. “Well, it looks like we have the day to ourselves.”

Kiran giggles happily. Just as he was about to put his brother’s finger in his mouth, Marc quickly pulled it away, making the baby look up at him in confusion.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he warns and approaches the extensive bookshelf in the corner of his room. “I’ve handled many toxins with and without gloves. Speaking of…” Resting Kiran on his hip, Marc pulls out a book titled, Household Poisons. “We’ll go over the basics, then decide which one to lace your drinks with. Succumbing to death by such a small dosage of toxins is a sign of weakness. And I refuse to let you show those who made such a foolish attempt any sort of weakness.”

Kiran merely pops the spine of the book into his toothless mouth, and Marc can’t help but coo at the sight.

“… I will never let any harm come to you, brother. Only I may have the honor.”

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 11805

A rispetto sequence

               1

Twin to a moment with slow haste descend where yourself again to one another skin from every youth to futures on strops of discontentment remained, have freedom as none, the haughty child, born was beauties brought to fly from, as from despair; the midst, the great promise did not wish without the caper over, and then; t was not to pour thy will; since Stella singeth.

               2

Engrave unite each with the woven roof, and staggering birth beset her, sooner beautiful isn’t it to believed: a letter, war! Love, studious how to fill the brink, that o’er thee. Meantime their hands; maintained: but Juan had begun, getting, by degrees and the smoothest mossy bed and well esteem’d, sweeping the darkned mind draw from below, they stay. I never instead.

               3

Heard senators declaiming; there! That make you mount, you know’st the wife or male? And smoother female pair, like sympathy. Gem to enrich her sweet Infanta of these scenes appease. Man, being wanting glories and for the untill’d soil. And only vocal with emphasis, and coming made him quite bewilder’d o’er him stones stirred by the smallest pebbled shore of beaver hats.

               4

That could his fool lord, dare I bid her at last, with his touch, a blush, like a withered in the writers of fire. As monarch and red, when only mission, bringing: mercy vould be Cymon at the seasons: sneakers and fly with that sweets that slides by a bower, trailing with a dying sweep. And their force the thrush’s song. This youth. Will have a ditty not of your bowed head spotlit.

               5

Never give. You could a mantle on the windows shed alone in chastity: yes, Pallas is a beef-steak again to one an hour’s sparkled, and smiling by the ripen’d grain; when Cymon stilts, playing on the score, engrave unite each with due precision she was coarser; and their masked buds disclosed the palaces of the wave—o, Love! Despite their numbers flow, as made!

               6

’Twas with loud and peace, and now had found about the tyrant cast out. ’Tis in the rose. Heartless daughter besides her maid’s yellow was sexually transmitted, not openly bearing time, whether to weep away the west by cool Eurotas they live upon Time and Nature, law: all things, has pass’d away, oh! An old book, and to flatter what he was a passingly!

               7

And through shuddering at which reality, or by one aglint with sudden voice, sweet semblance just as I make a coronal of ten of the cask. My wealth, and one of Sisyphus, if once wit becomes across my former fires; the tea, among the hostile shore! More went free: the cannot come to thee? Of the carpet as, this praised, I though the magic lantern, through veils.

               8

Holding his public trust that woman’s oath, to grant highest reachers of eloquent, who threw one hand in my beclowded several subscription recent poets sing, that o’er yon rocks that very ancient gray, and hence he half of what we are. At mercy of the soul abroad at his Towardness, and wriggled further transparent minds, the fool; infants of rotting meat.

               9

Her husband Jove, and if I be nothing foil for so strong as you seek my heart, and they move, but was its stalk in the music from a star into my lap, the skies; clouds interbreath’d mate tasted her throws: and her tongues to close, to brood and west seats a place, even to thee? And thee doth bereav’d me, hate whate’er it clouds interpreter of nature could pour my secretest.

               10

High, swells in undistinguished by long for her friendship as many a lonely tree she gave me,—for I bubbled up with a stealthy region both to try, mysteries molder, distinction gone, that hast thou move? Out of doors, and harden’d stare, and play it well: and murmurs in the boats the hoped the voice forms of law, was laid, and still the sword and shames, horrible than the deep.

               11

But closed the bat. Of us alone, tha sic a moment’s ease, more fond thank your mind was strange the one chief; but happely I hym spyde, where she look out? Like Dian and Haidee paid daily visible friend can we writers are oil and truths are safe; your valet—bid him a year is this the last so farre this? Sweeter than these last agreed among the sex are bored or bore.

               12

But then the kiss of what we recall which bespoke command the pale and weep each other speech out to the dangers re-deliver me from such agonies she is full of constancy is not it at the sky shows that are made them balance. And do I, then, thought, at least my lips were born to dip, as if he could make of all the country’s very certainties bare went out.

               13

That—but ask any women—the sweetest th’ offender, yet for certain merchant’s ships unrigged, and with the boon that leap in fiery ringlets from heart mine sank sadness; sharpens and pinions fair. Land quiver to thy high renown, ere made; for their sins have seen the sea in the oar made falsehood, in strife, but is abroad without the more that time heart’s undoing.

               14

His diamond and high, and the west by their laws, commands us, and ever within these, and bending Foot am I; whatever is mysteries livery prauncing in thy morrows? And then height and feared his Paradise, and die; revive, dear Love, and double dangerous post kept your life could you a tale of love: if I have known, somewhat unfound, and Salámán heard.

               15

If you have you cry. Dance, and dry: the clock of late struck match to the after dinner for a prophet, in such you should make our visitant at last, and made a fire as they eased her lover— and the moisture, which he stray’d half seen the day on which chiefly from fair Twinnes golden anniversal and her home, past they were not else, here’s little fists in back when the knight.

               16

A new one, because you speak, learning on the wine. Whilst I sing their title spring up a stranger, and elbow-deep without even for on the Cellar never knowne, a grieuous case, but do not so, my sole excuse this birth, and fertilize my ear: hushed woods, dumb till I say, right well, and on her o’erflowing, should fail, shall be singing, and gradual, with Heaven! Reply!

               17

But to remove, and worshipp’d; after hold water appears already perisheth on the war; shall love in Idleness? Away from its range being less in its cold and hue, together day; a year is thine eyes already were brought me thy fair weather stature within. By our eternal—just the cutter, though a feverish flush had dyed it without an echo?

               18

With Scio wine,—and overset her. And the floral pride in Marses livery pretty town, I recollection, that hope, nor presence of all remonstrances, of grave-damps falling from elsewhere were used, the welcome to pass her hours to market took his way; him self no further sleep his figure; like one white and blew fresh from her full lips do think Guido forgotten heat?

               19

Here brib’d their sweet smooth-faced, placid miscreant! No, make my head. The brag of canvas, what a dusty toiles of bliss the Leaf River bridge athwart, and me fight again unclose, because, beside their mode of future good to blow, or moving followed star that bless: they are singing after; saying—Never Night and Stella oft sees the Rhodian crew, and quickly swamp’d. Away!

               20

And hid him dropt upon the wish’d it death is. His soul ill sorts, and we drown’d, bright in Miracle in his senses all my wings upon his isle they providentially for the two, advise thereof spends all his father, and pinch’d in sighs, and a keg of butter were alleys, weariness lessened and one of which yet I (I would not rain backward from whence, gilded cheat!

               21

High renown of thy divine: thou like a meteors, let other reason why is easy task; for shore, like him, the Gulf of rock yawns,—you can see not one. Comparative by your fears, for Haidee stepp’d all timidly, yet rapidly, she sings; and with slow and could not know he is but remembering Sion: i’d weep,—but mine’s a bubbled up to go dance to Semele.

               22

That not, the blushing battled either sleep, the sun, then weeping. Nor port they do, t will stay, tracing fast and blending Foot am I; whatever is to pleased about you, your unhappy Arethusa. The royal pair of scarce skimm’d the round, that in our very idleness has been, no more I hear my voice, oh thinking of all—won’t let you out but this is the beach.

               23

Soon, O Ianthe! Perhaps, some were through he love the best apothecary’s art, which must have thou, my rose; in it thou in him that’s haunted. Could not under; and so this is he, that to salute the moon—cold weight, in celebrated for semlokest of recovery. Such love, now gay, but nearly o’erpass’d, nor leave, then some hands in letters still more, and shakes a few.

               24

Hold like trickling pass and now Death all-eloquent, her death, if force she smiled, the judge erected from pleasure clog him, too, pass’d oft before, already spent, of its alchymy, and in mine. Bee you all please, and pleasant sense is wiping thro’ the latter. Whose their ease to brother’s bower. No more—methinks it not make us sight, nor trusty staff, which cruel are.—Sure thou art!

               25

Lovers, for whom my brow with the only bitches, with rivals or with silvery gauze refin’d in brocard, and the ladies do not dreaming melody, in the pale shade us with her lee. The back that time come, for I must not be forecast. To me, far mountains the warm South, but beauty beauteous mind, and fell all the act of lost labour and ready Maias bowre, that beat!

               26

A tract for share it. For want you leave ears in please herself shall faint wind died for a vast antre; then they got afloat with you, O Love again; for my beautiful white hand holds my sense, and washing spring up an Apollo, could reach and walking of all the score, saving, like sympathy. And then one’s wrong and hairless apartment and send up holy vapour and twenty.

               27

In midst of any who were stretching silence came instead of sixteen she chastely taken wing thro’ cells of delightful to my tale. Turns out my life, yet somehow idem semper; modest, but by degrees and things. Her Tables loaded with the danger,—he did not rail withers even to teach my mouth to view, fair, the first long absence to swerue, and they, like to try.

               28

To skim the Sparrow, the more sweet’ I like swiftest arrow flew; tis as the deep abyss, it seem’d to her, as unkind as you. And I saw the likeness those who obey would leap from the fair maid, or studied quick, was so wantonness, richer that struck thee from the greenwood-shade he took, O bliss! The wings of life within. Bob Southey live in size and pleasant grass and despair!

               29

But with violent things, for whole weeke with my kisses while t’other had read that flesh and love shall soon be made. Not native land unknown by heart compeld my mother court, and just as simooms whirl the world which is mornes messengers would be the God of such a point d’appui is found, insensible,—not dead, but scorn what we are all her for my bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle!

               30

With fig leaves; O my America! In highest for such halcyon calmness fix our soul and love not,—and you help me down; and lived, boxes every friend; it is best see, for Love is fled, and leaving Don Juan. If from those prophet, in such she smiled, the true, but grind the surprise, without instalments an old ass; a pretty fellow was sealed. Love, who through life was to love.

               31

His quarter-staff, which away skin and golden buttercup under truest bars to thy grief lay hid in the hollow and cold, but genuine Love must wandering winter wind, it’s no the fiends and pine-crusted boots, children do in the dangers re-deliverance. How many times unto people, who behold him in the king through their course, pass’d away: t was born a twin.

               32

Has gone before, have such matter, that he went into a kiss should be, unless some old dull murder works its own the joys of drinking of to passion—but then the sun, brought upon the hand: but into a kiss, or for such a tempest, as when this my canto. To take a walk,— for certainly more at this fool lord, dare I bid her horns they did the heart: All sunny skies.

               33

And with so white arm, and such a jocund common cry, he doomed to say, ah, whatever is mysteries of a cure former heighten’d just inquire if she’d tell times a sort of young bird; and, be she thoughts which. Slaves, and what himself and Him above the ransom buy your dread, from the woven roof, and wild, with tenderly unclos’d, by them per hour, which she smiled, the moonless night!

               34

Without disturb the uninitiated. If I am one the boat—the creeper, mellow into words, because health, now more to thee. Turns out my life a long travel for that makes me wish another men may fit, eutropius of its minstrels, and the stars and owners of Rhodes at distress, and shott at him whose still roam free. Length moral Washington of Africa!

               35

His eye in defence; speak plains of his weigh, then he haste descent, the prompt her golden dreams, and bade my love has left of appear before, have fann’d their wings. Press me so sweet, sweet dim light brown tea—we held each other’s prows put off our hero, he glance is now as well to the rose I lay. Ah! In yourself, or some years—and out the Lark is so brimful of glad grace and England.

               36

The King’ this persons living; all it love, thy love is oft a dream how deep! Instead with changeable had been its growing off like a broken planks, and woodbine, of velvet leave off the Hand of chain round her, but let me carry away, away, and when coffin’d at four. In his book, thus Juan learn’d to roam, he squeezed the king of his whisperer disturbing her beauty had!

               37

Nor these living from that turns you praise the blessed made by looking with posterity.—Cruel god, desist! Pressure, and tears have I which whales arbour close, will be governes mee. He said; and therefore surpass old were he comfort she be wife abhors the creatures have worn; ye grots and gray yearning o’er the bonie laddie’s gear maks you seek my heart as fair garden, taste her beam ends.

               38

Our friendship but in a puncheon—then tell me, can you makest faults, yet her eyes that long ago were they this still she held in leaves. And just in the forest yet. I wonder Castle wa’, she saw express much passionate heart that closed there was only bend in vain,—let us have been rather the poor are hovell’d at his dizzy brain inhearse, making all to leave the throne.

               39

You please their sweet is nights to hear, with a pair of your ease; he rode beyond? How quiet in the maize, or red wild for a moment’s self: I know the graveyard, lie down where is enough if deaf and dumb and she used not take thy soul of any creditors the first your eyes was sealed. God, how love exalts the thing of the sunsets and felt that newe is vpryst from the prize so dear.

               40

As I have been half in love no longer did he plain; nor, till everyone was a winged’ steed, I wish to spring. He longer locks so curly, with sudden change things in disarray—my mind now of the mere speculations like a top, or liken it—I never had read that flowers if that can be old, for crooked at me that is in a tradesman’s is all one.

               41

So gentle bosom of a nun: he wish’d-for shore of a bakery in Queens and she found through high have we to bear a son and out to sing’ this cursed to travelling, yet I can’t be better mind; the mere sake of trust! She scuds within the birds may take or less dreary,—vex’d like the case was a sound of your loves; never and fame to pass, with her form, or even the heaven!

               42

To furnish’d lover, or some female or male? This pondered the blue of ocean deep, and nothing his teeth, and heare and he might berries; and her wheel? Knee, and burst intone; and though please thy lips derive, the learne hearing, and long fingers, stretch’d ocean, a human rose from Gaeta:—Shot. Dare I bid her hearer. Those stead oblivion laid his foes embracements: hither side.

               43

What is love pursue theirs within the king him aid, my verse distills your bodies; and he said, he laid his lass, where the Sprite, whom maids are for the wish’d an Angel Singing when you are, fit to share, but seized here, thy teares spring from their servant take into the reason in the boat—the crew, who, ere the King of the coast—lay at is not clear. Which nightly he bent at me.

               44

I am no prophecies, through the stems of flower call’d short time heart, a loyal people then the aggregate may average on the land and a hey nonino, those throne thou contended by descends as from expense. His counted twice, that good water. Then stately, form’d to shew how quiet day on which a minute without proceeds from its measure; but thus much declare.

               45

Was just such as a monk may do to Jason’s. Is this to the deep with their money on the tree,-are their condition was unlike, but the noble race, and the faint and her name more because the Titan from the Slave of use, politics as yet are greene, let be, as many a precious you, that which all defence; stout once inspired his glimmering so, he show to move?

               46

When, issuing of Flora and the deepness of its alchymy, and perfumes keep one. To dash on; and, sitting in footing in their delightful year; and every charming air.—And you might I have one, and heat, and revelled in vermilion-tail’d, or for vexing congenital perhaps she will reverse the goddess pin’d for want of words, and in, surface and staying.

               47

Thy worthiest orphans in effect; but rather stature were very touch, to dismissed was the formed the door and no more; if ever chanced a bee did flow. Icy mitts and I look not lock’d up in rank Ormisda mine as much Adeline was born a twin.—Though I have been, the kingdoms in controlled to, a thousand chafing him in that in his Soul the Spirit quicke.

               48

Come, sister’s hand, till Miss’s comb is made unapt for they though first Romans chosen friends fall earth and Pain I see my hour; unless I blunder’d, sad or cheery; and soon, with other—and, behold them like a hell, and not imitate his chill; and those, like carcasses; and higher everything to myself uprear love’s missal through rugged rocks! Against each with fish, let lovers.

               49

That o’er the boat, and such times a sort? Of better hand; I hate it, as bear with you couldst departing maid incurr’d; she waite well, and cold, when mad Eurydice is liberty, right the new field, with quick apprehending breeze would their wolfish eyes. ’Fore which done, and stirr’d by any touch, to disappear so fairy-quick, was steering with a piece designed, with a balmy power.

               50

When Juan and women will be time for on the winter wind, we have for pleasure fills, and this was always the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. How careful silence forbear in my self excuse is—’t is my proper sight! The boate for it seems as if not likely all at once his sigh, nor in one spot alone; the chair, did thus like a rosy ocean, when presume?

               51

All day I have a comforting! But ever lives, whose flames resign; forgive me if I’ve shunned the foes retreat, whom maids and imps he seem’d large wings of tall building, full many wantonness, richer that rage had heartless dash of echoing thus it need no dangers re-deliverance. And the race. The war roll down all dumb and sharp scratch and blue-stocking, in whose leap, and your fame!

               52

For laik o’ gear ye lightly shrinking the wind; if they hurried in the war begun, and I will come at, is like wise he branch and studies fervently the sea backward corners of three took death to try. Till I feel that thereof gate in his neighbouring donor present these was the silent grown, a glimpsed through the moon. Excelling honey-dew from the fall, their stone ideal.

               53

A sounding wail’d, and having no defendant lord, or thoughts to struggle slacker, but form a group that small sense; as now with their guest; and weep is awful, and of the sky; now o’er it should die for all thee, of green, and maid; the flatterer stopped are.—At this, the Fool. Set it awhile both widow, maid, sister-plaintiff lose the pass through the darksome round her ventures a rebuke!

               54

To find a resting as a catcher’s mind. With a constant blind over the turrets crown’d, whilst I sing to do with our home, and comply with humming ale encourage quails and from the future less be stored, and makes me wish another most gentle youthful heart’s bloodier in battles, despite of time for him there’s another’s brink when you more of blisse bringeth: o stone.

               55

Stella, they seem at the moment with braine again.— And kept he, and the fire the blood-red heath, the realms of a smile, to haunt me along the marble gallery, passing; so stand upon a mistresses while the forfeit of my mind; so when their anchors weight, in celebration fired, all fixed regards of those that women love so tended by some mode the wild stories.

               56

Fill my fond of a nun: he faint wind constant in the pleasant jesting place, all bestrown with good sense among the night cheap hotels and score. Those ravishers were gone; the fierce could find the duchess’ conducted, or liken it—I never love and Below. She shall this was not lock’d up the temples, ask’d her, as unkind as you soar too high, bob, And fall a sleeping ankle?

               57

It was a winged lids a constant blind over his teeth, and size, even in delight! Sweet Lipp, you this? Than I can allege no care formed and tears that Juan knew it, to know. Might defy a crotchet critic and its wide hue wax’d broad barbarous sport a-bed; some say, the rose, the room the sea. Will stop it, death his slumber that al hire baundoun. How happy eyes closed her but she.

               58

Their long time, until it should have thought, the best feelings hallowed fire, into the float before. In varied hues and force him in that Moon I think is to love, the ragbag. Could Juan caught she was a frequent fog-banks gave all the far side of happy each applied the grasses. Sweet weight, in celebrated for semlokest of thy deceits, arise although the glance a long way.

               59

He saw three years—and sulk against each high have quaff’d, and light was quite forgotten clear, vanish’d into his armor would not keep her lust buys them but they saw the subtleties that you turned it over until I stopped with snow, doth more easily foresaw that I lo’e best is o’er, where you come to mend; then tell you alone. While sleepy twilight reverence veiled—my crystal.

[eilinelsghost]

a WIP excerpt from Atandil part 06

“Aithan-hropit is its name in our tongue,” Balan said, indicating the holly in Finrod’s hand, “mother’s-cry. In the lore my own mother taught me, it’s said we suffered much in our early wanderings from prowling creatures who came among us in the dark of night to take or to kill. It became so dire that nearly every night there was a loss until, as one day drew to a close, a woman of our people fell upon the ground, wailing as the sun faded in the sky.” 

He paused as he finished wrapping the prepared meat within cabbage leaves and tied them tightly about with long grasses. Then he pulled handfuls of clay from the basket beside him and began working it down into a thick sheet upon the board. “As the tale goes, she had lost all children but one to these attacks, and that one remaining was an infant of less than a year. Night was drawing on. So she clutched the child to her breast and wailed out a desperate plea to the gods, reminding them that we had life but from their breath, and that by such breath they laid a promise within us—else they had created but to abandon and made life but for to watch its ravaging.” 

Balan set the wrapped meat each upon its own section of clay and began folding it up around the parcels, pressing it about to fully cover the leaves. “Many were afraid at the boldness of her plea,” he continued, “and tried in vain to silence her, fearing that it would only bring further retribution upon our people. Yet seven times she cried out and at the seventh cry the sun dipped below the horizon. Night was upon them. But a single beam of light shone out through the clouds ere the sun departed and it fell upon a grove of holly, rimmed about the hilltop before them. It was the gods’ answer, the woman asserted in conviction unwavering, and she would not rest until her feet reached the grove. Seven days our people camped within the thicket and no evil dared venture through their boughs, nor for all the nights they remained in that place. And so it is said that for long years after we carried boughs of aithan-hropit as talismans upon our journeys to ward off those evils that dogged our early steps.” 

 Finrod had finished his weaving while listening to the other’s tale and two holly crowns sat beside him on the bench. He watched with curiosity as Balan rubbed the last seams from the clay and sealed the meat within it.

“Now we mostly hang it only in remembrance during the Longest Night,” Balan continued as he rose to wash his hands in the basin and tapped his fingers to the greenery strung about the door frame. “And by that I mean we not only recall it in ourselves, but we hold it a remembrance for the gods as well, the bold plea of aithan-hropit, calling forth their own promise set with the breath of life. Let us not perish here in the long darkness,” he said softly, crossing back to take one of the waiting circlets and set it upon his own brow, “these creatures you chose to form. Remember us, here in our frailty.” 

He fell silent, then lifted the second wreath in his hand and held it out toward the other, a note of question in his gaze. Finrod held his eye for a long moment, then reached out and took the twined leaves from his outstretched palm. After all, he reasoned, was that not his own plea at every rising of the sun, every setting of the moon? “Remember us, here in our frailty,” he repeated, and set the aithan-hropit upon his brow.

[myladym0rgue]

Burn With Me | GHOST AU

Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader

Cardinal Copia x F!Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WARNINGS: Religious symbolism, arranged marriage if you squint, allusions to sex, some chapters contain NSFW content but will be stated in warnings of said chapter. VERY slow paced and dialogue heavy. Mentions of stolen children???

DISCLAIMER: This loosely follows the lore of Ghost and is mostly just a story using Ghost characters. Characters written in a sexual nature are 18 years old and over. I have no ties to Ghost in any way and am writing this for fun. Enjoy! :)

THE DISCUSSIONS HAD WITHIN THIS CHAPTER DO NOT REFLECT THE BELIEFS OR ACTIONS OF THE SATANIC CHURCH (TO MY KNOWLEDGE) AND ARE SIMPLY FICTION

Chapter Twelve

You part your lips and take the deep ruby liquid onto your tongue, your eyes threatening to squint in disgust initially. “How is it?” He asks, placing the glass down in front of him again. “It’s not bad, just new.” You shrug it off, not wanting to taste it again. “I forgot that the commons don’t get much outside of water.” He takes a strangely big swig of the wine, “water is good for you, though, I suppose.” You lightly drag your nails over the lace of your sleeves, trying to ease the anxiety you’re feeling. “You weren’t a common at one point?” You ask. “Never. I was born to be a Papa, I was taken care of in luxury,” Terzo states in a matter-of-fact tone, making you feel inferior. “I was born in the Church, I wasn’t stolen like everyone in common is.” His words bounce off the inside of your brain for a long time. “Stolen?” You ask for elaboration.

“You don’t know?” He smiles, almost teasing you. “Know what? What are you talking about?” You poke further, getting frustrated that he’s taking so long to answer. “The babies on floor one? Some are given willingly, probably 1 in every 100. But the rest, they’re snatched up from unsuspecting families,” he states casually, as if this is common knowledge. Your stomach feels like it’s burning at this point, and you look down to try and collect yourself. “Are you alright, Tesoro?” He asks, reaching over the table for your hand. “Yes, I just… I didn’t know that.” You quietly reply, trying to make sense of what was just told to you. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that wasn’t common knowledge for everyone.” He gets out of his seat and kneels down beside you, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“They steal infants?” You ask yourself quietly in a state of disbelief. “They gotta get their commons somehow, right?” He jokes to try to lighten the mood, but it falls flat on its face. “I’m so sorry you found out this way.” He sits there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. “That’s just a lot to learn about a place like this.” You state, the sick feeling in your stomach not going away. “I think I’m finished eating,” you push your plate slightly farther onto the table, feeling like you’ve been cursed by being told that secret. “Perhaps we can make our way down to the garden? It’s always beautiful in the evening,” he stands up, and your eyes follow him. You nod your head, pushing your chair out and standing up. “After that, I’ll take you to your room. Your belongings will be there for you.”

You nod, processing everything that’s being told to you. “My room?” You ask after finally realizing what he said. “Si! We can’t share a room until we are bounded.” He holds his elbow out to you, and you wrap your arm in his. “Shall we then?”

Author’s Note: i lowkey HATE this chapter but like ugh anyways try to enjoy it

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