#makin me coin phrases

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Reading this felt like you lifted up the hood/bonnet and let us peek at the PRIMAL base fueling this kind of sexual intimacy, I was like BEYOND turned on, this was something WAYYYY more profound, something far more deep, I just wanted to, like, blush from the depths of my soul reading this because holy as;faosij;aslkfjsdfkdlf. Like the good little smut goblin I am, I sat and pondered and re-read this fer a bit and am now pleased to give you some werds beyond the keysmash-laced-screaming that graced your DMs, so buckle up let’s see if I make any sense…😆

Din eating her out tho??? My stars, to be the complete absolute center of attention of this man like that?? His honesty about his inexperience, being so open to direction, that THIS man is this way? Him wanting that explicit consent and eagerness from her, this good competent man just wanting her to feel good?? That sharply-honed, all-consuming focus and observation he’s so skilled at, how he so quickly learns what she needs with his tongue, I’m…But what really did me in was his HANDS JOINED WITH HERS during SO MUCH of it, the way they pin her hips in place as things progress? Excuse???? 

OK I love how you keep finding things that have no right to be quite as sexy as they are but OOOOF just ARE, like that reveal that Din has dressed down to the thinnest layer yet, and that “his cloth-covered cock nestles right against your naked pussy” EXCUSE ME I can live in that moment forever, hnnngggg, the WANT of it, and the slow, continual shedding of Mando’s layers in more ways than one??

Ok ok ok ok ok, nowwwww we get to the FUCKING, or the part of this chapter that nearly made me lose my whole fic-loving little mind.

The way you convey so mindblowingly well that feeling of being COMPLETELY ENVELOPED and ENGULFED by this man fucking you, like, down to the primal level of the fkg quarks in the atoms of your cells, in every sense, in every way that’s possible?? Her vulnerability feeling like the most wonderful and safe thing in the world, a safe haven from space-time itself, you getttt ittttt.

Mando shifting into a bit of dominance obviously made this even hotter, but for me, what made the all-enveloping-dominance almost indescribably hotter was how Mando does it so naturally…like how it just feels right and natural and he just DOES it without making some big show about it, perhaps not even being fully cognizant of it, maybe not even fully conscious of the way it’s affecting her, like it comes from some deep primal instinctual place within him to be the counterpoint to her in this way, to give it to her in this way, he just DOES IT and DEAR LAWD SOMEONE HALP I’M GOING TO FAINT. Like, the dialogue you chose to give him was perfect, how he doesn't have to sit and verbally assert his dominance, this man just IS, which is so much hotter, mmmmm! And the context just makes it all that much better…the teasing moment that preceded the start of it, the context of the fic and these two, that it’s this competent, respectful, GOOD man that is doing all this, doing it with such love and care, wanting her to feel so good, able to restrain his strength with complete control? 

And mmmm, how you made the smut here RELENTLESS in the absolute best way, it just kept going, wave after beautiful wave, each one higher than the next, the crest being that last segment when we realize he HASN’T COME YET (holy self control) and how can they possibly continue it’s toooo hot but HE DOES and shifts to that gentle rocking into her and HOLY CANNOLIS.

There’s SO MANY good lines and turns of phrase in this that express all of the above. Just…so good. 

And, my heart, that recurring lil motif of “That warm bright thing in your chest,” I feel for her!

Also, this line tho: “I’ll be honest, I think I’ve already blacked out what I just said. It’s my coping mechanism for dealing with incredibly embarrassing moments.” OK but this is me but during intense/emotional arguments or when people are unhappy with me, I feel called out. 😆🙃

And such a small thing, but I LOVE reading about heightened senses in a dark room, the sounds of Mando shedding most of his layers, it just hits a happy calming spot in me. 😊

I just can’t believe I get to read stuff this good?? Thank you for sharing it with us!

And also, I see you sequestering the smut into their own glorious little posts…that might have been helpful for a certain *someone* who wanted to go back and read the glorious smut…more than once…😏

The Third Step - Chapter Sixteen

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6500 (sorry not sorry)

Warnings etc: a sprinkling of anxiety, some negative thoughts about self-worth but don’t worry Mando is here to convince you you’re wrong, excessive use of Star Wars swear words, a lot of disgustingly fluffy smut, like that’s pretty much it for this chapter, let’s see we’ve got a some hella skillful fingering (of course,) some restraints, a splash of slightly Dom!Mando I guess, pussy-eating (!!!) and P in V action, a bit of cock-warming to wrap things up

Notes: in case you haven’t been following along, I write pretty descriptive smut. So, uh, there’s that. Please don’t look at me.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

The hotel suite is… stunning. 

Not a word you’d typically used to describe a room, but it’s the only one you can think of that fits. 

A large sitting room, two bedrooms, a refresher that could probably fit six people. A balcony overlooking the ocean, big windows lining the outside walls, open to the view of the dark water and indigo night sky. 

Everything is in cream, gold, copper and rich red colours, sumptuous silks and satins. There’s a small fridge stocked with water, fruit juice and of course, Savareen, and a full menu for room service. 

It’s inarguably the swankiest place you’ve ever set foot in. 

You hesitate in the master bedroom doorway. 

Tedha was right, the bed is the height of luxury - carved headboard with intricate designs curling through the golden wood, layers of silk bedding, a ridiculously plush mattress and a dozen pillows stuffed to the edge of their seams. 

It’s all just a little too much. 

A few threadbare blankets in the corner of the Crest’s hull isn’t even the least comfortable place you’ve ever slept. As far back as you can remember, your sleeping places have consisted of thin mattresses, or bare wooden boards, sometimes just a cold floor or duracrete. 

Part of you feels like you don’t belong here. You don’t deserve a place like this. 

The other part of you is screaming to know what that bed feels like. 

Kriff it. 

Tossing your jacket on a nearby chair and toeing off your boots, you stride across the room - crikking hells, the carpet is thicker than your blankets on the Crest - and flop onto the bed with purpose. 

Oh. Yeah. 

Tedha is your favourite person in the galaxy right now. 

You shift up the bed, settling flat on your back with your knees bent up and feet on the silk comforter. Oh pfassk - a moan slips out as your body sinks deeper into the bed, practically cradling your limbs. 

A soft sound from the sitting room draws your attention. Your recently deposed favourite person - Mando, probably finishing up putting the kid to bed and checking the security locks on the doors and windows.

Closing your eyes, you drift in the moment, losing your focus in the slow easing of tension you didn’t even know you carried in your limbs. You have no idea how much time has passed when a quiet modulated voice calls you back to reality. 

“Comfortable?”

Tilting your head at an awkward angle so you can see Mando - you don’t even want to sit up right now - you take a moment to admire him, arms crossed over his chest in a way that reminds you of how good they feel wrapped around you, long legs and broad shoulders meaning his frame almost fills the doorway. His armour practically glows in the soft light of the room, warm and inviting despite being cold to the touch. 

Pfassk, he’s pretty. 

Grinning at your own silly inner monologue, you wiggle your feet to press them deeper into the luxurious bedding. “Better than a couple blankets on durasteel, that’s for sure.”

The helmet tilts, considering. “We should get a proper bed.”

You hum thoughtfully. “It’ll be hard to find one big enough for both of us that will fit on the hold, but we’ll keep our eye out.” 

He falls silent, a faint line of tension run through his frame. 

Your own words echo back to yourself.

Wait.

Was he talking about a bed just for me? Did I read that wrong?

Sitting up, you turn to face him, anxiety spiking sharp through your stomach, words spilling out in a panic. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you would want to share a bed with me, like permanently - not permanently, I mean long term or - kriff, I mean however long we’re together - not that we’re together, like that, unless you think we are, then that’s fine with me, but I don’t want to pressure you into talking about it so we can just pretend I didn’t say that and not share a bed unless you want to but I’m - dank farrik, please make me stop talking.”

You cover your mouth with your hands, forcing the words to stop. Embarrassment rushes hot down your entire body. Maybe he didn’t catch all of that? You were talking pretty fast, there’s a chance -

His huff of laughter dashes your hopes away. 

Slowly, he makes his way to the foot of the bed, steps sure and measured, gloved hands reaching for your wrists to gently pull yours away from your mouth, grasp them in his. “I do.”

Your mind blanks. “Uh, I said a lot of things there. What are you I do-ing to?”

“All of it.”

You’re still catching up, emotions tugging away any attempt to piece together what’s happening. “I’ll be honest, I think I’ve already blacked out what I just said. It’s my coping mechanism for dealing with incredibly embarrassing moments.”

The smile is clear in his voice, words warm and full even through the modulator. “I want to share a bed with you. And I think of us as “together,” if that’s what you want to call it.” His thumbs stroke over yours. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

Oh. 

Now you’re feeling too much of other emotions, bright and pleasantly sharp in your chest, distracting your attempts at finding words to say. It’s too much to parse through, all you can do is look up, find that gaze hidden behind the black visor, hope he can see what you want to say in your eyes. 

A shift runs through him, tension of another kind, flexing in his fingers curled over yours. “I… I’ll still have to leave before the day cycle starts. Or sleep with my helmet on.”

That incongruous mental image starts your thoughts up again. “You can sleep with your helmet on?”

His sigh is warm with amusement. “That’s what you take away from everything I just said?”

“I mean, that can’t be comfortable.” Rolling your eyes at your own tease, you shift up onto your knees, shuffling closer to him. He goes still, watching you free a hand to slowly run it down the cheek of his helmet. “I meant what I said, too.”

His voice is low, rasping. “What’s that?”

“Whatever you can give me, I’ll take it.” Your hand trails down to his cowl, slipping under the cloth to find him. “And for the record, I don’t want anyone else but you, either.”

He’s so close you can hear his breath catch in his throat. His free hand grasps your waist, helmet tilting forward to rest against your forehead. Time slows and all the places you’re connected float to the surface of your thoughts in tiny bursts of sensation - the cool of his helmet on your skin, the warmth of his body under the fabric of his flightsuit against the palm of your hand, soft leather of his glove under your fingers, weight of his grasp just above your hip.

His thumb traces circles over the curve of your waist. “I meant what I said the other night, too.”

Opening your eyes, you flick your gaze along the visor, curious. “What’s that?”

“That I’ve been thinking about this.” His hand slips from yours, glides around the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine, a curl of arousal between your thighs. “Laying you out in a bed like this one, taking my time with you. Pulling out those sweet sounds you make with no fear of interruption.”

You swallow hard, trying to calm your rapidly increasing heart rate. “I mean, it is a pretty big bed. Lots of opportunities.”

“I’ve got a particular one in mind.” His voice drops low, a rasping murmur through the modulator, full of some kind of purpose, a focused determination that makes your thighs clench in anticipation. “Lay back for me.”

You’re moving before your mind registers the request, body reacting instinctively to the firm note of command in his voice. A quick shuffle to get your legs out from underneath you and you lay down, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. 

The helmet shakes once from side to side. “No, use the bed. I want you comfortable.”

A blend of anticipation and nervousness thrills down your back and you move up the bed, pull the abundance of pillows into an arrangement that cups your body while leaving you sitting up enough to still see him clearly. 

He’s still standing there, at the foot of the bed, black visor steady on you, still and silent. Watching you. 

What is he waiting for?

Nervousness makes your hands twitch, layers your voice with half-hearted sarcasm. “If I get anymore comfortable, I’m never going to get out of this bed.”

“You deserve this. A bed, a place to be comfortable, safe.”

He says it so confidently, so sure, as if he’s not only thought about this but knows you have, too, knows how you hesitated in the doorway, knows that even now something like guilt turns your stomach, a flurry of anxiety bringing contradictions and arguments to the tip of your tongue. 

You bite them back, trying to believe him. 

He starts taking off his gloves and your focus shifts, distracted by those broad palms and long fingers and golden skin, a sign of his trust in you, a symbol of his care for you. 

Both hands naked, he leans down, gently grasping your ankles, slowly sliding his fingers up the backs of your calves. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Kriff. 

It’s hard to focus on forming a response, the warmth of his hands seeping through your leggings, swirl of arousal spiralling up and out through your body, but you somehow manage to focus enough. “I thought we could take care of each other.”

“Tionas.” The tone of his modulated voice is serious, almost somber, drawing your gaze to the black visor. “You have done so much for us. Returning to a place you’d left behind, caring for the kid like he’s your own.”

His thumbs stroke over your clothed skin, words falling so softly you can barely register them. “Trusting me with your secrets.”

Your throat tightens with emotion, a million protests running through your mind, ready to deflect and insist and justify but he speaks before you can voice them. 

“Please. Let me do this.”

Something about this strong, capable man asking - pleading - to let him care for you…

Every protest instantly dissipates from your thoughts, replaced with a flush of need. It steals your words, makes your muscles flex under his hands, your hips shift as the heat in your core flares. 

He sees all of that, you can feel it in his unseen gaze, his hands, those well-honed observation skills by picking out each and every way your body is reacting to his request. 

But he doesn’t move, silent. Patient. 

Waiting for your answer. 

Taking a deep breath, you nod once. 

Then he’s slipping away, striding toward the door and keying it closed, hitting the lights as he makes his way back to the bed. His movements are quick and precise, like he’s trying not to rush but anxious to get to where he wants to be. 

The room is doused in darkness, pitch black and heavy. Your other senses are instantly heightened, ears pricked to the sounds of him nearby - the soft rustles of fabric and clinks of metal that you now know means he’s removing his armour. 

Third time. This is the third time he’s taken off his armour with you. 

The third time he’s trusted you with something he’s never shown anyone else. 

And you trust him just as much. 

Heart pounding in your throat, you slip your fingers under the waistband of your leggings, starting to tug them down when the bed shifts, sinking under his weight along your side. 

His hand finds yours and pulls it away. “Let me.”

Pfassk. 

His naked voice will never cease to pull a fresh wave of arousal from your core. 

Long fingers slip under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, and you lift your hips to help him, thighs trembling with anticipation as his hands graze your skin in their descent. They barely leave you, pulling away for just a moment to drop your clothes off the end of the bed before gliding back up your calves, gently pushing your knees up and thighs apart. 

Your breath stutters in your chest as the air of the room swirls over your heated core, cunt pulsing at even that slight sensation.

He hums in approval, hands sliding up your inner thighs. “I can smell your need, mesh’la.”

Crikking hells. 

You can’t stop the squirm of your hips, conflicting feelings of mild embarrassment and arousal pushing your body both toward and away from him. 

He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Fuck, you smell so good. All wet and ready for me.”

The approval in his voice shoots straight to your core. A whine squeezes from your throat, your hands grasping his and tugging, trying to pull him closer. “Yes, please I need you.”

He resists, turning his hands to grip yours tight, a groan rumbling low in his chest. “You know how I feel about you begging. But I have something in mind, remember?”

Right. Big bed, opportunities - great, let’s do that, let’s go.

You open your mouth to say exactly that when warm breath suddenly ghosts over your stomach, the bare skin below the hemline of your shirt shivering at the feeling. 

His lips press lightly just above your core, words drifting down into your wet heat. “I want to taste you, cyar’ika. Can I?”

Your mind blanks. 

A second passes, then two, then -

A thousand emotions rush into the void of your empty thoughts. 

Disbelief and desire and panic and arousal -

Is he -

Oh pfassk yes -

Does he want -

Please -

His chin rests on your stomach, your joined hands on either side of your waist. “I’ve been thinking about it since the first day we met. But if you’re not comfortable with it then I won’t bring it up again.”

The jumble of your thoughts is too chaotic to pick through, words blurting out without examination. 

“What?” You cringe at the brashness of your voice. “Sorry, I’m just… I - you’ve been thinking about it since - no, never mind, that’s not - kriff.” Huffing in annoyance, you pull at his hands, trying to guide them to your core. “Can you shut me up before I babble my way into embarrassment again?”

“Gladly. But I need you to tell me what you want.” His voice dips low, rasping, hands holding firm at your waist. 

Anxious energy pulls your bottom lip between your teeth, tightens in your throat. Only a couple of your previous lovers had done this, and you hadn’t really enjoyed it, too focused on getting the whole ordeal over with. Your intimate dalliances were always rushed, strictly for the purposes of giving your body what it needed so you could get on with your life.

Until Mando.

Everything is different with you. 

The words echo through your thoughts, lending strength. 

Swallowing against a dry throat, you squeeze his hands once. “Yes. Please.”

His low groan vibrates against your skin. “Thank you, tionas.”

Then he’s shifting away, down the bed, and he’s pressing your thighs open wide with your joined hands and his breath is swirling over your core and oh pfassk -

A shudder runs through your entire body as his lips brush a kiss just above your clit.

He pauses then, some kind of tension flexing in his fingers. “I’ve never done this before. I want to make you feel good.”

That warm bright thing in your chest flares. 

He’s nervous. 

Affection quickly shifts to incredulity. “I’m kriffing drowning in want here and you’ve barely touched me, I don’t think it’s possible for you to -“

The flat of his tongue laves over the length of your cunt and every word you know instantly flies from your mind.

Your breath chokes in your throat as he groans long and low, hot wet of his mouth cupping your pussy while his tongue slips through your folds, pushes into your fluttering entrance.

Pleasure sparks down your back, over your hips, arching them into his mouth, and he presses your still-joined hands down on your inner thighs, locking them in place as his tongue laps up over your clit and  -

He pulls away and a mangled cry keens from your lips at the loss, fingernails digging sharply into his hands. A soft susurration brushes over your stomach, his lips pressing kisses between the calming sound, his moan buzzing against your skin. “You taste - fuck, so good. Please, tell me what to do.”

Crikking hells. 

You are not equipped for this.

How can you possibly think clearly enough to give instructions when he’s between your thighs?

The haze of arousal is already thick on your senses, halting your words as they fall from your lips, rambling. “Your tongue please - just - please lick my clit again -“

The hot swipe of his tongue over your pulsing clit rips the words from your thoughts once more.

His hands keep your hips pinned down and he starts a steady rhythm and the entire universe shrinks, becoming a singular pinpoint of bright pleasure under the firm wet pressure of his tongue. 

It’s so good it’s almost too much and kriff you’ve never felt something this good before -

A sound you don’t recognize echoes in your ears, muffled with the rapid pounding of your heart and it takes a moment for you to realize it’s you, a pleading wordless cry vibrating with the tremor of your rapidly building orgasm.

Your awareness shifts and you suddenly hear everything else - the slick glide of his tongue as he laps at your clit, the pant of his breathing and the soft whimpers he’s making, kriff that’s too much, hearing him taking pleasure in giving it to you is overwhelming and your core tightens as your orgasm builds up and up -

He shifts and you panic - you’ve stopped talking, you’re not telling him what to do, he’s going to pull away again -

Words fall from your lips unrestrained. “Please don’t stop please don’t stop just like that I’m gonna -“

His hum of approval hits your swollen clit in a rush of warm breath as he swirls the flat of his tongue over it and every muscle in your body seizes -

Your shoulders lift off the pillows and your back curves up against the onslaught of pleasure, wave after wave pulling a trembling cry from your chest. He works your clit through it all, his tongue buzzing with the sound of his answering groan. 

Oh pfassk -

The drop hits you with a snap and your lungs gasp for air, body falling back onto the bed. He immediately pulls back from your clit, dipping lower to lap gently along your folds, tip of his tongue pulling slick from your fluttering entrance. 

Aftershocks ripple through your core, and you whine as sensation dances along the border of too much and not enough, pleasure trying to take root and build once more. 

Your fingers are aching, clutching at his so tight it hurts, and you loosen your grip to pull them free, slip them onto his curls, fingertips twitching with the need to bring him closer and tug him away at the same time. You can feel the shiver run through him as your nails scrape over his scalp - kriff that’s hot - and he growls low, tongue thrusting deep into your cunt, nose pressing against your swollen clit and that’s too much but pfassk his tongue feels so good -

He pulls away and you whimper at the sudden rush of cool air over your core. “Tell me what you need, mesh’la.”

A pulse of want shudders down your spine. His voice is raw with arousal, edged with desperation, hot and rough and impossible to deny. 

You react on instinct, words choking out as aftershocks shift into waves of pleasure. “Your fingers, please.”

He shifts and suddenly two thick fingers are pressing against your entrance, circling lightly to gather your slick before calloused fingertips dip inside your cunt.

Your hips arch sharply, pushing them deeper, your head digging into the pillows to arch even further, hands leaving his hair to fist in the blankets and give you more traction, every cell in your body driven by the primal instinct to have him inside you. 

He thrusts his fingers in to the knuckles and your inner walls squeeze tight at the sudden pressure, pulling a moan from both of you. Slowly, he drags them back until just the tips rest inside you, and your pussy clenches once, twice, hips squirming, mewling cries pathetic to your own ears but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now. 

His lips press a sloppy kiss to the crease of your thigh. “This needy pussy, fuck, trying to pull my fingers in - “

“Yes please -“ your words cut off as your hips finally find an angle that lets you thrust down, sinking his fingers deep, alleviating the desperate edge of your rising orgasm. 

But it’s not enough, not enough even as he pulls them out and back in, curling fingertips brushing over that pleasure centre and making your legs tremble. 

You release the blankets with one hand to paw at his wrist - kriff, there’s a trail of your slick, wet on his warm skin - a moan cracking from your throat as he thrusts deep again. “Another please give me another -“

Your hand rushes to grasp the blankets once more as he slips a third finger alongside the others, stretching the walls of your cunt deliciously. 

Oh pfassk yes that’s it right there like that -

Another slow drag, a full body shudder that curls your toes, another thick stretch of your pussy around his fingers, and it’s so good, feels so good, pleasure spirals hot and sparking out from your core, your hips rolling with it, taking him deeper and -

His tongue swipes over your clit and you cry out wordlessly, the sensation no longer too much but just perfect and he groans as he does it again, a fresh wave of slick coating his fingers, making them squelch as they sink deep into your cunt. 

Your inner walls clutch desperately, ripples of pleasure coursing over your body in waves that rip the breath from your lungs and when the tip of his tongue circles your clit and his lips close around it and press and pull and -

You’re cracking open, sharp pleasure swarming over your skin and quivering through your limbs and shoving a cry from your chest. 

It hangs you there, suspended, spread open and full of his fingers and drowning in the hot wet heat of his mouth. 

Then there’s the drop. 

The orgasm wracks your body, lifting your hips off the bed but he presses them back down with his free hand, fingers and lips and tongue steadily pulling you through it, wringing every last drop from your throbbing cunt until you have nothing left, falling back on the bed, limbs loose and muscles spent. 

You register that he’s pulling away, your hands struggling to let go of the blankets to reach for him, pang of desperation squeezing a whimper from your throat but then he’s right there again, warm, broad frame covering yours, a comforting weight that anchors you back in reality.

Senses blink online, the thick haze of arousal dissipating in gentle waves, focus pulling back to the moment. 

His lips trail over your jaw, so warm and wet - from you, his mouth is soaked in your pleasure.

Your fingers are diving into his hair and tugging that mouth to yours before you fully register the sudden urge to taste yourself on him, taste how good he makes you feel. 

It’s indescribable, the feeling of his lips, slick and swollen, the flavour of your pleasure on his tongue.

A sigh hums in the back of your throat as he deepens the kiss and you pull him closer, legs parting to let him settle into the cup of your hips, hands sliding around his back and up the solid planes of muscle to grip his shoulders. 

Wait -

The cloth beneath your palms is soft and light, his skin so warm, and right there under the thin weave. 

Not his flightsuit. His base layer. 

Your legs glide along his to feel the same fabric. Kriff, you can feel so much more of him without the thick duraweave, feel his warmth and his muscles shifting as he slips further into your embrace -

Oh pfassk. 

His cloth-covered cock nestles right against your naked pussy, hard, thick length of him knocking against your sensitive clit. 

You can’t stop the roll of your hips, your body seeking more. 

He groans into your mouth, pulling back to inhale sharply when your legs wrap around his waist to provide purchase as you repeat the motion. “Easy, cyar’ika, I’ve been on the edge since I first tasted that lovely pussy of yours.”

The coals of your arousal flare back to life and the emptiness of your cunt is suddenly too much to bear. Rolling your hips up once again, you angle them to push your entrance right over the head of his cock. 

The broken moan that reverberates in his chest sends a rush of slick from your core, and your own moan mingles with his as the fabric of his clothing, soaked in your arousal and pulled tight over his cock, grinds against you, almost pressing inside before he yanks his hips away, breaking the hold of your legs. 

He sits back, pushing your thighs open and away, clicking his tongue in admonishment. “Impatient.”

Your cunt clenches at the restrained strength behind his grip on your thighs. “It’s been too long since I’ve had your cock inside me.”

“Fuck.” His fingers flex, dig into your flesh. “I’m trying to take my time with you, remember? You can’t say things like that.”

Your words float free, picking up on the light teasing edge to the moment so heavy with mutual want. “You’re the one talking about tasting my pussy. How am I supposed to be patient when you talk that way?”

A rush of motion and suddenly he’s over you again, knees spread wide to lock your thighs open, hands grasping your wrists and pressing them to the pillows above your head. 

That same rush, same thrill of being held open by him that you’d felt before swirls down your body, curling your toes. It’s him, only him, something about being so vulnerable to only him - it’s an unnameable feeling, an undercurrent to your need for him. 

His voice is a low growl over the flushed skin of your cheek as he leans down to murmur against your ear. “You mean when I say that every time I fucked your cunt with my fingers I thought about licking them clean, but I wanted my first taste of you to be just your pleasure, just you?”

His words sink into the renewed haze of arousal on your thoughts, pushing your words away again with a fractured moan. 

His hum of approval shivers down your spine. “And now that I’ve had you, I’ll never stop thinking about how your perfect pussy feels fluttering on my tongue when you come, how your slick tastes filling my mouth?”

Need rushes so quickly through your body it makes you dizzy, trembles in your limbs. All you can do is clutch at the pillows that you can reach, wrists still locked firmly in his grasp, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, nipping lightly, ghost of a moan flitting over your mouth as he grinds his cock down against your cunt. “I’m not a man of many words, but you… fuck, tionas, I could talk this way for hours, tell you everything I want to do to you.” 

He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, and it’s disorienting, the gentle intimacy contrasting with the firm grip of his fingers and the forced weight of his thighs holding yours open. 

A tiny mewl slips from your lips and he chases it’s source, tongue sliding along yours, kiss growing deep and hot with need before he pulls away. “But right now, I want to fuck you into this mattress until you can’t think any more. And even then I’ll keep going until the dawn forces me to leave your bed.”

Anticipation and need burn through your body, scorching, leaving your lungs gasping for air. 

Pfassk you need him inside you right now. 

There’s a soft shuffle of cloth and then the head of his cock is gliding through your tender folds, notching into the cup of your entrance. 

Yes yes yes yes -

A choked whimper pushes from your throat at the feeling of soft, smooth skin caressing the edges of your inner walls, tempting.

He does it again, slowly stroking over your entrance, pulling more slick from your core and kriff you can feel it coating the fat head of his cock, easing its glide, silken friction against your cunt sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. 

You can’t take it it’s too much you need -

Your back arches, the only part of you that isn’t pinned down, desperation so intense that tears prick in the corners of your eyes. “Please I need you inside me please now -“

In one motion he thrusts his cock deep into your aching core and shoves a sharp cry from your chest and there -

Every millimetre of you is pressed open and filled with him and the thick weight of his cock so deep inside of you is everything, all that you need.

His breath pants hot down the curve of your neck. “Fuck, this pussy, so perfect.”

The words slip over your skin to swirl into the undercurrent of your arousal, pulling you higher into the haze of your thoughts. 

Then he starts to fuck you. 

Your entire body melts into the bed, wrists trapped in his grip and thighs spread wide, unable to do anything but take the long, deep thrusts of his cock, each one pressing against some place inside you that bursts with a bright pleasure, flares in the edges of your vision, sparks of light in the darkened room. 

Crikking hells he feels so good -

Something almost primal blends into your pleasure, preening under the weight of his broad, warm frame. You can’t move, can’t think, can’t push him for more, to move faster, harder - all you can do is lay there and take it, take whatever pleasure he chooses to give you. 

It should be terrifying. You should feel helpless, trapped. 

But his lips are pressing soft kisses down your throat and his grip on your wrists is firm but gentle and instead of fear you feel -

That warm bright thing in your chest flares. 

Too much too soon not yet -

You shy away from the feeling, letting the sensation of his cock shoving your core open pull your focus. 

He groans low against your collarbone as your pussy clenches around him, voice breaking with the force of his movements. “Feels so good, being inside you, please come for me, mesh’la -“

You’re suddenly aware of it, an orgasm building with every drag of his cock along your walls, tightening the muscles of your lower stomach and inner thighs and pfassk it’s right there, blindsiding, and you reel as it crashes over you, cry of pleasure tinged with surprise. 

Hot throb slick yes -

Every muscles pulls tight and you can’t breathe can only feel it rippling through your body. 

He picks up his pace, grunting at the tight clutch of your cunt as your orgasm breaks. “Yes just like that fuck -“

It shatters, your body shuddering with its intensity, your high-pitched moan quivering with the strong tremors running through you. 

Finally it releases you, and your lungs are gasping for air, head falling back limp against the bed. 

He buries his cock deep and stills, releasing your wrists and resting his forearms on either side of your head as you both catch your breath. His lips brush over yours with barely-there kisses full of something like reverence. 

Your hands find his face, cupping his jaw with trembling fingers, a feeling of raw openness closing your throat, choking your breath. 

He’s all around you, inside you, broad chest pressed against yours, cock twitching deep in your core, scent of him in your lungs, taste of him on your lips. 

It’s a moment of absolute perfection. 

A ripple of aftershocks pulses through your cunt and he trembles above you. “Mmm, I want to come in your pussy so bad, cyar’ika. But I’m not done with you yet.”

A whimper falls from your lips as he moves, hard length of his cock shifting inside you. His frame presses even closer, spread of his thighs lessening to allow your legs to close around his hips, hold him tight. 

His sigh is full of contentment as he settles, a sound that melts into the warm bright thing behind your ribs, and your hands on his face pull his lips down to yours, a matching sigh mingling with the end of his. 

Then he rocks into you with a slow roll of his hips and you pull away from his lips, head falling back with a cry as his cock grinds over the deepest part of you. 

White-hot sensation shoots through your core, pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. 

He growls into the curve of your neck. “Right there, feel it -“

His hips roll again, barely thrusting but pushing deep, pressing the head of his cock tight to that spot and it’s so much, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as another stab of pleasure tears through your body.

That primal instinct roars back to the forefront of your senses. 

You want more, want him deeper, want him -

He rocks into you again and the pleasure-pain overwhelms everything else. 

It’s slow, deliberate, the way he takes you apart like this, your body poised in a permanent arch, unable to move as every cell is rimmed in light, hands clenched hard over the muscles of his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored to this world. 

Over and over he presses deep, and you lose awareness of everything including the passing of time. It’s only when his cock pulses hard, and your cunt throbs around the thick of him that you realize you’re coming again, and the warmth that floods your core tells of his own release.

Then he’s stilling, cock still buried inside you, the last pulses of his pleasure pulling a broken moan from his chest.

Your hands release their grip, falling to the bed, every ounce of strength spent from your limbs.

It’s quiet, a heavy almost-silence falls over the two of you. 

You’re floating, drifting in a thick haze, senses clouded by fading pleasure, thoughts skittering without taking hold. He moves above you, kisses rain down on your face, lips. Hands caress your skin, smoothing over your shoulders, arms, waist. The feeling only heightens the sensation of weightlessness, embracing you in warmth and safety. 

Slowly, piece by piece, you come back, taking a deep breath, reminding yourself that you have lungs, a body. 

A very satiated body. 

Pfassk, you haven’t felt like this - well, ever.

That warm bright thing in your chest pushes your hands to seek him, legs to press tight to his sides, just in case he tries to pull away. His face is tucked into the curve of your neck, his hum of appreciation as your fingers weave through his curls reverberating over your pulse.

His body is warm and deliciously heavy on yours, the beat of his heart pressed against your chest. The twitch of his cock still buried in your cunt strokes that primal instinct, that desire to keep him inside you always. 

Time passes somewhere, uncounted by the slowing of your breath and fading of the haze of pleasure. Your fingers card through his curls while your other hand traces nonsense patterns over his back, a mirror of the soft circling of his fingertips on your shoulder. 

Your thoughts drift back to the surface, piecing through the evening, and a sudden burst of curiosity pushes to break the comfortable silence but you resist it, biting your bottom lip hard to keep the words from bursting out. 

He huffs against your neck, amusement heavy in his rasping voice. “You’re thinking too loud, again.”

Kriff. Well, might as well ask, now. “Sorry. I’ve just been meaning to ask you - what does ‘mayshla’ mean?”

“Mesh’la.” The word is much more graceful from his lips. “Means ‘beautiful.’”

Oh. 

You blink up at the dark, unseen ceiling above, stunned into silence. 

He presses a kiss to your pulse before shifting back into his forearms. “Cyar’ika. Closest Basic word would probably be ‘sweetheart.’”

Tears sting under your eyelids, close your throat tight. 

His voice drops low, words soft and hushed. “Hmm, what else… ner kotyc dala - ‘my strong woman.’”

He kisses your lips gently, taking the whimper that manages to squeeze past your throat into himself. 

You struggle to push down the overwhelming emotion, finally managing to speak, cupping his cheek. “No one has ever called me ‘strong’ before.”

Gently, he takes your hand in his, twining your fingers together, voice firm and factual. “You are the strongest person I know.”

His lips press to your knuckles. “Kotyc. Strong.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead. “Mirdala. Clever.”

Softly, he kisses your lips, pulling away just enough to speak, words heavy with meaning. “Ne’kotir. Undefeated.”

A thousand words fly to the tip of your tongue but you can’t say any of them yet. 

The moment is too full of emotion and you’re too raw and open, shying away from the tears that slip from the corners of your eyes. 

Pushing it all aside, you force a teasing lilt into your voice. “Don’t forget ‘mir’sheb.’”

His lips curve into a smile as he kisses you again. “Impossible. You’re never quiet long enough to let me forget.”

You arch your hips, pulling moans from both of you as his cock twitches in response. “You know of one way to shut me up.”

He presses his hips down into yours, nipping at your chin with a soft growl. “That I do, tionas.”

***** Previous Chapter

[mirkwoodshewolf]

The tale of Robin and Gale Hood; Ben Hardy x reader Chap. 1

*Author’s note*

Okay so firs the gif has NOTHING to do with the story, that was just the 1st gif I saw out of the borhap gifs that was displayed. So this came after the success of my Disney Aladdin AU fic so I decided to do a Robin Hood fic, so as a little cast list for you all here’s what I’ve got. I’ll also update the cast list as each new character is introduced so that none of you get lost. Hope you all enjoy this little AU fic starring our beloved Borhap cast.

Also on a side note, any italics written like this signifies a change in narration where the character of Alan O’Dale speaks his own narration verses what I’ll be writing.

Robin Hood: Rami Malek

Little John: Joe Mazzello

Prince John: Paul Prenter

Sir Heston: voiced by Allen Leech

King Richard (mentioned): Roger Taylor.

Alan O’Dale: Freddie Mercury (think 1975 version of Freddie)

Chapter 1,

Robin Hood and Little John

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queendeakyy​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@wormzteef​

@geek-and-proud​

_____________________________________________________________

The legend of Robin Hood.  Ahhh yes, that handsome rouge who robbed the rich to feed the poor, who led a band of Merry men and made their home in Sherwood Forest.  But there is more to the tale than meets the eye, and more people were involved in his rise to fame and glory.  Like me.

Oi I’m over here, the handsome black-haired devil with the harp. Yes hello there my darlings. The name’s Alan O’Dale, and I am a minstrel.  That’s an early day folk singer, I go about parading songs from town to town, kingdom to kingdom about brave knights, fierce battles, and of course my favorite stories, love stories.

And do I have two of the best love stories to share with you lovely darlings.  Thankfully it all takes place at the same time so I don’t need to run my mouth on for very long.  Anyways let’s first open our tale up to two dashing young men walking through the forest.

Two of the best friends anyone could ever ask for.  These two young men were known other than Robin Hood and Little John.  Now it didn’t start it off that way at first, those two chuckleheads always kept crossing each other’s paths as children and constantly argued and fought over territory, women, you name it.

But when they reached their late teens, Robin was one day captured by the despicable, ugly, and revolting Sheriff of Nottingham.  Fortunately with the help of an additional 3rd party, Robin was saved from the hangman’s noose and from then on, Robin and Little John were the best of friends. You don’t believe me, let me sing you a little something.  

Tuning the harp, Freddie then begins to play an uplifting little tune as he begins to sing.

Robin Hood and Little John walkin' through the forest Laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say Reminiscin', This-'n'-thattin' havin' such a good time Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Never ever thinkin' there was danger in the water They were drinkin', they just guzzled it down Never dreamin' that a schemin' sheriff and his posse Was a-watchin' them an' gatherin' around

Robin Hood and Little John runnin' through the forest Jumpin' fences, dodgin' trees an' tryin' to get away Contemplatin' nothin' but escape an' fin'lly makin' it Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

Deep in the forest on top of a tree there hid two young men in their mid to late-20’s.  One was a pale white man with long shoulder length auburn brown hair.  His eyes were a mixed brownish-green and he was a handsome young man.

The man beside him was around the same age, if not slightly older and had skin that almost seemed to be kissed by the sun.  His eyes were an intense blue color that could almost hypnotize you and at the same time make you feel relaxed.  His short jet black hair topped off his head.

Together the two of them wore a similar green and brown clothes. Similar to a ranger’s outfit.  Fit to camouflage them within the forest terrain, but also enough layers to keep them warm from the elements be it rain, sleet, snow and hail.

The two young men watched as the Sheriff of Nottingham and his men gave up on the search after losing them and retreating back to the city. Once they fled the forest, the two men threw themselves back against the top of the tree branches and laughed their heads off.

“Ohh we sure showed those clowns who the real woodsmen are!” boasted Little John.

“Indeed we have Little John.” It was then Little John saw on top of his friend’s and boss’ famed yellow hat an arrow sticking right through it.

“I wouldn’t be too quick to boast my friend. Take a look at your hat. She’ll not be pleased to see that.” Robin picked his hat up and his eyes widened in surprise and he said as he took the arrow out and fiddled with the newly made hole in his hat.

“Hello. This one had my name on it didn’t it? They’re getting better you know.” He placed his hat back on top of his head. “You’ve got to admit it, they are getting better.”

“Yeah. And when that day comes the Sheriff will have a rope hanging around our necks.” Little John said gravely.  He then mimed out a hanging as he proceeded to make a brief choking sound.  “It’ll be hard to laugh hanging there Robin.”

“Ha! The Sheriff and his whole posse couldn’t lift you off the ground. En Garde!” he then flicked the arrow right at Little John which went through his own smaller green hat.

“Oi watch it you bastard that’s the only hat she made for me!” Little John exclaimed as he took his hat off the arrow.

“Oh come along my friend. If she can patch mine up a hundred times, she’ll patch yours up as well. At least she won’t kill you for it.” Robin said nonchalantly as he leaned up against the trunk of the tree.

“You know something Robin I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking that’s a first.” Robin teased.  Little John glared at his friend before saying.

“I’m serious here. Are we good guys or bad guys? I mean our famed mantra of robbing the rich to feed the poor.”

“‘Rob?’” Robin tsked. “That’s a naughty word we never rob. We just—sorta borrow a bit from those you can afford it.”

“Borrow?” Little John chuckled. “Then we truly are in deep debt.” Before Robin could say another word, from the distance the sound of trumpets rang out.

He climbed a few feet higher up the tree till he reached the very top of it.  He could hear the whole ensemble of a band playing in the distance and he chuckled softly.

“Sounds like another collection day for the poor eh Johnny me boy?”

“Yeah. Sweet charity. So, what’s the plan this time my friend?” Robin slid down the trunk to meet back with Little John and together he laid out the plan.

Just a few miles along a dirt road, the royal ensemble was walking through the forest.  The royal band played an up-tempo beat, walking behind them was the royal guard all dressed in their armor and holding their spears.

Some of the guards even carried a very large treasure chest which held the taxes throughout all of England.  Then shortly behind the guards was the royal coach of pure gold, and inside it was the vile, selfish, arrogant, man-child that was Prince John, the younger half-brother of the great King Richard.

An Irish bastard’s son.  Who claimed right to the throne of England after his mother who was Queen. He was inside his coach happily running his hands through all the gold he had collected from the people as he boastfully cheered.

“Taxes! Taxes! Beautiful, lovely taxes!”

“Sire. You have an absolutely skill for encouraging contributions from the poor.” His talking albino python that he had named Sir Heston. He had Heston ever since he found him as a egg abandoned in the woods.  With the help of some magic from the faes, Prince John gave his pet human intelligence and the ability to speak.  And once he gained the throne, he allowed his snake to be his right hand man.

“The coin a phrase, my dear advisor. Rob the poor to feed the rich. Am I right?” The two of them laughed.  “Now tell me, what is the next stop Sir Heston?” Prince John asked as he held the crown of England in his hands.  Heston slithered over to the map and he hummed with interest.

“Why, the next stop is Nottingham sire.”

“Oh! The richest plum of them all. Nottingham.” Heston held a large mirror in his coils and held it up as Prince John placed the crown on top of his head and admired himself in the mirror.  The crown slid off down his face as Sir Heston spoke out.

“A perfect fit sire. Most becoming. You look regal, dignified, sincere, masterful, noble. Chival……”

“Now, now don’t. Don’t overdo it Heston.” Prince John scolded as he adjusted the crown to make it fit upon his head. “There. That does it. This crown gives me a feeling of power! Power!”

“And how well King Richard’s crown sits on your noble brow.”

“Yes indeed I—ah King Richard?!” Prince John first started off before snarling by the end.  Heston gulped and was soon choked by his master as he proclaimed again “I told you to never mention my bastard of a brother’s name!”

“A mere slip of the forked tongue your majesty.” Heston apologized. “But remember we were in this plot together. After all it was your idea that I hypnotize him…..”

“Yes. And send him off on that ridiculous crusade. Ah-ha! Ah-ha!” Prince John laughed along.

“Much to the sorrow of the Queen Mother.”

“Yes! Mother.” Prince John sobbed. “Mother always did like Richard best.” He muttered angrily before proceeding to suck his thumb.

“Your highness, please don’t do that. If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s undignified for a King to suck his thumb.” Heston said to him. He then slithered up to Prince John and his eyes began to shimmer and glow as he said in a low hiss, “Hypnotism can rid of your psychosis….so…..easily…..” Prince John began to slowly relax but he quickly snapped out of it.

“None of that! None of that!” he shouted at his snake advisor.

“Well I was only trying to help.” Heston said annoyed.

“Help. Help indeed. Now, now one more stunt like that Heston, and you will be walking to Nottingham.”

“Snakes don’t walk they slither. So there.” Heston muttered angrily as he slithered back onto his tree-like pole and lay there pouting.

Racing through the woods putting on their disguises was Little John in the lead.  He wore a long blood red gypsy dress that revealed his shoulders.  Once he got into the dress, he took out a few rings and placed them on his finger as well some anklets, earrings, and he quickly tied a purple sash around his waist to finish off the look.  

While behind him, Robin wore a long blue dress that was fit for an elderly woman and had a long black wig on.  He placed a couple of earrings on his ears and had a bandana tied to his head.

As the two of them stopped behind a tree, they saw the royal band coming in as well as the guards and the coach which held Prince John inside.

“Well this is a letdown. It’s only a circus. A peanut operation.”

“Peanuts? Why you dunce that’s the royal coach. It’s Prince John himself.” Robin snapped as his friend.

“Prince John. Alright you and her might be crazy enough to actually rob royalty but I am not having it. I’m gone!”

“What? And miss this chance to perform before royalty?” Robin said as he stepped in front of Little John. Quickly placing his hands over Little John’s fake breasts before backing off and doing a grand twirl of his blue dress.  Little John rolled his eyes as he sighed.

“Here he goes again.” They waited till the coach got closer before stepping out and waved their arms in the air trying to get the attention of the Prince.

“Oo-de-lally! Oo-de-lally! Fortune tellers!” Robin proclaimed masking his voice to sound like an elderly woman’s voice.

“Fortunes, forecasts, lucky charms!” Little John proclaimed making his voice go an octave higher to sound like a woman’s.

“Get the dose with your horoscope!” Robin called out again. Prince John pulled back the curtains hearing the proclamations of the two ‘women’.

“Fortune tellers, how exciting! Stop the coach.” He ordered the guards as the entire royal party stopped their marching.

“Sire, sire. They maybe bandits.” Sir Heston whispered to his master.

“Oh poppycock. Female bandits, what’s next? Rubbish.” Prince John scoffed.  He turned back to the two ladies who bowed before him and he said. “My dear ladies, you have my permission to kiss the royal hands. Whichever you like.” Both Robin and Little John stared wide-eyed once they saw the size of the jeweled rings that rested along the prince’s fingers.

“Hmm. Oh how gracious. And generous of you your majesty.” Robin said as he lowered his head to kiss the Prince’s left hand while sneaking off a ring from his tall finger.  Sir Heston who had seen the ring being taken whispered in Prince John’s ear.

“Sire! Did you see what…..”

“Stop! Stop hissing in my ear!” Prince John scolded as he rubbed his left ear.  Little John kissed right over the four rings on the prince’s right hand, secretly taking the jewels right off their encasement.  Heston began stammering in the Prince’s other ear which made the Prince proclaim and rub his other ear like he did his last one.

“Heston! You’ve hissed your last!” he took his python by the neck and slammed him into a basket before closing it and sitting on top of it. “Suspicious snake.” He hissed lowly.

“Masterfully done. Ehh your excellency. Now the fun can truly begin.” Robin tempted the Prince as he climbed into the coach with Prince John and closed the curtains.  He turned the lanterns down low and said to him, “Now close your eyes and concentrate.”

Prince John closed his eyes as Robin continued to tell him to close them tighter and not to peek.  He looked around the room until he found the pile of gold, he did a soft chuckle before chanting out.

“From the mists of time, I call forth ye spirits.” Outside the coach, Little John had a glass bowl tied to a string that was attached to a pole.

“Alright you little fireflies. Glow, glow.”

“We’re waiting!” Robin sung out.  That’s when Little John sent the bowl inside and he could hear Robin gasp. “Look sire! Look!”

When the prince opened his eyes, he saw three floating spirits within a crystal ball.  He was in pure awe as he said.

“Incredible. Floating spirits.” He went to touch the ball until he was slapped by Robin.  He chuckled a soft witchy cackle as he said.

“Naughty, naughty. You mustn’t touch young man.”

“Well how dare you strike the royal hand I—”

“Shh, shh, shh. You’ll break the spell just gaze into the crystal ball.” Robin took the ball with the fireflies and set it down on the table between him and the prince.  Robin then began chanting in an ancient Arabic tongue before letting out a gasp. “A face appears.”

The Prince immediately looks closer at the crystal ball intrigued.

“A crown sits on his noble brow.”

“A crown! Oo-de-lally how exciting!”

“His face is handsome, regal, majestic, loveable, a cuddly face.” From outside Little John heard all the comments Robin was laying on the Prince and could help but mime out a gag and roll his eyes.  Especially when the Prince began agreeing with everything that was said about him.

Robin then went for the treasure while the Prince was in his own head.  But as soon as he reached out his hand for the bag of gold, Heston who had found a weak spot on the basket poked his head out and actually struck out at Robin’s hand.

Biting his lip as he quickly retreated his hand to see it bleeding from the snake’s bite.  He let out a pained groaned which got the attention of the prince.

“Now what?” he asked impatiently.  Robin swallowed his pain and chuckled softly.

“I—I see your….illustrious name.”

“I know my name! Get on with it!” the Prince cried impatiently.

“Your name will go down, down, down in history of course!” Robin said as he struggled to take the bag of gold from Heston, who had it wrapped around his tail, but with a finally good tug, Robin managed to get the gold and send it towards Little John through the back curtains of the coach.

“Ahh! I knew it! I knew it! You hear that Heston!? Oh no you can’t he’s in the basket.” He then banged the side of the basket and said to his snake, “And-and-and don’t you forget it.”

Meanwhile outside, Little John slowly circled around the coach when he took notice of the solid gold hubcaps on the wheels of the coach.

“Hmm now that’s what I call pure gold hubcaps.” He looked around and stood in front of the back one and unscrewed it from the wheel and shoved it up the back of his dress.  He then moved over to the front on and did the same thing. “Oo-de-lally the jackpot.” He muttered softly as he eyed the royal treasure.

However it was completely surrounded and carried by guards.  Little John pondered for a bit but remembered a trick that he learned from a friend of his.

The one sure fire way to get a man’s attention away from their post.

He whistled out to the guards and when they turned and saw him, their mouths immediately dropped and their eyes widened.  He slowly and seductively untied the purple sash from his waist and began to do a seductive dance.

Shimming his shoulders and swaying his hips back and forth. Little John was light on his feet as he leaped and hopped about like a graceful deer.  He then skipped on over to the first guard who was just in awe.

Little John wrapped the purple sash around the guard’s neck pulling him in a little closer.  Close enough to kiss him.  But to tease him, he shoved the guard’s helmet over his face before retreating back and flaunted the guard, who was still hypnotized by Little John’s performance.

He twirled around before suddenly dropping down into a full split.  The guards now began to hoot and holler as they applauded, dropping the treasure. Little John then went up to another guard and took his spear out of his hands and jammed it into the ground.  

With the grace of a deer, Little John then began to spin and slid down the spear’s long pole before ending with a pose with his right leg high in the air and he winked at the guards who were now applauding and whistling.

“Ohh stop it. Stop it you boys are too much.” Little John spoke his woman voice.

“That was the best show we have ever seen.” Said one of the guards.

“Well gentleman. It was my pleasure to dance for you. But of course every bit of contribution helps. For you see I—oh I just can’t say it.”

“What is it?” asked another guard.

“No it’s—it’s too painful to speak about.” The guards feeling sympathetic for this beautiful woman all started speaking up and telling ‘her’ that they wanted to hear her story. “Well…..I wasn’t always like this. My husband was beating me, cheating me, then left me all alone with no money. That’s when I—I forced myself to flee even without a cent to my name. That’s when I found Ms. Olga, the elderly gypsy woman I came with. But even then we—we hardly get by with enough food for you see…..I found myself pregnant at the time I left.”

These men were falling for the story hook, line and sinker. It was then one of the guards took the treasure chest and slid it over to Little John.

“Please, take it all.” Little John gave the young guard a surprised look and he said.

“Oh no I couldn’t possibly take all this.”

“Please. My—my mum had to raise me on her own when my father left her. For you and your baby.”

“Ohh you sweet thing.” He stroked the side of the guard’s cheek and Little John dragged the royal chest away from the guards.

As he came around the corner of the carriage, he felt someone bump into him which knocked him over the chest.  He turned around and saw Robin wearing Prince John’s royal cape and surrounded by a bunch of gold pieces that had fallen out of a bag that lay on the ground.

“Nice robes your majesty.” Little John teased, his normal accent finally coming out.

“And what of you, you vulgar young hussy. I heard all the wolf whistles and cheering. I could hardly keep the Prince under my hypnosis to swipe his clothes and gold.”

“Never mind that. Just gather the gold and then help me with this.” Robin and Little John then worked together to put as much gold pieces back in the bag as possible.  Robin stuffed the bag into his dress then both he and Little John picked up the chess and quickly raced off.

Prince John who had woken up from his dazed state, saw the two gypsy women running away from the scene, the elderly woman wearing his robes. He looked down and saw that he was in his undergarments.

“ROBBED! I’VE BEEN ROBBED! HESTON! YOU’RE NEVER AROUND WHEN I NEED YOU!!” Heston slithered out of the basket and raised half his body length up and looked the prince up and down. “I’ve been robbed.” He choked out as he covered himself up.

“Of course you’ve been robbed!” Heston hissed.  Far in the forest, Robin was gleefully chanting as he and Little John made their escape with the royal treasure.

“AFTER THEM YOU FOOLS!” Prince John proclaimed.  The guards now realizing they had been tricked, immediately took off running.  The carriage soon began to chase after Robin and Little John, unfortunately due to the missing hubcaps, the wheels began to pop off which made Prince John hop out of his carriage and fall straight into the mud.

Leaving him stranded in the middle of the forest trail alone with Heston.  He sobbed as he pounding the ground whining like a child.

“I knew it. I knew this would happen. I tried to tell you but no, no you wouldn’t listen. You just have to—” when Heston realized that he had angered the Prince, he began stammering as he tried to warn the prince as he now held a very large mirror, “Seven years bad…..” he then had the mirror smashed onto his head. “Luck. That’s what that is. Besides, you just broke your mother’s mirror.”

“Ahhh! Mummy!” Prince John whined as he began to suck his thumb once again.  He took it out of his mouth as he said solemnly, “I’ve got a dirty thumb.”

[phobiadeficient]

A punishing B by making him wear a remote controlled vibrator? (Speeding bullet or spy/engie please! Also I love your work :) )

i want you guys to know that like the majority of the time when y'all go “this pairing or this one, shrug emoji” i literally just like. coin flip abt it. i don't even have an app i just google “coin flip” and just pick like Any option from the list. that's the brand of messy bitch disease that we have going on up in here. anyways here's your porn like a month late anon sorry

-

Spy didn’t even realize how hard he was clenching his fists until he heard the leather creak and realized his knuckles were aching.

To be honest, he’d half expected it to be more of an endurance thing. That it’d get turned on and he’d just be expected to ride through it until the Engineer was good and ready to end his silly little game and get on with it. But that didn’t seem to be the direction things were going in.

Because first of all, the Engineer was fiddling with the remote for the thing every few minutes, switching up rhythm and speed and force what seemed to be entirely at random.

And second of all, it had been—and he hadn’t even been checking his watch, wasn’t entirely sure, but it felt like hours, and had probably been at least forty minutes of this, and he wasn’t even looking at Spy all that much besides cursory glances every now and then before promptly returning to what he was working on—the sketch on a blueprint, it seemed, something that required an amount of focus.

He’d started this little game pretty cocky, because he was good at this sort of thing, at ignoring physical urges and keeping a cool head in situations that other people would be entirely distracted by. But some combination of all of this, of the sensation plus the presence of his lover plus the pressure of it being some kind of game, plus the fact that the aforementioned lover was ignoring him plus the idea crowding into frame that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t read the game correctly and something else was going on, well, it was pulling him apart.

He’d started out with good posture and nonchalance and a smirk that he damn well knew was charming and could send shivers through anyone he chose, composed and flirtatious and unaffected. But forty minutes in, his posture had crumpled, and he was sweating and overheated, his shirt clinging to his skin, his pants entirely uncomfortable, his knees trembling a little bit.

The only thing the Engineer had told him to do was get his clothes back in order and to keep his hands up above the table. And he’d glanced up exactly twice when Spy had moved them, once to adjust his tie and once to tug on his mask to make it sit a bit more comfortably. He knew he wouldn’t get away with sneaking them below the table to make himself more comfortable in any sense of the word.

He stared hard at the Engineer, and the Engineer didn’t even look at him.

He broke somewhere around minute forty-five.

“How much longer is this going to take?” he asked flatly.

He hummed. “Probably somethin’ like an hour or two, haven’t blocked out much besides the general shape,” he replied, tapping some part of the blueprint for emphasis.

Spy clenched his fists. “That isn’t what I meant,” he deadpanned.

The Engineer looked up at him, finally, and Spy felt all the more aware of what a mess he probably looked like. “Oh, right,” he said, as if he’d forgotten, even as he clicked a button and the rhythm shifted again, making a muscle in Spy’s jaw shift. “Well. Guess that depends on a couple of things.”

“Such as?” Spy asked, voice tight.

“You sayin’ you give up?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why the Engineer phrased it like that, only that doing so made him immediately shake his head, maybe a touch too quickly. The Engineer nodded, and returned to his work.

Five minutes passed before a Spy spoke again. “Dell, what exactly is the point of this game?” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Not sure what you mean, darlin’,” he hummed, drawing a line with precision and care using a ruler.

“I’m getting extremely frustrated,” Spy said outright.

“Mm-hmm,” Engie hummed.

“I would very much like to get to whatever happens next,” he said, even more outright, stressing his words.

His focus was swimming so much that somehow he hadn’t noticed the Engineer’s other hand drifting to take hold of the remote again, first and foremost feeling the vibrations cease altogether.

A breath of relief as for a few wonderful moments he thought that the Engineer was moving things along. But after a few seconds, a minute, two minutes, Spy felt confused.

The Engineer looked up at him, adjusted his goggles. “Want me to turn it back on?” he asked calmly, coolly.

The frustration flared back up in an instant. “I want for you to touch me,” Spy all but snapped.

“I know you do. But you don’t get that yet. So do you want me to turn it back on?” he asked, and underneath the calm in his tone and the softness of his voice was a hard edge that sent a shiver down Spy’s back, made him swallow hard.

He hesitated for only a few seconds before he nodded. His head fell as the toy turned back on, thrumming to life and setting his nerve endings aflame.

The short break made the sudden flood of pleasure all the more potent, made him have to fight not to make any kind of noise. And even then he exhaled shakily, eyes screwing shut hard, heartbeat thrumming.

A minute or so later he was already feeling that desperation creeping back into view, making him wish he could at least lower his hands to undo his belt to get a little more comfortable. But even just flexing and curling his hands to try and distract himself gained the Engineer’s attention, his head tilting just slightly for a moment towards him until the movement stopped.

“When will this game be over?” he finally snapped, working hard to keep his voice filled with annoyance and not pleading.

“That depends,” was the level, easygoing reply, and a click, and the rhythm of the toy shifted again, making Spy bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

“On what?” Spy demanded.

“On whether you’re gonna behave,” Engie said, turning his head to look at Spy.

Alright, he knew this one. “And what exactly is it that you want me to do?” he asked, voice dropping to a purr, even if it was a little unsteady, a little breathless.

The Engineer hummed, started tidying up his workspace a little, putting pencils and rulers and erasers back where they belonged. Once it was reasonably tidied, he looked back over. “I want you to quit mouthin’ off so much to the team,” he said, and Spy blinked.

He laughed incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” he managed. “All of this over—“

“You’re bein’ a real menace,” the Engineer interrupted, cutting Spy off cold. “Usually it’s just a snide comment here and there, but lately you’ve really been hitting the team hard. Makin’ a damn fool out of everyone, belittling people—hell, I’d call it outright bullying. And what you’re gonna do now, after tonight, is stop that.”

“Or what?” Spy couldn’t help but challenge.

“I guess you’ll see,” he shrugged.

Spy huffed. “Am I supposed to be scared?” he teased.

The vibrator shut off.

He blinked. Shifted. Held eye contact even as his eyebrows furrowed.

There was a long pause before the Engineer spoke, and when he did, he was still casual, conversational even. “That was a bit rude, darlin’. Ought to apologize,” he prompted.

Spy sneered, even as he shifted, weighted his options. Ultimately, his head didn’t win out. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he said, flippant, only to become significantly less flippant as his apology was rewarded with the toy being switched back on.

Then the Engineer was standing up, rounding the table. Spy turned to meet him, but was flipped right back around again, wrists pinned to the tabletop with one hand, the Engineer’s broad chest pressing into his back and trapping him even further in place. “You sorry for makin’ fools of the team?” he asked.

Spy managed to gather his thoughts enough to consider his options. “...And what do I get if I apologize?” he prompted.

“You’ll see,” the Engineer said.

“And if I don’t?”

“You already know that one,” he said, meaningfully turning the remote around in his free hand.

Spy scowled. “Ugh. Oui, I’m sorry.”

The remote was placed on the tabletop—within his reach, although he’d never be able to grab it with his wrists pinned—and the Engineer’s hand trailed down his abdomen and to his pants, and made quick—if slightly rough—work of getting them open. He sighed in relief, extremely pleased with this turn of events, even if the Engineer didn’t touch him much beyond that. Just that much was a blessing.

“You sorry for acting like an ass to everyone?” the Enginner prompted.

“Oui,” Spy answered easily enough, not much meaning behind the words, more easily giving over into the pleasure once the pressure and immense discomfort of his pants was resolved.

His reward was the Engineer helping him pull his pants a little way down his legs, freeing him outright, and he gave a gaspy little noise at it, rocking forward slightly when he was able.

“And are you sorry for being so damn mean?” the Engineer asked next.

“I suppose,” Spy joked.

Silence, stillness. “I beg your pardon?” the Engineer asked, squeezing his wrists slightly, almost threateningly.

“If it moves along the game, then I suppose,” Spy teased, trying to glance over his shoulder.

The Engineer was quiet for a moment, then he was moving—except he was pulling Spy’s clothes back on, movements rough.

Spy was shaken from the euphoria, blinking, startled as he realized what was happening. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to move on from this ridiculous game?” he tried, a little frustrated.

The Engineer moved the remote out of reach and released Spy’s wrists long enough to do his pants back up, absolutely no care or gentleness in the motion.

“Ow, ow! Dell!” he yelped, indignant. “Fine, fine! I’m sorry!”

Stillness again. He steadied himself with a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I apologize,” he repeated, tone uneven, well shaken.

“Good,” the Engineer said quietly, and moved to undress him again. Spy only got to relax for a moment, though, before he spoke again. “But if you’re gonna misbehave like that, I might need somethin’ to help me...”

Spy was left alone for only a moment, only long enough to have an internal argument about whether he was allowed to turn around and see what was going on. Then his arms were being pulled behind his back and tied together, and this time both of the Engineer’s hands were free to torment him.

They traced meaningfully up Spy’s chest, left somewhat vulnerable when his arms were tied. “You said you were sorry for being so mean to everyone?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Spy nodded, too keyed up to argue the point again, and was rewarded with his tie being pulled off and his jacket and dress shirt being undone and left to hang open.

A moment’s thought from the Engineer, tracing over his undershirt. “The suits themselves are expensive, but not so much the undershirt and all that,” he said, only partially a question.

Spy nodded hesitantly, distractedly.

In one motion, he siezed the undershirt in both hands and ripped it clean open.

Spy cried out, alarmed, before he realized what had happened and relaxed again, muscle by muscle, heart absolutely pounding as the moment of fear resolved itself as absolute lust in the aftermath, his face heating up bright red.

“You gonna keep acting like a damn menace to the team?” the Engineer prompted, hands smoothing up Spy’s freshly-bared chest.

He swallowed hard. “Dell, please. I would like for this game to be over,” he said, voice breaking a little bit as his desperation reached its boiling point.

“That’s not an answer, doll.”

Spy steadied himself with a deep breath. “Fine. Yes, I’ll be civil.”

“You’ll be good?” he was prompted, and he shivered bodily.

“I’ll be good,” Spy agreed, head hanging.

“Prove it. Say please.”

The flood of conflicting emotions resolved as a kind of overload, his arms starting to tremble a bit. “Please,” he said, terribly quiet.

The toy shut off.

Spy immediately began to struggle against his bonds. “Oh, come on, I said it, I said I was sorry, I apologized, I-I said please, what more do you want from me—?!” he began to protest, outright desperate.

“Hush, hush,” the Engineer was quick to say, urging him to stand, to bend over the table. “Toy just ran out of power is all, darlin’, you did good. You did real good.”

Spy couldn’t quite bite back his moan as the toy was pulled free of his body and set aside, and god, it looked so small there on the table, and yet it had pulled him apart so effortlessly. “Dell,” he managed, voice shaky but still full of warning.

“I know,” he said, voice teasing, and then Spy was full again, this time of three thick fingers, gloved and slick, and any further complaints were pushed right out of view as he was pushed back open and slicked back up. “Think you can hold out long enough for me to get in?”

Spy had to think hard about it, could only distantly register his own heaving chest for a few moments. “I—I am not, sure,” he managed between panting, and cried out sharply as he got the first firm touch of that night in exactly the right place, and after so long of teasing it was almost too much for him to handle, too much pleasure making his toes curl in their shoes. “I-I-I—“

He was gently shushed again by a hand petting over his back, and his fingers moved softer and more slowly from then on, drawing out his pleasure in gentle throbs rather than in lightning bolts, a tide on the shoreline instead of being hit by a truck or three.

He wasn’t entirely sure that he was making sense anymore, could feel words exiting his mouth and could hear them being said, but he couldn’t process them on any level. He just heard the Engineer responding to them with praises and affirmations, and it drew him up higher and higher.

“Dell, please,” he managed, fighting hard to say it through the haze he’d fallen into, voice wavering.

“I’ve got you, doll, I’ve got you,” he assured, and then the Engineer reached around in front of him to tug him off, also so gently, so aware of how close he was to being entirely overwhelmed, and when he finally came it took him a few moments afterwards to remember how to breathe.

He was a model teammate in the following few days, at least until he was sure that the Engineer had probably had enough time to charge that toy again.

[rndyounghowze]

Pirate Theatre is Makin' It This Weekend

By Ricky and Dana Young-Howze

Cedar Creek High School

Egg Harbor City

The students greatly surpassed my expectations at Cedar Creek High School's production of Makin' It. This play by Cynthia Mercati was directed by John T. Stephan and brought a host of veteran and green actors together to do this show.

There is more than meets the eye in any high school hallway. This play shows that in any clique, any student, any teacher, there something beneath the surface desperately trying to get out.

Direction by John T Stephan was strong last night. You could tell he really wanted a show that gave a lot of new performers a chance to shine while being supported by a core group of his stage veterans. What I always love about Stephan is that he seeks to build young artists up and develop their talent and not just to put on a great show to sell tickets.

But I did feel that even his fledgling actors were stronger than the script he was working with. There were several parts of the script that I saw him valiantly try to create workarounds for.

For example: the script stops all dramatic action to make actors walk downstage and then bare their souls under blue light in monologue. I feel it’s a problem that only exists in the show because the script says it must happen. In fact this got so formulaic that Dana and I could guess to within a second when another monologue was coming. We would have loved it much better if there were no monologues and the story could keep moving forward.

But here was my ultimate problem with them: the monologues where where I saw Stephan shine! This is a man whose directing style I know the most and these intimate moments were where I could see him dive into character work and coax some solid performances out of his actors. There are even some small one on one scenes between characters where I saw him try to create a real character driven scene despite the source material and because they were doing their best I began to really feel something. I just really hope in the future that the script chosen is as strong as this cast.

Dana and I saw a bunch of kids who are nothing like these characters who are looking for some nuggets of truth to latch onto. "But Ricky," you say "isn't acting all about portraying a character that's nothing like you?" Obviously yes but I felt some of these actors had characters so unreal and unauthentic they went beyond that and were able to tap into something deeper than anything could have realized. So let's talk about who really made us feel something.

Buzzard Fishbeck (played by Jonathan Nass) gave Dana this feeling of “why bother, if everyone thinks I’m this way why am I going to change?" She was really impressed by how sincere was even though he was our comic relief. Great job!

There really is something wonderful about Monica (played by Elisa Zapata) and I noticed it immediately. I'm coining a phrase today by saying her best acting was "behind her eyes". She found a way to make me see the wheels turning in the character's head. A great performance!

Kudos to Karl Swanson (played by Jacob Thompson) for stepping into the role only two weeks ago and giving us a strong first impression. He was just the prop master then so you could call this a huge promotion! I really hope to see him onstage again.

Travis (played by Kyle Heck) won me over with his last stand against Hunter. He finally seemed to calm down and give me chills with his honest delivery of his lines.

Hunter Dunbar (played by Cody Tittermary) did such a really good job being a scumbag that Dana didn't like him. But I know him and this is completely different from who he is. He did win her over with the honest delivery of his monologue. It was her favorite.

Brooke Benedict (played by Rebekah Allebach) made me not hate this play. Her monologue was full of feeling and passion and she poured it out generously so that we all could share. That’s the kind of acting we need all over the South Jersey High School Stage. Feel something and take us on the journey with you!

I've had the privilege of seeing Howie (played by Evan Theoharis) perform at GTMS before and I'm so happy to see him not only staying true to form but even getting better in his craft. If he digs into his characters a bit more his natural stage presence will take him the rest of the way.

We could tell that Mrs. Cozlowe (played by Violet Vogel) was trying to channel every terrible teacher she'd ever had to deliver a truly authentic performance. It's very hard to take on the role of one of the authority figures in your life and not make it look cookie cutter. She really did not disappoint.

With Vince Carnelli (Played by Nathan Carnelli) he seems like he was really trying to latch onto a similar authority figure in his own life. Either way he did it he made Dana empathize with him.

Kudos to Max Stubbe in the background creating a character that I definitely wanted to know more about. Everytime they were onstage I really hoped that their monologue would start but it never did. Thanks for making me smile!

We want to reiterate that we saw kids do an amazing job trying to relate to characters that they've never seen before. This is not to say there aren't similar kids in high school or America however those kids are three dimensional and to ask them to become one dimensional on a stage is hard. They have to bring way more into the story than the writer did. And that's what we want to celebrate right now. We're very proud of all these kids.

Costumes by Cynthia Kahn actually did make my life. Having lived through this decade as a kid I may or may not have worn these clothes once (I also may or may not have been a Howie). Thanks for taking me on a trip in the Way Back machine.

Kudos to set design by John T. Stephan and Jen Tracy who was also Head Scenic Artist. The minimal set design really served the production well while still being very visually interesting.

You really should see this show. It is a great example of good young performers delivering solid textbook performances through the support of an artistic staff that only wants to see them shine! Please come out and cheer them on!

[octohook-blog]

Scroll through your manuscript with your eyes closed. Whichever phrase your cursor lands on is the “title” for your story. Do this eight times for fun.  

so i know that this meme is just for writing possible book titles but then i saw  some of yall putting in lines from your fics? rebellious, i like that. sooooo im gonna do both lmao (which works out tbh cuz i have no clue what to name this particular fic so this could be useful!) also idk if im doing this right bc hey this is me we’re talking about

1. Unforgiving Elements

The doctor’s figure loomed in the window pane, like an old oak, hunched and defeated from years battling unforgiving elements.

2. Every Ounce of Their Dwindling Strength

The fate of his crew had Harry on silent edge. Every man had a purpose– but even more than that, they each represented manpower. And every ounce of their dwindling strength was needed.

3. Spat Empty Threats (In the Most Literal Sense)

Harry drummed his fingers, lips spread in an amused grin as he pictured the portly governor clear as day. Round cheeks and button nose red as apples, sweaty skin wrinkled with fury as his jam and crumb crusted lips spat empty threats (in the most literal sense).

4. The Lip of the Bottle

Uma looked up from the book, watching him with a disapproving frown. “Speaking of stewed,” she muttered. “Have have you eaten?”

“No,” said Harry, curtly.

“You ought to know you shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

“And, pray tell, why do you say that?”

“The doctor makes himself a tankard of taplash every other morn. Shoots the cat before the cock crows, every time.” Her lips pulled into a grimace as something passed in her memory. “And sounds louder than a flock squabbling over a nearby fox.”

Harry snickered into the lip of the bottle. “Tell him he holds his drink as well as a babe holds its piss.”

5. Coins Spilled From His Pockets

Sprawled besides him was a rival pirate. Coins spilled from his pockets, and bottles of medicine (broken as well as intact) laid around them. They heard the space between the floorboards guzzle the spilled alcohol.

6.  A Wad of Blood

“In the cabins, Captain.” Gonzo said, leaning against the ship’s railing. He hacked and spat up a wad of blood, then wiped his mouth.  “Makin ‘imself a crutch. Knee looks like a ripe tomato set to burst.”

7. The Dead Man’s Wide Eyes Faced the Heavens

A word rumbled in his throat, hot and acidic.

“Vermin.”

And as if it left an acrid taste in his mouth, he gave a great hawk and spat on the body.

The dead man’s wide eyes faced the heavens, uncaring of the phlegm running down his cheek like a foul tear.

8. The Lotman’s Morning Tea

“What in heaven’s name is that?” She asked, her face pinched as if he were quaffing mud.

Harry ended his pull with a long, content sigh. “The lotman’s morning tea.” He took notice to the curious gaze she directed at the bottle and smirked.

“Care for a wee taste?” He whispered.

so these are all from a v e r y l o n g historical au huma wip im working on /cries in colonial american while wiping tears with an oxford english dictionary/ i don’t think i’ll actually use any of these for the official title but i kinda like em as chapter titles! (esp 1, 7 & 8)

thank u @eatingjesysass for making my slacking ass feel relevant and tagging me lol it was fun

i tag @whats-a-queen-without-a-king and anybody else who wants to join the huma party tag!

[kurel-andiel]

Affairs & Terms of Service

“Can you survive me?”

“Better than a life with no Kurel.”

“You say tha’ now. Bu’ the nex’ time I challenge you. I ge’ angry. I hur’ you. Will it still be that? When the longer you, the further you go with me... Can you survive the destruction I create?”

“Kurel, I’m not a child. You hurt me. If we go down in flames together, so be it. If you’re asking are you worth the risk to me? Yes, you are.”

The act of giving in had been a wretched climb for nearly a year. A stigma had been placed upon him by a former employee that kept her dancing on the edge of crashing into him, out of fear that those around him would punish her with death. For much different reasons he had stalked that same line. Forbidding his own crossing, because every time he dared, he lost and he knew as he pulled the breath from her lungs into his mouth, that he would fail her in the end. That was what history had taught him. Would the things he did for her, negate that which he would do to her?  Could she Would she grant him absolution?

By dark she had left Sunspire and by midnight he arrived in Erudition to discover a gathering of Scions and Nobles. The air in the room was a mix of cross-hairs aimed at his chest and mutual, neutral acceptance for his place among them. He assumed his role of the Pirate King. Humbly played into the respect of a lower-born to the Lord and assured each address of Feloirus  Firavels was one that did not look to demean his position among the surrounding crowd or over-step his place own place as a guest to Demytrya Wintersong and her organization.

Through distance he minded his manners. Gave more of his attention to the many people who surrounded him, than to her. Evaded her closeness to avoid conspiracy. And it was difficult when in the back of his mind was the reminder of how her tongue tasted.

Then came the deal. Resigning to a distant building so that he, with some presence of Sunspire’s benefactors and a fraction of the captains that composed his council, could hear at length the Lord’s needs. He was powerful in the city. A chair in the Magistrate and had done some research into Sunspire beyond just what the Registry did document. He reflected on Kurel as ‘King’, but each reference graciously omitted the phrase of ‘Pirate’ from it. Felorius was a nobleman with military, but no navy. His coffers sounding to have been bled dry to fund his campaigns in The Broken Isles. What he wanted were ships, captains and their crews to move his products of Bloodthistle, Dragonhawks and Mithril ore so that he could reconstitute his losses of the war outside, but what he really wanted was a partnership in Kurel and in Sunspire.

Perhaps Lord Firavels could have had exactly all of that, had Demytrya not passed awfully close to Kurel and murmured in his ear the details of an already suspecting duplicity in the man. The Rougess Sedrana had caught the exchange between Lthe Lord and his own regarding information on the very organization that played host to them both. A conspiracy to steal an artifact from the vaults.

The passing knowledge had not been received well by Kurel and when he gave his terms for service, he set the buy-in price for the Lord exceptionally high. One part for subtle vengeance and two part for insurance to any future slights that might be attempted.

"Wha' I wan' is a thirty percen' share in your Bloodthistle trade an' distribution rights.” Began Kurel’s negotiations. “Between the Eclipse Syndicate an' my newly forged partnership with Dead Sun Harbor you will move twice as much thistle as you did before now. You will establish a Dragonhawk breedin' program in Sunspire, which you will then pay Commander Windere to operate an' transport. Your Mithril hauls will pay a load fee, ontop of shipping costs, at twenty gold per ounce. And-"

“Then let me be clear.” Interjected Lord Firavels, which immediately silenced Kurel who starred in the Lord’s direction.  “Perhaps twenty years ago you would have something to fear from me. But I have solidified my power. Furthermore, with the chaotic state the world is currently in, I am especially averse to infighting. I have my own political views and social views; however I have always appreciated talent - no matter whom it belongs to. My goal is to simply make new, profitable agreements so that I can recover my losses in the broken isles quickly.”

"I wan' somethin' of value.” Continued Kurel with a terseness to his words, as if he had not been cut off at all. “From you. No' measured in the price of coin, bu' in the wealth of sentimentality."

Feloirus tilted his head. "And that would be?"

"For you to decide. If you nee’ references, I can lis' some."

“Please do so I have a better understanding of your mindset.”

"The High Priestess of Belore gave to me a crystal with a fragmen' of her holy power inside it. The former Purveyor, Kelliann Morningshield gave me her soul in a bauble. An' the late Lucia Vitae, former Admiral of the Stormwin' Navy, gave to me a compass empowered by the very dark essence that propelled her in this world an' into the next. Items of sentimental value. Leverages, tha' in the even' you fuck me. I will do so much worse to you." The cordiality having come to an end and with Kurel’s displeasure of what he knew, so too had his tolerance.

Feloirus narrowed his gaze toward Kurel. "That is not an equal trade. You spoke of equality, if I give you something of the sort then you would have to give me something in the same vein. Now if you want something unique to the Firavels,there are a slew of things I could give you. However I will not give anyone a single way to harm my name or my family."

"The equality is in your status. Your ability to destroy my Port with mere words. The ruin of Sunspire to risk your Thistle trade, would cause a domino collapse to all my benefactors." The negative effects would extend to Winters, to Scions, to Essex and Velerodra. It would affected Dead Sun Harbor as much as it would the Eclipse Syndicate.

“You think I'd destroy your port after investing in it, thus hurting myself? If you'd like collateral, as I said. I can give you something to hold onto. But every single item you just listed could be used to seriously damage the people whom gave them to you. I'd have no assurances that -you- wouldn't turn on -me- for no reason.”

"Tha' is the risk you will have to take." Kurel grinned. If there was one thing he did love in his life, it was the articulation of doing business. "I assure you, Lord Firavel. There is no' a captain between here an' the nex' shore who does no' know me, who does no' wish to work with me, who will one day fin' their vessel at the bottom of the fuckin' ocean if they tread on my water withou' my grace."

“To borrow the captain's words here. If I give you something to fuck me, you'll need to give me something to fuck you. Otherwise we would not be partners, you would make me your subordinate. That is not acceptable.”

"You’ve my terms, Lord Firavel. Take it or walk from it. The choice is yours."

Feloirus rolled his shoulders. "Then I bid you good evening and good fortune in the wars to come." He said without hesitation. "Should you come up with more reasonable terms, I'm not a hard person to find." Said with a dip of his head in a formal bow.

"Are you makin' a threat, Lord Firavel?"

Feloirus inclined his head. "How did you perceive a threat?"

"Wars to come?" Reiterated Kurel.

“Yes. Demons are pouring into our world, captain.” Said Feloirus. “While I'm glad if you've been able to avoid strife; I don't imagine a single denizen of this world will be unscathed by the end of this.”

"Indeed they are.” But did Kurel really believe what the Lord said? “Have a good evenin', Lord Firavel. Should you reconsider, jus' say my name 'roun' the city-- I've eyes an' ears everywhere. It'll reach me."

@sunspireport @scions-of-antiquity @roewyn @eclipsesyndicatewra @deadsunharbor  [I don’t know if  Felorius has tumblr.]