#toeing the line a little bit on the slight undertones but nothing will come of it

[orcelito]

Revealing myself as a 98 vashmeryl truther by how I write vash and meryl's interactions in itnl

[howdoyousleep3]

Kinktober, 10/18: In the Kitchen

Hello yes hi. I wanted to bring this mf back and here he is in all his glory. Shoutout to @maddiewritesstucky​ for hyping me tf uppppppp. Hope you love. 💕

Pairing: Mr. Barber and Male Reader (This is a continuation from my last work on these two, which you can find here or here. The reader is not underage.)  Tags: Intercrural Sex (aka thigh fucking), Kitchen Sex, Secret Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones, Age Difference, Grinding 

“Jacob, you alright going to the store while we finish cleaning up from dinner? You know what I like—mint chocolate chip!”

The words bounce around in his skull like a marble, rolling around aimlessly without sticking any sort of landing, lacking comprehension. His hand stalls under the running faucet, fingers weakening on his grip on a plate, all at the seemingly cheery suggestion Mr. Barber gives his son.

Jacob’s going to leave? Leave him alone with Mr. Barber? His name being spoken rips him from his few seconds of sheer panic.

“What kind of ice cream do you want?”

He doesn’t even remember what he says, doesn’t care. All he can think about is being alone with Mr. Barber for the first time in… weeks? Surely it hasn’t been that long, he thinks, but it has felt more like months, years, and he can barely stand it. He’s never experienced such desperation before, has never been at the mercy of someone else’s touch the way he is with Mr. Barber.

They have done their fair share of exchanging heated glances, of discreet flirting, of frantic handsy makeout sessions. The thought of Mr. Barber’s capable hands on his body, his demanding lips on his own, his voice in his ear; it all never leaves. He’s consumed by the thoughts, by the ghost of lingering touches on his own skin and under his fingertips.

He’s always hard. He finds himself saving his pent-up energy for when he’s jamming his fingers into his mouth in the shower when his fist flies over his dick as he thinks about Mr. Barber fucking him.

“You gonna take it? Yeah you are, gonna show me you can handle it, c’mon—be good for me.”

He feels good when Mr. Barber touches him, feels good when Mr. Barber fucks him. He tries hard not to think about all the bad that he’s doing and tries even harder to not think about how good being bad makes him feel.

His hands tremble as he places the plate he just finished rinsing into the dishwasher. He hears the rattle of keys, the door to the garage shut, feels his chest constrict. He will not, under any circumstances, be the first one to make any sort of move or implication of so. He takes a few forks, rinses them under water that is steaming but that his hands don’t recognize as being hot, places those into the dishwasher as well.

Even when he can sense Mr. Barber behind him, can hear his shaky breathing and feel the goddamn heat of his body, he does not turn around. It’s only until a hand, not his own, reaches forward and turns the faucet off. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, to lowly whimper out, “Fuck’, but he does just that as he shuffles on his feet. He feels lips on his neck first, but hands quickly follow suit, two large palms that sweep up his torso, squeeze at his pecs.

“Wish I had enough time to fuck you,” Mr. Barber rumbles, wet on his neck as an arm goes taut around his waist, the other hand coming up to cup the front of his throat. So direct, almost abrasive, but it has his sigh turning into a whine of relief. Mr. Barber’s lips are hot on the side of his neck, wet and loud, and in just ten seconds their shared energy is almost chaotic.

“Can fuck me, want it. Miss it,” he breathes as he is pulled away from the sink and he moans when the line of his back gets pulled against Mr. Barber’s front. God, the older man’s cock is already hard against the small of his back, the top of his ass, and he wants. He no longer has to wonder why Mr. Barber put on sweats for the evening; it’s much easier to tease and feel this way. He wants so much his own hand flies back to try and touch, to reach, but he ends up pawing at Mr. Barber’s hip with a wet hand instead.

“Not enough time, not with what I wanna do to you,” Mr. Barber states, teeth tugging at the shell of his ear. He retaliates, doesn’t like that, grinds back into Mr. Barber with a swirl of his hips and a huff.

“You haven’t fucked me in weeks,” he pouts, digging into Mr. Barber’s crotch so that his cock slots right between his ass cheeks, right where they both want him. There’s a low noise, the press of teeth against the hinge of his jaw, the hand around the front of his throat going momentarily and thrillingly tight. Through the sensations, his hips never stop moving. He takes the time to revel in the feeling and brief familiarity of that cock, also takes the time to whimper once more in disappointment of not having it inside of him tonight.

“Yeah? You upset about that?” Mr. Barber asks, a slight tease to his voice. Bastard. Before he can respond, Mr. Barber is pushing him chest-down into the counter, hand tight on the nape of his neck. He hates how good it feels to be in such a position, bent over with a cock heavy on his ass.

“Yes,” he bites out, hands moving to grip the edge of the countertop. He bites his lip to prevent himself from gifting Mr. Barber with any whimper when the older man rolls his hips forward more than a bit suggestively.

“Yeah, show me. Show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Mr. Barber’s voice is deliciously eager, both hands running down to squeeze at his waist, tight and yummy. He tugs on his hips, implies he moves, and with a heavy exhale, he’s grinding and rolling back into a sturdy torso, a firm cock. He lets himself get a little lost, lets himself feel. He stands up on his tippy toes to make the arch in his back count, making it easier to roll up and down. He mewls between his clenched teeth, wanting more while still trying to savor what he has in this moment.

“There you go, this what you’ve been thinkin’ about? Takin’ me like a champ?”

He is a fool for forgetting that Mr. Barber’s mouth is the filthiest fucking thing within the city limits, maybe beyond. It isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced with anyone else before and it has him agreeing and nodding his head immediately, stupidly.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, please.”

“More,” Mr. Barber demands, hands running up to his shoulders, and oh that bit of force makes his dick throb in his shorts. “Tell me more, get specific. Come on, baby.”

The demand makes his grumble, but the addition of the baby makes him turn his cheek sweetly into the countertop. A squeeze to his shoulders, a pull on them, and he’s melting underneath the hands and touch of Mr. Barber.

“God, fuck. Think about you every night, wake up hard every morning. I… I t-touch myself thinking about you.”

“That’s sweet, do ya now?”

“Mhmm, yeah think… think about you fuckin’ me,” he explains with a flush of his cheeks, and he has no control over the way his voice goes whiney, gets a bit breathless. His breathlessness continues, amplifies, when Mr. Barber’s hands run roughly up his sides to take hold of his neck. He whimpers, mewls, when Mr. Barber takes his turn to roll his hips, to grind in tight to the curve of his ass. When Mr. Barber doesn’t interject, he continues.

“Think about… about how good you felt inside’a me. How… how you felt so good you made me cry.”

The groan Mr. Barber lets out is one that has a heavy presence, is one that he swears he can feel within his own chest. It has the hands forcefully wrapped around his neck scrambling down to his shorts. When they catch the waistband, they tug, pulling his bottoms down his hips and over his ass. When the cooler air hits the heated skin of his backside, he can’t help but gasp.

His gasp turns into a purr of his own when Mr. Barber’s hands squeeze at the meat of his ass.

“Been thinkin’ about you sobbin’ around my cock for weeks,” Mr. Barber mumbles, voice like gravel against his ear, in his belly. He’d cry if Mr. Barber wanted it. He thinks he could cry without forcing it. With another whimper, he nods his head in agreement, in… something. He’s already forgotten.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinkin’ too, thinkin’ about the way that boy cunt looked all stretched around my cock, so hungry. Y’still hungry now, kid?”

With a luxurious stretch of the line of his back, a push of his ass, he’s moaning out, “Yes, sir so hungry.”

His briefs are next, a tug and an almost tear before they’re joining his shorts around his ankle. This move makes a blush rise to his cheeks, makes him whimper a bit in humiliation. His whimper appears to be pointless though, because Mr. Barber’s noise is so appreciative and gluttonous it takes the worries right out of his thoughts.

“There he is, fuck that’s sweet,” Mr. Barber purrs, not wasting precious seconds and immediately pressing his clothed erection tight against the curve of his bare ass. Oh, it feels good, feels so fucking good. The way that cock feels, all warm and solid against the middle of his ass, has him spreading his legs, pressing up onto his toes again to feel.

“Mr. Barber…wanna feel, wanna—”

A sharp hand coming down on his ass cheek has his words dying in his throat. Mr. Barber does it once, twice more, grabs at two palmfuls of his ass, and squeezes roughly.

“Wanna feel what? Wanna feel me?” the older man inquires in a gruff voice and all he can do is nod his head dumbly into the countertop with a whine. Mr. Barber doesn’t give him a chance to answer verbally though, instead exhales heavily himself before a hand leaves his ass for just a moment before—

“That what you wanted? What you fuckin’ missed?”

He thought backing himself and his ass into a cock inside of sweatpants was erotic. He hadn’t yet felt the hot skin of Mr. Barber’s cock smack down onto the top of his ass though. Nothing is better than skin on skin and it makes his own heavy dick twitch where it hangs between his spread legs. Mr. Barber keeps one hand on his waist, tight, the other he uses to slap his cock down onto his ass a few lewd times.

“This what you fuckin’ missed, boy?” Mr. Barber hisses, losing some self-control and guiding the head of his dick between his ass cheeks, pushing it right against his hole. It’s right where he wants Mr. Barber. Energy shifts, franticness takes over. There are the fingers of one hand taut in his hair then, tugging, and with a pained mewl he tips his ass up in response.

“Yes! Yes, sir yes. Fuckin’ missed that… that cock. Missed you!”

“Atta boy, there you go. Show me what we don’t have time for, come on, pretty.”

Pretty makes him shout. Pretty combined with the feeling of Mr. Barber’s fat cock resting against his circling ass makes the fire in his belly burn hotter. If he presses back just right, he can feel Mr. Barber’s balls perfectly, can feel the way they hang hot and push up against the bottom of his ass. He wants them in his mouth.

The more he moves, gyrates, grinds, the more he gets to feel Mr. Barber’s cock on his bottom, his backside. And the more he feels it, the more he grows to want it inside of him. Mr. Barber is behind him purring, making all sorts of rumbly noises in agreement and appreciation, and a moment’s realization of where he is and what he’s doing makes his dick turn achy, makes him hurt for any kind of release.

Everything mounts when Mr. Barber moves, when he leans down over his backside, hand reaching for the decorative container of olive oil in front of them. The pressure of Mr. Barber on his back, draped over his much smaller form, has him gasping. Watching Mr. Barber fumble with the bottle of oil makes his mind go fuzzy.

“Push your thighs together, come on. Tight. Tighter. There we go, that’s it.”

He feels like he’s wading through syrup, that heavy, sticky-sweet sensation he had not forgotten about filtering through his head, down his neck. He makes dull connections in his brain. Yes, olive oil is slick and messy. Yes, his thighs pressed together would make the perfect spot for Mr. Barber to fuck into. No, they still don’t have enough time to properly fuck before Jacob comes back from the store and they have to pretend that this wasn’t happening.

Teeth are the first thing to drag him out of his embarrassingly prematurely fucked-out brain. A dig of them into the nape of his neck, a hand pressing between his legs, Mr. Barber chuckling when his hand comes in contact with his sensitive dick. A burly arm wraps tightly around his waist as the other hand smears oil on the inside of his thighs, wets it up to get fucked.

He feels taken, feels overwhelmed, claimed. He gives Mr. Barber a throaty groan of confirmation as he’s slicked up and prepped to be used. He drags his arms up the counter, gives himself over to the moment entirely. When Mr. Barber presses a sloppy kiss against his cheek and makes space between their bodies to get his hand between them, he whimpers happily.

“Fuck, you must’a missed it. One time and that’s all it took to train this sweet ass, ain’t that right?”

He hadn’t realized he was presenting for Mr. Barber, even given their position.

While the space between them is for Mr. Barber to get a hand on his cock, it isn’t to slip inside of him. But while it isn’t to press inside of him, that doesn’t stop Mr. Barber from indulging himself and nudging the head of his cock against his hole. He almost thinks Mr. Barber is going to do it, is going to press into him without any prep and with this oil only. But with another sigh that turns into a groan, he presses down instead and slips his cock in the slot under his balls, between his thighs.

It’s different, something he isn’t used to, but it’s delicious nonetheless. To have Mr. Barber so close to where he desperately wants him, all pressed and snug up against his own balls, has him breathless damn near immediately. To feel him on almost every side, slick between his thighs, against the line of his own dick, has incoherent noises spilling from his mouth at the same rate.

“Fuck, that’s good, yeah. Keep yourself tight for me. God, you’re sweet.”

He feels like he’s getting fucked. It sounds like he’s getting fucked, slippery and lewd, the hot length of Mr. Barber’s cock sliding tight against his own achy dick. The most overwhelming part though, is the way Mr. Barber takes control of him, commands him and his body. There’s an arm tight around his waist, locking the two of them together, lips and a beard rubbing against his ear. When he goes to moan again, a bitty mewl, Mr. Barber is huskily shushing him.

“Shh practice, boy. Gotta be quiet. You don’t wanna get caught fuckin’ your best friend’s daddy, do you?”

He won’t last. He chokes on his noise, such a desperate one. Mr. Barber reaches forward and clamps a hand down around his mouth as he continues to messily fuck his cock between his thighs. With the hand around his mouth, his noises are muffled. He can’t stop them, doesn’t try to.

“Don’t want anyone knowin’ about how easy you are either, can’t have them knowin’ I’ve got a little slut on my hands.”

His moan is almost drowned out by the sound of Mr. Barber’s hips smacking up against his backside, by his own growl as he bends his knees and digs in tighter to his bent body. The constant stimulation of his balls and the underside of his dick is making him a bit delirious, is making his breaths hectic behind Mr. Barber’s palm. He thinks he might be able to feel his own spit on his chin.

“Shh, shh gotta practice, baby. For… fuck, for later when I crawl into your bed. Gonna fuck you later, gonna fill this fuckin’ ass up, give it what it wants.”

This time his noise is louder than anything else, a sob behind a hand, his own hands coming to grip at the edge of the counter. He moves with the momentum, finds himself fucking back into Mr. Barber’s body with a whine, wants more. It makes the older man groan, almost a growl, has him scrambling and pulling the hand away from his mouth and reaching for the bottle of oil once more.

“Please, god please, want it, want—”

A sloppy wet hand on his dick has him gasping, has him lurching in a strong grip. Mr. Barber’s grip is persistent, focused. The arm around his waist doesn’t falter, goes tighter to accommodate for his thrashing. Mr. Barber’s mouth runs as his big hand fucks itself over his dick and he’s left panting, holding back his whimpers, as he listens to Mr. Barber tell him all the things he is going to do to him later that night.

“Want your mouth on my cock, want you fuckin’ gaggin’ as I get some fingers in that boy cunt. Yeah? Y’like that? Gonna drag this one out, gonna put you face down just like this. You want me to fuck you face-down? Easier for you to stay quiet, better for me to get balls-deep. Think you can come more than once? Huh? Wanna find out?”

When he comes, he is unable to give Mr. Barber much of a warning. He’s almost certain that his noises give him away, the way his breath hitches and the way he spits out messy words. He shatters under Mr. Barber. There’s no other word to describe how he comes apart. He shakes and shatters and comes as Mr. Barber milks it out of him, tugs on his cock in long pulls.

The older man fucks himself to his own release, adding to the mess between his thighs with a series of guttural groans and a few pumps of his own hands to prolong his pleasure. It almost feels as if a few waves of fiery pleasure in his body are reserved for feeling Mr. Barber’s come land between his thighs, dirtying him up.

He’s a mess. He’s panting and his mind is foggy. Mr. Barber kisses him on the cheek, squeezes at his sides as he sighs. He wants to crumble to the floor and fall asleep there. He’s supposed to be young, spry, but Mr. Barber takes it out of him without even fucking him.

“Gotta get a move-on, kid. Go clean up,” Mr. Barber tells him with a pat on his stomach before a hot set of lips are on his ear. “I’ll dirty you up all over again tonight.”

[pinktintedmonocle]

Pick Me Up, Hold Me Down - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - NSFW

Written for this prompt on the Cobra Kai kink meme: ‘A heated argument turns into sparring turns into a lightbulb moment of them realizing they want each other and both discovering Daniel's size/strength kink. Bonus if slight dom/sub undertones (sub Daniel).’

“You can’t just go around handing out nunchucks to teenagers, they’ll take an eye out!” shouted Daniel, glowering at Johnny.

Johnny scoffed, folding his arms and glaring right back at Daniel.

“I know what I’m doing, LaRusso.”

“Oh yeah?” countered Daniel. “Just like you knew what you were doing with the exposed wires or the damp patch on the ceiling?  This place is a death trap, Johnny!  I mean seriously, it’s a wonder you still have as many students as you do-”

Johnny stopped listening, letting Daniel rant on.

It had been this way for months; Daniel would just show up in the middle of the day while Johnny was preparing for class and start complaining about some minor issue he’d identified at the Cobra Kai dojo, blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Johnny didn’t even know how Daniel found out about this stuff half the time; he had asked once, and Daniel had given a vague response about seeing something ‘on social’.  (“Social what?” Johnny had asked, but Daniel had ignored him.) It hadn’t been too bad at first, only once or twice a week, but since his divorce had been finalised Daniel had been showing up practically every day, shoulders squared, jaw clenched, spoiling for a fight that hadn’t yet happened.

Johnny waited for Daniel to pause for breath before he answered back.

“How about you stop yapping and we take this to the mat, LaRusso?  Deal with this like real men.”

He expected Daniel to roll his eyes and stomp out of the dojo at that suggestion as he usually did, but today was different.  Daniel hesitated for a split second before nodding tersely, pulling off his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves.  He adopted a fighting stance, arms raised, one leg stretched back.

“Come on then, Johnny. Let’s settle this.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, but still got into position, taking in Daniel’s expensive shoes, suit pants and fitted silk shirt.

“Sure you don’t want to change first, LaRusso?”

Daniel sneered.  “I’m good.  I don’t need to wear a gi to kick your ass, Johnny.”

And then they were off. Johnny struck first with a punch to the shoulder which Daniel just managed to dodge, countering with a hook kick to Johnny’s side.  Johnny landed a kick of his own and Daniel landed a punch, and before long they were circling each other, panting.  Then Johnny lunged forward but Daniel spun out of the way and raised one leg and both hands, preparing for a crane kick.  But Johnny was faster; he ducked around Daniel’s foot and landed an open handed blow to his chest.  Daniel toppled over but grabbed Johnny’s leg as he went down and they landed together in a heap on the floor, Johnny on top of Daniel.

“Little twerp!” Johnny growled, staring down into Daniel’s eyes.

“Asshole”, Daniel ground out, breathing raggedly.                                                  

They scowled at each other, both panting, and then Daniel’s gaze flicked down to Johnny’s lips and before Johnny knew what he was doing he had closed the gap between them, pressing his mouth against Daniel’s.  He half expected the smaller man to throw him off, but instead Daniel wrapped his arms and legs around Johnny, eliminating any space that was left between them. The kiss was fierce and needy and by the time they broke apart Johnny felt dizzy from lack of oxygen.  Beneath him Daniel looked dazed with lust, skin flushed and eyes glazed.

Johnny pulled back slightly, staring down at Daniel.

“You’re so small that my whole body covers yours, LaRusso”, said Johnny.  

He had just meant it as an observation, something to say while his brain desperately tried to process what was happening, but the change it wrought in Daniel was instantaneous. His pupils dilated and he let out a whimper before pulling Johnny down for another passionate kiss.

Eventually Daniel broke the kiss, pushing weakly at Johnny’s chest.  “Get up”, he panted.

Johnny stood up reluctantly, holding out a hand to Daniel.  The smaller man took it, pulling himself up on trembling legs, before starting to tug Johnny towards the door.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked.

“I’m not having sex with you in a strip mall, Johnny.  Let’s go to my place.”

“Sex?” asked Johnny, suddenly a little nervous.  “Sure you don’t want to take this is a bit slower, have a drink first?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I’d say thirty-five years is slow enough, but look, if you’re not ready -”

Johnny looked at Daniel then, with his floofy hair and big doe eyes that had haunted his private fantasies for the last three decades, and realised that he had never been more ready for anything in his whole life.  

“No, I am.  Let’s do this”, said Johnny.  He looked down at his bare feet.  “Just let me put some shoes on first.”

He sprinted to his office, jammed his feet into his sneakers and then ran back to Daniel.  They pushed through the door and Johnny just managed to lock up before Daniel laced their hands together and practically dragged Johnny across the parking lot.  Homeless Lynn wolf whistled as they passed her and Johnny shot her a lopsided grin.

They got into Daniel’s car and Johnny had barely put his seatbelt on before they were off, Daniel tearing out of the mall and onto the road.

“We can go to mine”, suggested Johnny.  “It’s closer.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a bigger bed”, replied Daniel.

Johnny couldn’t argue with that so he sat back in his seat.  As Daniel drove he replayed the events in the dojo in his mind.  When he got to the moment when Daniel’s pupils had blown wide he tried to figure out what could have provoked such a reaction.

I wonder… he thought, and leaned in close to Daniel, whispering in his ear.

“You’re so damn tiny LaRusso I could probably pick you up with one arm without even breaking a sweat.”

Daniel nearly crashed the car, only just managing to get it under control before he hit another vehicle.

“Can you please just wait until we get to my place, Johnny?  I’d like to have sex with you with all four limbs still attached to my body.”

“You like that”, said Johnny smugly, pleased with himself for figuring it out.  “You like me telling you how small you are compared to me. It turns you on.”

“Yes, Johnny”, said Daniel through gritted teeth.  “Now please stop talking and let me focus on getting home in one piece.”

As soon as the car came to a stop in the parking lot of the apartment complex Daniel and Johnny leapt out. Daniel dragged Johnny towards his door, fingers laced together once again, locking his car over his shoulder with his spare hand.  He fumbled with the keys in the lock while Johnny kissed his neck, and then they were in and Daniel just had time to lock the door before Johnny picked him up (he did have to use both arms; Daniel may be small but he was still a fully grown man). Daniel curled into Johnny’s chest, pulling aside the lapel of his gi top and sucking a love bite into the skin just below his collarbone.  

“Bedroom?” Johnny gasped, stumbling forwards.

“Turn right”, said Daniel, voice muffled, and Johnny walked quickly through the living room, veered right and then kicked open the door to the master bedroom.  He lay Daniel down on the bed and then crawled on top of him. They kissed deeply for a minute before Johnny turned his attention to Daniel’s clothes.

“Let’s get you out of these”, he murmured and Daniel nodded frantically.  Johnny started to unbutton Daniel’s shirt then had a better idea. He gripped the material with both hands and pulled, the silk tearing with a satisfying sound, buttons flying off in all directions.

Daniel whimpered and started to shake, his whole body vibrating with pleasure.

“You alright, LaRusso?” Johnny asked, grinning wickedly.

“Yes”, Daniel moaned. “Don’t – don’t stop.”

Johnny removed Daniel’s belt and ripped off his pants as well.  He moved down, kissing his long legs before removing his shoes and socks (he didn’t tear the socks; there was nothing sexy about ripping up a sock) and throwing them over the side of the bed.  He took a moment to drink in the sight of Daniel, eyes closed, hair a mess, looking completely undone, before he tore off Daniel’s underwear, letting his erection spring free.

Then he was back on top of Daniel, kissing him all over while pulling off his own clothes and toeing off his sneakers.  When he was naked he lay fully on top of Daniel, lining up their erections and rubbing them together.

“Tell me what you want, LaRusso”, he murmured, biting down softly on Daniel’s jaw.

“I want – I want you to hold me down”, Daniel panted, bucking his hips desperately.  “And I want you to touch me.”

“Alright”, said Johnny. “Put your arms above your head.”

Daniel obliged and Johnny used one hand to hold Daniel’s wrists together, then sat up slightly, straddling Daniel and pinning him to the mattress as he leant over and used his other hand to work Daniel’s cock.

Daniel winced slightly at the roughness of Johnny’s hand.

“You got any lube?” Johnny asked, noticing Daniel’s discomfort, and Daniel inclined his head to a nightstand by the bed.  Johnny let go of Daniel for a moment and pulled open the drawer, eyes widening at the selection of condoms and lube inside.  We’ll get to that later, he thought as he plucked out a bottle and squirted a generous amount into his palm. He wasn’t going to last much longer himself, and judging by how shallowly he was breathing, neither was Daniel.

He took Daniel in hand again as he held him down, and as predicted it wasn’t long before the smaller man came, hips stuttering.  Then Johnny took hold of his own cock and worked himself until he was on the brink of orgasm.

“Can I?” he asked breathlessly, looking down at Daniel’s torso, and Daniel nodded his consent before Johnny came all over Daniel’s chest.

When he was done Johnny flopped down on the bed and rolled over onto his back, panting heavily. Daniel curled up beside him, a hand flung across his chest, and they lay in silence for a few minutes, sticky and sated.

Eventually Johnny cleared his throat.  “I – I should probably get going.  I’ve got a class to teach.”

“Mmm”, Daniel murmured, nuzzling Johnny’s neck.  “Or you could cancel your class and we can stay here and do that again.”

“Uh, yeah”, Johnny said with a rare, genuine smile.  “I can do that.”

[holy-hyuck]

What’s Left of You

All that you give Minho is a month to stop loving you. Easier said than done, you fall victim to his calling sooner than you thought possible, even if you know how wrong it is to go back.

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Genre: Angst, Suggestive

Warnings: Slight make-out.

Song Rec: Mercy by Shawn Mendes

Your fingers traced the outline of your name on the back of the pendant, the silver gleaming in the sunlight coming in through the window. You looked at Minho for a split second, unable to do so for any longer as the guilt built up in you, your heart rattling as you thought of the words that were about to leave your mouth.

He placed the cup of tea - your favourite - on the table in front of you, sitting down so he was facing you.

He sent you a smile, grasping your hands in his, the necklace he gave you for your first anniversary sitting between your intertwined hands. His hair was brown, tousled. His skin shone gold, lips curling upwards involuntarily. His eyes were bright, full of light and love.

He was so beautiful.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy like sandpaper.

"I'm so happy you came. I wanted to call you, actually; this is my only day off this week. I thought that maybe we could go to the cinema. They’re playing that movie we talked about seeing; remember?"

He meant so well but every word stabbed knives in your heart. You couldn't do it, you couldn't do it.

But you had to.

"Um, I actually- I wanted to- Or actually, needed to, talk to you," you said, giving him your best smile, something to ease the pain that was about to come, and knowing you would be the cause of it made you sick.

"You sound serious," he joked, his smile disappearing when the comment didn't make you laugh.

"I am," you admitted, gathering up all the courage you lost when you walked through the front door. "I-"

The dreadful words got stuck in your throat. You sat on these thoughts for a few weeks now, hoping that you'd find a solution to the ever-growing problem, or that you'd be able to shake it off. You loved him, you knew you did, and there was nothing more you wanted than to keep loving him, but the hurt you felt because of him was sometimes too much.

It wasn't his fault; perhaps, it was yours, for falling for him when you knew you could never be. There were so many obstacles between you two, and yet you agreed to be his, your heart forgetting about the downsides at the joy you felt in the moment.

And as you suspected, the joy ride came to an end.

You took a deep breath, your voice shaky despite your attempts to steady it.

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I was just thinking; because of your job, I barely get to see you, and I just-” you choked on your words, wanting to swallow them back down. You let out a shaky breath, a cry desperately wanting to rip its way out of your throat as you looked down, your vision blurred from the tears. Although this wasn’t the intention, you let one roll down your cheek.

It felt wrong to look back up and meet Minho’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely enough for him to hear as you leaned into his embrace, both of you fragile as he wrapped his arms around your frame, unsure, hesitant. “I think we should break up.”

Abruptly, he pulled back, holding you by your shoulder at a safe distance. He searched your face for any signs of a joke, sarcasm, humour - anything. You wouldn't, he thought. You wouldn't break his heart like that. What kind of excuse was this anyway? You knew about his job long before you got together. Was it just too much for you to handle now?

The laugh he elicited was dry and humourless, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "That's funny." He stood up, walking away, every sound in the room becoming white noise.

You were quick on your feet, calling his name as he continued walking down the hallway, ignoring you even though your voice was echoing inside his head.

"Minho..." Your voice softened, too tired to argue. You knew this wouldn't be easy. It was even harder when he acted like this.

"Don't," he said, his tone matching yours. His back was facing you, making it all the more difficult to decipher his emotions. "Don't say you meant it."

You swore you heard his voice tremble and it was the most painful sound you've ever heard. Your mind fogged and within seconds, you were ready to leap into his arms and apologise. Your emotions were so strong for him; he had the power to destroy you and yet he's done nothing but love you, and that made you feel like a monster. But you knew it had to be done, sooner or later.

“No,” he said, his voice stern and face full of fury as he finally faced you. “No, don't you even dare say that,” he seethed.

“Minho, I can’t-”

“No! That’s so stupid, that’s so fucking stupid of you to say! You knew how it would be! You knew every single consequence of this relationship and now you give up on us? On me? I’ve given you everything, I’ve done everything for you, I loved you through thick and thin and you-”

“But I can’t do it anymore!”

Your voice shattered the bubble he was in, the veil of anger he locked himself in. It left you both silent and empty, thinking of what to say now even though you knew that no words could fix this.

"I can't! It's not easy for me either, you know? I spend my days thinking of what you're doing, wanting to spend time with you, wanting to call you but I always stop myself because I know you're never going to pick up the phone. You're never there, on the other line, the way you promised you'd be. And I can't even blame you because I knew how this would be, and still, every fucking day I miss you more than the last. I crave your touch, your kisses, a stupid goodnight message for all I care. All my friends, when they talk about their boyfriend or girlfriend, they say what they did the other day, or that sometimes all they do is nap together and I envy that because I can't do that with you. I want something that's real. I want to be able to touch you, but you're miles away. You're always so far away. I told you you'd be better off with another idol, with someone who understands. I thought I did, and I thought I was that someone but I'm clearly not who you need."

Your words hung in the air for a minute too long. You knew you said a word too much. You knew you couldn't blame him - he was right after all. But you hated how it felt when you couldn't sleep at night and all you wanted was for him to hold you, but the spot in your bed that he used to occupy was cold and empty.

You breathed out and he watched you, stunned with what you said. He never thought you felt that way, and quite frankly, you didn't think you have either. The splatter of your tear onto the floor brought you back to reality.

"I'm sorry." You bit your trembling lip. His shoulders shook, and you saw the waterfall on his face, his eyes gleaming but not with happiness.

"Don't," he whispered, taking few long strides towards you and burying his face in the crook of your neck, you bodies becoming one as your heart felt the agony you caused him. Your limbs went numb as he held you tighter than ever, afraid to let you go.

"I'm sorry," you repeated, suddenly out of words to say. What else could you say anyway? You already broke the ice, throwing yourself and Minho into the cold water.

"I still love you," he cried, desperately grasping onto anything to prevent him from sinking deeper.

"I love you too." Your words, though sweet, had a cold undertone that didn't comfort him the way they always used to. "But you'll forget me, and I promise, you'll stop loving me. Just give it time."

That day, you left him drowning, clinging onto the air you used to share with him and breathing in what was left of you.

You let the water run down your body, the warmth engulfing you and making you feel just a little less lonely. It drowned out the silence as you inhaled the deep raspberry scent from your shower gel, your mind flashing back to that night in his apartment, the candle sitting atop the coffee table, a stupidly comforting smell that filled you with regret and hurt from head to toe.

Closing your eyes, you felt the water cascading down your face, and you sought out the warmth from it that you were never going to get from anywhere else, now that its only source was out of your life.

Blinded, you found the tap and turned the water off, standing naked in the shower, with nothing but the sound of the laundry machine.

The apartment was empty, so sickeningly silent and dark it made your insides tighten, your heart wrench and you wanted to curl into yourself, sleep the pain away, the way you have for so long now, it feels.

In reality, it has only been three weeks. Every morning, the way you used to wake up to the sound of your alarm and get yourself a glass of cold water was no longer enjoyable. Every evening, the relief of taking off your heavy coat and your shoes was washed away with the reminder of the loneliness awaiting inside your home.

It was a routine you used as a foundation, starting and ending the day the same way; it was a way of keeping yourself grounded, but it has gone too far. It was tedious. It was mind-numbing. It was agonising.

And you couldn't handle the pain.

You've made the right decision, you told yourself. This was your daily mantra, knowing that you couldn't let yourself blame either one of you. It was his job. It was the stars, never aligning your way, separating your galaxies from each other, and you had to tell yourself it was for the better.

Even miles away from you, he gave you the strength of thousands. He made you feel like a lioness, but without him, you were just a lamb.

Never depend on a man, your mother told you, Never make him feel like he created you, like you're nothing without him.

But you couldn't help it. Every waking thought was a reprimand to forget about him, which, in turn, made you think about him all the more.

You must have loved the forbidden.

You took the necklace between your hands, letting it slip between your fingers like sand, knowing you didn’t deserve to feel the cold metal on your skin.

It's for the better, you repeated, training yourself to believe it.

It's not my fault, you convinced yourself, tired of shifting the blame towards him all the damn time, just because you couldn't admit that you broke him and that you broke yourself too in the process.

You truly thought you would be okay. Even if you loved him, your heart, tired of all the hurt, and your brain, trying to keep your sanity, told you it was what you needed to do, even if every bone and cell in your body told you you were wrong.

With a deep sigh, you plopped down on your bed, one hand under your head as the other flipped the phone between your fingers. Suddenly, it rang, startling you, and you let the phone fall next to you.

After regaining your composure, you picked it up, your heart racing as Minho's name flashed on the screen, the same photo from when you were together staring back at you. It's only been three weeks. What could he want?

You debated what to do but your instinct kicked in and you picked up the call, denying the fluttering of your heart.

It was quiet for a second, even though the phone was pressed tightly against your ear, but then you heard sniffing and a broken, fragile voice.

"(Y/n)?" He sounded hopeful.

"Minho," you breathed, unsure of what to say, why he called, or how this conversation would play out.

"Hey..." You could almost imagine the little smile on his face, unable to help the one forming on your face.

Then, he started sobbing and time stopped. You were frozen in place, knowing you couldn't do anything to ease the pain, being so many miles away. He staggered some words out, sometimes only syllables, but nothing made sense in the end. You waited patiently at the other end of the line, feeling helpless.

"I gave myself a month," he said, after what felt like hours, "To forget you. You promised I'd stop loving you but...but it's been three weeks, and my heart can't go on without you. It'll never be the same without you, even after a month will pass by. Even after a year. I can't do this without you, (y/n)..."

His words shot bullets at your heart as you sat in the darkness of your room, eyes squeezed shut and hot tears falling from your eyes, all efforts to stop them rendered useless.

"I can't do this, Minho..."

"Can I just see you? One more time, just one last time. I can't even remember what your face looks like, even if I dreamed of you every night."

You bit your lip, knowing that going to see him would be the biggest mistake of your life; knowing that once you'd see him, you wouldn't survive leaving him again. He didn't know what he was doing to you, the blackness he was spreading in your heart.

"I love you," he sounded through the phone, shuttering your heart into millions of pieces and you ended the call, unable to stand his voice, breaking you over and over again.

But even then, you were already on your feet, even though it was a mistake, because Minho was worth all the consequences that would follow.

Even your heart was in doubt as you stood on his doorstep, your hand shaking as you brought it up to knock on the door. You hesitated; you tried again, bringing your hand back each time. Closing your eyes, you reached out again and your knuckles touched the brown wood before you could back out. Even then, you considered running away, disappearing into the shadows because you knew that no matter what happened tonight between the two of you, even if it would only be a conversation, your heart wouldn't let you let go of him again. It's done that one too many times that now it will shatter to a point where nothing will be able to fix it.

After a moment silence filled with the rustling of leaves, the sound of the heavy doors opening interrupted the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. It was Woojin's face you came in contact with and he gave you a forced smile, letting you in.

"He's upstairs. I'm going to the shop; won't be back for another hour. Please," He took your wrist in his hand, leaning in so you could hear his whisper, "bring him back."

He left you alone in the hall, the one where you left Minho, and you wished it hurt you less to be here.

You knew the route to Minho's room off by heart. You knew he took the top bunk, that he always had a bottle of water propped on his desk, along with your matching necklace next to it. He always threw his shoes off by the front door of the house, and you always complained to him about it because he did it in your house too.

Walking up the stairs didn't feel the same. Everything from the beige walls to the wood creaking underneath your feet told you that this wasn't a place you were welcome in anymore, even if the door was always open, even if Minho called you twenty times each night, telling you that your place was with him.

Yet again, you hesitated, inches away from Minho's door, but the noise the floor created made him aware of your presence. You told yourself this would be good for you, that seeing him for the last time, letting you both cry all the locked up emotions out would bring you both to the bright side.

Taking a deep breath, you finally knocked on the door, gently pushing it open and letting yourself take everything in. The clothes on the floor, one on top of another until there were several piles pushed up against the wall in an attempt to make the mess Minho's created any more presentable. There were several empty bottles of water shoved underneath the bed, and the bin was filled with tissues to the rim, overflowing.

Breathing in the scent of destruction, you let it contaminate your lungs. The pain in your heart told you you've caused this, but you couldn't let yourself take the blame another time. You had to stop destroying yourself over and over again to punish yourself for being human, and doing what you thought was right.

Minho's gaze fell upon you and a lump formed in his throat. He didn't think you'd actually show up, and now that you did, he didn't know what to do. It was a false hope, calling you in the midst of desperation when his emotions got the best of him and clouded his judgement, and the members weren't there to stop him. He was desperate to let you hear his cries, to see what you did, and that only you could bring him back to life. It was his last resort, his heart unable to cope with the thought of having to let you go. He needed another chance because he knew that if he left you both to suffer in silence, you would bury each other in your memories, and the pain would never truly go away. He knew that if you left, he would have to forget you, and deep down he knew he would never be able to fully let go of you, that you would always be a part of his life, even if he carved your name out of his heart with the sharpest blade.

You ached for him, and it hit you just how much when you looked at him when he was the most vulnerable. His eyes were darker than ever, the brightness killed long ago. He still had so much, you knew. He still had dancing, he still had music. He still had his members, and fans, and family, and yet you knew that it didn't matter that he had all of that, because he had lost you.

Standing in silence, neither one of you knew what to say. Now that you were here, you couldn't just turn back and leave, but the quietness of the apartment tore you apart.

Then, he stood up from the bed, his movements sudden, and lunged towards you as he wrapped his arms around your perplexed form. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your brain unable to comprehend his actions for a second, before you let yourself reciprocate the gesture. You hugged him back, gently at first, then the scent of his cologne, the one he used to mask the fact that he hasn't showered in a day or two, or three even, hit your nostrils and you breathed him in like he was your oxygen, like you would die without him.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, and you hadn't realised he'd been crying until you heard the words. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and you stroked his head, letting the words sink in.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry."

He let go of you, looking you in the eyes for a split second before looking at the ground, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a smile.

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted, and you nodded your head because quite frankly, you didn't think you'd come either.

You took another look around the room, scanning the place that you've been in so many times, and couldn't help but wonder how three weeks apart from Minho made it so foreign, so cold.

You felt Minho's eyes on you, afraid to meet them. When you did, the unmistakable stars in them made you smile. You missed them.

You missed Minho.

"So-"

"I just needed to see you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have nothing to say. I'm sorry I even called you in the first place. I-I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. It was stupid - I'm stupid."

Biting your lip, you placed your hand on his bicep, your eyes meeting his, and you fought with yourself as to not crumble under his gaze. "You're not stupid. I know what you were thinking - and maybe, I was thinking that too."

You took a deep breath. "But I can't do this anymore. We can't do this. Running back and forth on our emotions, giving each other hope when it died so long ago. I'm sorry."

You let go of him, your hand suddenly cold without his touch. You turned around, the tears in his eyes forming your own and you let your hand linger on the door handle for a second more, a second too long, enough for you to break. Pressing your forehead against the wood, you let yourself cry, your heart unable to cover up the hurt any longer. You let the sobs fill the room, the tears falling one by one until they formed a stream down your face.

You spun around, eyes meeting Minho's and you enveloped him in a hug, allowing yourself to fall apart in his arms, your cries becoming one. At exactly that moment, you both felt your hearts breaking, the lonely halves ripping out of your chests to meet each other and create a whole.

Once you spilled out an ocean, you pressed your foreheads together, your breaths mixing into one. "I'm sorry," you whispered, knowing it was wrong to clutch onto him when you needed to and leaving when you were okay once again.

He looked up at you, tilting your chin up when you wouldn't meet his eyes.

They were dark, the dim light in the room making shadows dance across his face. They flickered between your own eyes and your lips, finally settling on the latter, and his gaze held onto them, just a second too long. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss and holding you like you were going to slip between his fingertips.

Lost in the moment, overclouded with all the wrong emotions you came here with, with the hurt still present and still nagging in your heart, you brought your hands to his face, and against your better judgement, you gave yourself over to him.

His fingers dug into your skin, leaving crescents on the surface. The pain was pleasurable, fueling the fire between you two. His hands travelled along your body, exploring what he has forgotten in the time apart.

His touch was cold, so different from the way you've remembered him. It reached every crevice of your skin so that he would never forget what it felt like to hold you so tightly against him, to feel your heartbeat against his own chest, the rapid beating a product of his actions.

He was hungry for you and you yearned for him, gripping his black shirt until your knuckles turned white. His eyes were shut close because he was scared that if he opened them, you would be gone, and it all would be just a dream.

His feet moved back towards the bed and he sat on it, pulling you with him. At that moment, you came to your senses, snapping back to reality, and you pushed him onto the bed, eyes wide as you walked backwards, nearly tripping on the trash he had on the floor.

You brought your hand up to your lips, the feeling of his kiss, the stinging sensation still lingering. You got too caught up in it, listening to your heart too much.

"We shouldn't have," you let out in a whisper, your words predictable. He knew you would say this, long before your mind thought of the words.

He knew he should care more about you, about your feelings at that moment. You were conflicted, your brain and heart splitting into two different voices telling you different definitions of right and wrong, both questioning the morals of the other.

Your heart wanted him, but your brain knew he was no longer yours, that you let him go and it had to stay that way. You were torn apart between two universes, nowhere near making the choice you thought you had already made.

You knew it was a mistake to come here, yet you came anyway.

He was selfish when it came to you. He couldn't help it. Every time you came to his field of vision, his mind became a haze, overclouded with his love for you. It was dangerous, he was told, and he knew, but you were worth the risk, worth all the pain.

You both stood in silence, your chests heaving, the effects of the heated kiss still there as you thought of something to say, but no words were good enough.

You both knew you were right, that this shouldn't have happened. But you also knew why it happened, that you both still felt strongly for each other even if you told your hearts to stop feeling, even if you spent night after night numbing yourself.

"We shouldn't have," he repeated after you, the pain exerting through the words.

You nodded, out of words, out of reason. You parted your lips, sucking in the sickening and tense air but anything you had on your mind had already drifted away. There was truly nothing you could do or say to fix this.

The air you left behind you was cold and empty, as one last 'I love you' has died on your lips.

[doctorlaelia-ffxiv]

congratulations.

Laelia drummed her fingers against the coffee table, legs crossed, head turned towards the window as she watched the snowfall. It was strange to be back in the family library again, seated in the old, pale blue armchair that she’d used so often that it would be worn if her mother wasn’t religious about reupholstering old furniture. If Claudia fae Caelius was to summon an eikon, Laelia figured it would likely be an interior decorator. Weapon of choice: a pair of fabric scissors. 

Her head turned as she heard the heavy oak doors open, a dark-haired servant standing in the center with his hands folded, offering her a slight bow.

“The Primus Frumentarius has arrived, Medicus,” he said, glancing up at the young woman, and she looked up from her mug of coffee. 

“Thank you, Marcus. Please send him in.” 

“Very good, Medicus.” 

Laelia smiled at her old friend again, and he winked before bowing out of the room. The next person to step in was quick to wipe any jovial expression from her face, however. Laelia rose to her feet and clasped her hands behind her back as Thaddeus goe Laronia made his way into the library, the doors closing quietly behind. His eyebrows shot into his pale hairline at the sight of the young woman, and she tilted her head, freeing one hand from behind her back.

“Thaddeus,” she said, her voice smooth and sweet as honey. “I’m so glad that you were able to come.” 

“A-Ah... lux Caelius,” he murmurs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons? Last I heard, you were out-- fighting the good fight in Doma! This is quite the trip you’ve made--” 

“Oh, come now, old friend. We have no need for formalities, do we? You’re my dear sister’s betrothed. Please, take a seat.” 

It was not a request; it was an order. Though the good doctor was smiling, it felt more like a baring of teeth. The towering frumentarius stared before nodding quickly and taking an empty seat, clearing his throat as he adjusted his spotless uniform, and Laelia slowly made her way closer, lifting the teapot that had been brought in to pour the man a cup. 

“I hear you have been quite busy,” she said quietly, pale blue eyes lifting to meet his quivering gaze of icy gray. “And I had a little bit of a vacation to take, so... I figured I would see you with my own two eyes before I had to head back.” 

Quiet, high-heeled footsteps brought the woman back to her chair, and she sat straight, hands folded in her lap and ankles crossed. Thaddeus smiled quickly and took a deep sip from his cup of tea, proceeding to choke and nearly spit it out due to the heat of the beverage. Laelia perked a brow. 

“Stupid.” Her voice was soft, and Thaddeus’ lips parted.

“I- Yes! Yes, I suppose I should have figured it would have been so hot--”

“Twenty one Nagxian prisoners of war.”

There was no tip toeing around it now, it seemed. Thaddeus’ mouth stayed open as Laelia’s eyes bored into him from across the coffee table, snow gathering upon the windowsill. Her hair - the same hue of the snow - was loose around her shoulders, falling in soft waves down to the center of her back. The blue dress she wore was pressed immaculately, not an eyelash or eyebrow out of place, lips painted perfectly in crimson. 

“Laelia...”

“Twenty. One. Six civilians were in the mix of the people you captured. Two of them were under the age of sixteen. Of the fifteen rebels, three of them were sixteen. One of them was sixty seven years old. And tell me, you foolish, brute of a man... Tell me, what did you do with these prisoners - many of them harmless people who wanted nothing but their own freedom - after you captured them?”

“Did Julia write to you?” he asked, an edge finally growing into his voice, and Laelia raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

“Goodness, no. That’s the thing about Julia. I received a letter from her the day after the news broke, and she was singing your praises. My sister doesn’t usually lie to me, Thaddeus. But she has a terrible habit of protecting you.” 

Laelia rose to her feet, savoring the way that the big, intimidating man flinched in one swift moment from a petite Medicus. Slow steps were taken towards him, like a cat closing in on a mouse, and he leaned back in his seat. Pale, slender hands came to rest on the arms of his chair, and Laelia leaned in, the scent of cashmere and vanilla wafting off her skin, with the undertone of surgical chemicals.

“You took those twenty one people, and rather than keeping them prisoners... You lined them up against a wall, and you ordered your men to put bullets through their heads,” Laelia whispered, staring into Thaddeus’ eyes. “You are an idiot, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the worst of it. You are a coward. You’re a heartless waste of space that would kill children to further your own interests--” 

“They were rebels! They’d hurt and kill our people, Laelia--”

“Is an eleven year old with a heart condition a threat? No? What about a feeble man with only one leg to walk on? And still you raised your voice, you raised your hand, and you dropped it to signal your men to kill them, sacks over their heads like terrorists in holding!”

It was the first time in the exchange that Laelia raised her voice, pushing off of the chair. Thaddeus looked angry, now, rising to his own feet. She didn’t take a step back, let him tower over her as she glared up at him. 

“But I heard you were up for that promotion you were seeking, and now you’ve just gone and... let that opportunity slip through your fingers. At least your higher ups have some common sense. Do you not expect a retaliation? You killed the children of soldiers, soldiers who are well and truly a threat. You don’t think that your foolishness, your sick ambition-- you don’t think that any of that will get our men and women in Nagxia killed when they strike back?!”

“You’re being a hysterical little woman, not befitting your station,” Thaddeus began, and Laelia threw her head back, laughing.

“A hysterical little woman? I would take that as an insult, were you not for a cowardly, boastful, proud, man. And now, my sweet sister-- my Julia-- is tied to a man who committed a war crime. You are lucky I have no sword, because I’d see fit to cut you down to size myself. Instead, I’ll have to speak very clearly and very concisely, and I’ll use small words so that you’ll understand me clearly.”

“You have been given the best possible option for a wife in my sister, Thaddeus, but make no mistake: You have also lost it. I’ve spoken to her, and she is heartbroken, weeping, bedridden with grief over your brutality. That, alone, is enough to make me wish it had been you receiving the bullet rather than those Nagxian captives. And Cassia told me that, when you arrived back the Caelius estate after your grand accomplishment, you were boasting about your killing of savages, how proud you were that savages had been cleaned out, wondering if you’ll next be sent to Dalmasca to clean up their savages.” 

Thaddeus’ ears were growing red, and Laelia could see the anger building in his expression. She wanted to laugh, to spit. Her tone was vicious and low, more a snarl than a roar. 

“And what was it that drove you to this heinous act of war? Someone challenged you,” she growled. “Challenged how deserving you are of the position you were given. You justified a childish taunt with murder, and, by way of trying to prove yourself, only proved that you do not deserve your position. The only savage I know, Thaddeus, are men like you.”

“If this is such a damage to Julia’s reputation, then I’ll break off the engagement!” Thaddeus suddenly boomed, and Laelia rolled her eyes.

“No. You won’t. She’s going to get dressed, come down here, and you are not to leave this room until she has broken off the engagement. You’ll not embarrass her again. Let these two failures and humiliations be slaps in your face that sting, and thank whatever foreign god you please that I have not aimed to do worse than take away your potential wife.” 

Laelia stepped around Thaddeus, felt him turned around to look at her. Maybe he wanted to shout more, try to justify himself. Her head turned to see his mouth open, hands balled tightly into fists.

“Congratulations on your well-deserved demotion.” 

And then she was out of the room as Marcus opened the doors, heels clicking against the white marble floors. 

[astralshipper]

Okay so I worked rlly hard on this descriptive essay for my english class and my professor ended up saying she didn’t even want to take them up and I was lowkey proud of it so I’m gonna post it here!! It’s abt Crow and Azi so it fits here anyways, so here’s my basically fawning over my angel and my demon for almost 2000 words!!!!

-

Two figures stand proud in the rare glow of the afternoon sun in London. The man to the right looms tall over onlookers while the man by his side falls more to the stout side of the spectrum. For all intents and purposes, these two are complete opposites. 

The shorter of the pair has his hands clasped in front of him with his fingers intertwined. The clothing he wears bears resemblance to the attire worn during the Victorian years, and this causes him to stand out like a sore thumb in the middle of modern day London. He dons a soft, velvety brown waistcoat that fades into the same color of dress pants. The fabric lays flat, void of any and all wrinkles or imperfections, as though by miracle. The shoes on his feet are Oxford cap-toes. Their main top portion is composed of a dark brown while the toe tips are a softer, more bronze leather. Traveling back up his torso, a long, soft beige overcoat sits atop his waistcoat. Underneath both of these is a light blue, almost white dress shirt. He has it buttoned entirely. Around his neck he wears a light brown plaid tartan bow-tie. Hanging from his waistcoat is a small golden pocket watch. A pair of wings is engraved onto the front of the watch. The design is elegant and ornamented, and perfectly encapsulates the overall tone of his outfit. On his right hand he wears a golden signet ring that also bears a pair of wings, and his gold cuff links have the same design. 

Past his clothing, the rest of his person carries the same general vibe: a kind, old fashioned gentleman oozing a sort of shopworn elegance. His stomach rounds out slightly, flowing well with the outward pudge of his cheeks. A soft, pleasant smile curves his lips upward. Bright blue eyes glimmer with a joyous life that feels both new and old all at once. His eyes seem to hold the secrets of the universe as well as a hope and thirst to learn and take in more. His cheeks and face are as round as the rest of him. He seems to be composed entirely of soft lines and careful curves. His face is not without the reminders of his age. He bears crow’s feet around his eyes as well as clearly defined laughter lines on either side of his face. Had he widened his smile any further, the lines would surely deepen and give way to a pair of dimpled cheeks. Atop his head sits a well groomed collection of bleach blonde, practically white waves of hair. The soft curls point every which way in tufts that could surely be likened to the soft downy feathers of a freshly fledged young bird.

If one were to stand close enough, they would instantly pick up the mixture of scents clinging to the man’s clothing. The most prominent fragrance would surely be the one that can be likened to that of a local bakery freshly opening its doors in the morning. A mixture of sugary, chocolatey, decadent sweets weave their way into the fabric of his overcoat and follow him like a shadow. If one were to open their mouth, perhaps they would even insist they could taste the confections in the air as he passes by. Underneath this is a layer of what can only be pinned down to the scent that resides between the pages and inside the worn out bindings of old books, the kind of scent that only comes with decades or even centuries of wear and tear. Upon closer inspection into these details, one might pick up on the hint of cocoa sweetness in his breath, or the minty undertones that lie just beneath. 

His voice, once spoken, gives a light, airy feel. Every sentence is carried with the cadence and lilt of a song sung on the porches of grand suburban homes in the chill of winter. He enunciates his words with great care. Each syllable strikes as being fully rehearsed and prepared far ahead of time, even when this gentleman is caught off guard. No matter the words he speaks, he still seems to enact a sensation of calm in one’s very bones. The words that roll off his softly spoken tongue are bubbly and honey coated. His voice is the kind that oozes trustworthiness and a sense of peace. 

Everything about him seems to be chosen for comfort. The velvet-like feel of his waistcoat along with the soft, smooth material that made up his overcoat settles him in a bubble of warmth. In fact, everything about this man could be described as soft to the touch. Not only does his hair visibly resemble feathery down, but it also has approximately the same texture. Running a hand through the well-arranged curls would feel quite similar to the sensation of curling up with the softest blanket you own and sipping peacefully on a hot drink. His skin, though creased and bearing the lines of its time, remains as supple and silky smooth as ever before. 

All of this poses a direct antithesis to the man stood beside him. 

This second man stands tall as he glowers over passersby. He shrouds himself in darkness and flaunts this fact to all who dare look his way. His clothing reflected this quite well. What, with a soft, distressed old gray t-shirt underneath a black, low v-cut vest and a just as black woolen pea coat over top of it all, he truly layers himself in the most elegant and refined yet over-the-top sinister fabrics. Each piece of clothing clings to his body like a second skin. This includes his washed out dark gray pants that conform directly to the shape of his legs. Unlike his partner’s own pair, these pants bunch so tightly that creases and wrinkles are inevitable. The glint of a belt buckle catches in the afternoon sun. His belt seems to be made not of leather, but of snakeskin, and the buckle itself depicts the head of the snake that now seems to wind its way around the man’s waist. Traveling down long limbs to meet his feet, one is met with the sight of dark brown, almost black snakeskin dress shoes. Upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that there is a subtle fade to red the closer you get to the soles. 

Perhaps there is one piece of this outfit that does not seem to be squeezing the life out of this fellow, and that would be the strange necklace dangling from his neck. It looks to be made of countless interwoven chains tied together a few inches below his collarbone. The remaining ends hang free and tuck snugly into his vest once the pair meet.

The final touch resides on his face. A pair of designer gunmetal sunglasses perches precariously on the bridge of his slender nose. The circular frames bear closed sides akin to an old pair of welding goggles. They themselves might be cause for a double take, but that double take will likely become a triple take if one happens to catch a glimpse of what lies underneath.

The way his glasses sit allows for one to, at a very specific angle, catch sight of a pair of yellow eyes. His irises seem to be large and of a golden color. Right smack in the middle of each one sits a slitted pupil like that of a snake. Everything about his eyes screams nothing but danger, and the nefarious depths that lie just below the surface bubble up slowly but surely. 

Once his eyes are hidden, however, the main point of focus is truly the man’s hair. So much of his outer visage lacks the pop and spice of a splash of color, and the fiery red shade of his hair checks that particular box. The way the sun glints through the strands illuminates his coiffure in a lively blaze. This is clearly a man that cares for his own appearance, and the well-coiffed nature of his hair is a testament to this fact. Trailing down his right side burn leads into a small, curving tattoo of a serpent just by his ear. The mark is subtle, but still threatening in and of itself.

This man, in contrast with the rounded man by his side, seems to be made entirely of sharp corners and fine edges. Everything about him is thin and a bit gangly. His cheekbones poke out with a sharp kick and promptly sink back in to hollow out his cheeks. His chin comes to a fine point just like the tip of his nose. The coat that adheres to his torso bears a pair of angular shoulders, likely due to the natural shape of his body to begin with. Even the scowl curling his lips seems sharp enough to slice you open if you dare come too close. His limbs are long and narrow, and his fingers much the same.

Reaching out to touch this man seems quite dangerous at first glance. One might fear being cut on the harsh angles of his jaw, and there is a slight chance that these fears are founded in truth. Heavily calloused fingers connect to heavily calloused hands, which hang loosely from his pants pockets by his thumbs hooked inside the compartment. His face, though clean shaven, still bears the prickly sensation of growing beard hair. Even his clothing does little in the form of comfort. The heavy chain necklace weighs down on his neck and the scratchy pants squeeze just a bit too tight to be considered for comfort. 

If one is able to look past the heavy cloud of top dollar cologne encasing his form, they would likely not be surprised by the spicy kick they are met with. He smells like cinnamon, but not cinnamon sugar. No, this man smells like the biting spice of pure cinnamon, a scent as fiery as the hair atop his head. Think back to the last time you ate an Altoid mint. Remember the refreshing burn it coated your mouth with, and now apply that sensation to this man. Fragrances of old leather and gasoline are also quite prominent, as well as the earthy tones of dirt and grass and a tinge of campfire smoke. 

His voice is a sort of hiss. His accent bleeds sin and deceit, and the low rumble of his tone slithers deep into one’s soul and grips it tight for the taking. Words fall from his tongue and wind their way around the listener’s throat. He sounds like duplicity and manipulation, but also all of your deepest desires wrapped up into one package. Your hair will stand on end as you cling to his every word. 

By all means, these two men should be polar opposites, and they are, in a sense. Taking them apart separately will surely yield such a response, but the difference comes when they stand together. Stood side by side, they fit together like puzzle pieces. The light balances out the dark. The soft balances out the sharp. Two extremes meet in the middle to create balance. 

Perhaps one could take a closer look at their shadows, as well. Perhaps they would be able to make out the clear addition of large, luxurious wings onto their forms. Perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or perhaps it is not.

[theworldisourcliche]

Chapter Thirteen ✘ Noora

Permanently numbed ever since and by the chaotic mistake of a night - so all in all the trip to London itself - Noora’s fingers thundered across the keyboard of her laptop. They’d been constantly doing so ever since she stepped inside the safety of her home yesterday morning - except for that one hour, where Eva stopped by to force some lunch down her throat. She wasn’t about to let this mess of an emotional misstep stop her from staying absolutely and utterly professional, which meant she had to write the article - other woman or not. Writing meant working, working meant being distracted and distracted meant not thinking about William.

That was until her eyes, slowly sliding along the hundred of lines that made up her interview with Sophia, reached the part where Noora (against her own actual need) had asked about her engagement to the handsome lawyer. A cool, unpleasant feeling ran through her veins, her body reacting with a small shudder.

“Oh, yes. I’m a very lucky woman,” Noora could still - all too clearly - hear the tone in Sophia’s voice as she’d spoken very highly of William. The word ‘uncomfortable’ couldn’t do the job of describing what she’d felt right then and there - not back then; not now.  “He works for his dad in one of London’s most wanted law firms, so we of course expect to inherit it, when the time comes.”

Noora remembered internally cringing, wanting to ask how she was involved with the firm, yet simply settling for biting her tongue and it just being how their relationship was. What was his (father’s) was hers as well - apparently. Right then, Noora wanted nothing more than to shut down her laptop and throw it away - anything but read all of this bullshit once more. It made her think too much, and it was a dangerous path to go down, even just consider. But in the end, it’s not like it’d make anything worse. She kept on reading.

“So we met through his dad, a very kind man,” Noora had to scoff out loud at that, since she couldn’t really allow herself to do that, when she’d been right in front of Sophia. “It’s just been beautiful ever since I laid my eyes on him for the first time. He wasn’t easy to win over, but that just how he is. He likes to play tough, a bit hard to get, when he really wants something. The thrill of the chase isn’t his thing.”

Noora had to stop at that. Of course this wasn’t exactly her first time discovering these words, but she’d never actually thought too much of them. This time though, it suddenly did feel like discovering them for the first time, and it caused a deep frown. More than anything, she was aware of the fact that she hadn’t been around for eight years - there was a huge gap in their timeline - but she’d still forever allow herself to state that she knew William Magnusson pretty well. This also meant that she’d forever stand by the statement that William Magnusson lived for the thrill of the chase - Noora would know…

Unless chasing someone for 6 months straight - whilst tolerating being constantly and obviously ignored, shut down and called the wrong name  - counted as ‘the thrill of the chase not being his thing’.

How could she not wonder about what that meant? Did it even have to mean anything? Just because Sophia and William had a different story, it didn’t mean it wasn’t genuine. Maybe William simply didn’t chase Sophia, because she wasn’t to be chased. In desperation and confusion, the young journalist buried her face in her hands, rubbing her temples as to fade out the black hole of analysing which she’d stepped into. Desperately sliding her hands back in frustration with the situation, pushing down the small strands of hair that had escaped her messy half up half down bun,  she considered taking a break. As a result of being at it, the researching and writing, for the past 8 hours, her brain was starting to lead her down inappropriate paths and the future Magnussons’ relationship wasn’t her place to investigate. Nonetheless neither was sleeping with him, yet here she was with a bruised, lust-stained neck and torso that culpably coordinated with the red scratches on her back. Absentmindedly caressing one of the last remains of him, a dark hickey on her collarbone, she couldn’t help but wonder how many similar blotches Sophia had let him besmirch her flawless porcelain skin with.

“Herregud…” like a lightning bolt from a clear, blue sky, Noora managed to escape her daydreaming (if it could even be categorised so) as she felt her fingers flee the crime scene that was her collarbone. She shook her head, embarrassed by the lost train of thought and looked at the still full cup of coffee by her computer. Carefully, she reached out and touched it. Cold. A sigh of slight annoyance (at the currently smallest problem in her life) left her body as she got up and made her way to the kitchen, where she flipped on the light switch, casting light onto the dark,  evening-submerged room. In a matter of minutes, after pouring the cup’s cold content into the sink, the electric boiler was building up steam (literally) and obnoxiously announcing its piece of work as Noora absentmindedly turned away from the the window, where she’d been staring into Oslo’s darkness. After quickly pouring a teaspoon of instant coffee into the cup, dissolving it with boiling water, the young woman could console herself with the fact that she’d completed at least one task without sleeping with its future husband. As she was dragging her legs - clad in her old, black pyjama pants - back to the safety of her office, a hard knock on the door counter-worked the desired action. Three knocks, sharp, determined.

Noora’s head shot around, glancing over her shoulder at the door at the end of the hall. It was just a knock, but in all honesty, whoever was standing outside didn’t really come off as friendly. With technology these days, it just seemed too sketchy to show up at someone’s door. Silence swallowed her once more, leading her to hesitantly twist her torso back towards her office, as she carefully kept her eyes on the door - just in case. Another three loud knocks sent a shock through her, almost electric, from head to toe. Someone really wanted to talk to her - or kill her. As if this wasn’t enough, her phone suddenly called out from her office, letting her know that someone had texted her. Being way too occupied by the mystery visitor, Noora quickly shrugged it off and told herself that she’d have to get back to whoever it was.

Almost certain that she was going to regret her choice, the woman decided to make her way to the door. Slowly, almost like she was afraid to touch it, her hand reached out for the golden doorknob and simply held onto it for a few seconds. A contrast between the warm coffee-cup in one hand and the cold, metallic doorknob in the other felt weird, almost catching her off guard as if it was her biggest concern right then. After another deep breath, taking a quick glance at her bare feet, her wrist slowly turned and dragged the doorknob into a similar motion. Like ripping off a bandaid, doing it before she could back out as her heart galloped like a young a steed, she’d drawn the door towards herself, allowing the mystery guest to be exposed. In contrary to the before racing heart, it suddenly snapped and stopped beating altogether.

Right in front of her stood a soaked William Magnusson, his clothes dripping onto the floor in front of her door. In complete disagreement with the man she knew - the confident, provocative, defensive and enthralling - stood a William with drenched bangs cascading down to cover his left eye, only letting Noora see the serenity yet hopelessness in his right one. Physically, he stood tall in front of her, hands buried in his black jeans’ pockets. But spiritually? She hadn’t seen him that low in a long time - if ever. Slowly, almost as if she was afraid of moving too fast and cause an explosion, she let her hand slip off the door handle and join the other in holding her cup in front of her. Neither said anything, both probably waiting for the other, even though Noora couldn’t help but expect him to speak up first. A heavy raindrop slid down the bridge of his nose, all the way to the tip, before falling to the ground and bursting. The tiny motion was the only thing happening in this almost time isolated capsule, and it was driving Noora insane, almost mad, on the inside. Why was he here? If he was here to yell at her, tell her how she’d ruined his life again, then he could just go ahead and get it over with. Maybe it’d do her some kind of good in the long run.

Then suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, it seemed to Noora like his look softened. Just a little twitch of his brows, his brown irises’ undertones slowly growing warmer. Did she miss out on something? Was he just having the whole conversation inside his head? Breathing in, feeling cool air hitting her front teeth as her lips parted just slightly to speak, Noora realised she didn’t have anything to say to him. No start, no end - she had nothing on her mind but a blank canvas, slowly driving her to hell and back.

“I left her.” Looks like he beat her too it.

Whilst she didn’t realise it at first, too busy replaying the three words in her mind and trying to put them together like an unsolvable puzzle, a warm feeling of relief and immense joy washed over her. Still she couldn’t get herself to move, locked to the spot, and could stare blankly at him. What did it mean? Left her. It couldn’t be… Her upper front teeth carefully, throwing both herself and him back in time, dug into her pale pink bottom lip. Just the night before, she’d done the exact same thing - for other reasons- and it took everything within him not to press her up against the small, sharp edge of her door frame. It almost seemed like they were just waiting to be used as resistance. But he’d have to wait. He was very aware of the fact that one misstep could frighten her, leaving him with no way back. Then suddenly - even though she’d already wanted to as soon as the words had left his lips - Noora hesitantly took a small step across the doorframe, which until now had worked as a frontier between the two hearts.

Warmth was still radiating off the mug, into Noora’s palms, as she stood right in front of her life’s probably biggest scandal. Hesitantly leaning into him like she had that day - many years ago - where they’d talked in front of her apartment as Chris’ car impatiently hummed right besides them. Back then she’d been persuaded of the fact that she’d changed his mind; had made him want to ditch the plane and stay in Oslo with her.

“I love you,” she remember feeling so intimidated by those words, almost choking on them, as she’d hesitated before saying them out loud. It was still brand new to her back then. “And you love me.” That was a big statement on her part, but that day, William had been in a remarkably bad headspace and she’d had to say it. The familiarity of the scene was almost intimidating. Her forehead ever so carefully placed against the side of his - the one that wasn’t hiding behind his stupid bangs - as her eyes danced back and forth between his deep, mocha eyes and his pale lips. “We have to be together. Tell me we should be together…”

Of course he’d regretted back then and came back, but a strong fear of him leaving again suddenly took over and froze her body, tensing up like she was afraid that something was going to hit her. Maybe she should’ve stayed behind the safety of her door frame, but alas that was too late and now all she could do was stand there, more vulnerable and exposed than ever, whilst looking at him with hopeful eyes. Finally, his eyes rose from the ground to meet hers, engaging in a mute conversation between the two. Either could move just an inch and their noses would touch, which seemed awfully dangerous yet even more intriguing. Figuring that he was waiting for some sort of signal, Noora let go of her fears and let a very careful, shy smile rise to her lips. The very next second, her pale green eyes hid behind the safety of her lids as his hands carefully slid into position on her cheeks, then gradually into her hair as he allowed his lips to finally merge with hers.

The kiss was unimaginably slow and soft, not like the one last night, which wasn’t a complaint but also somehow reassuring to Noora. Tonight wasn’t last night, and hopefully the aftermath would also have a different fallout. Their lips, safely interlocked, kept moving in fulfilled harmony as they both fell in deeper and deeper as a reaction to every muscle’s slightest movement. If it wasn’t for the fact that she still held onto the now lukewarm coffee cup, Noora’s trembling hands would already have been tugging on his soaked locks. Her need for him - his touch, presence, care - was rapidly growing. As if he could read her mind, something clicked in William’s brain, causing him to take a step forward -  then another and so on - obligating her to back up into the darkness of her apartment.  She didn’t hesitate to follow his lead, fully aware of where they both wanted to go. The slight coolness of the apartment instantly melted, as soon as Noora felt William’s hands leave her hair to grab her hips, as he spun her around and closed the door by driving her body into its hard surface. Hopefully they didn’t wake up anyone, when it caused a loud clap that rung throughout the entire apartment complex. Coffee, shaken as well by William’s almost animal-like move, overflowed the mugs edges and landed on the wooden floor in a splattered puddle.

“I was right,” William breathed - having noticed the spilled coffee, which took him back to the coffee stain on his and Sophia’s flawless carpet - against her neck before kissing it, starting a downwards path. “You stain.”

As if she wasn’t emotionally provoked enough already, these words struck something in Noora Amalie Saetre. Out of nowhere, surprising herself more than anyone else, she threw the mug to the ground in order to grab his hair and pull him back up to look straight into his eyes. “But I won’t run this time.”

And with that said, they both somehow knew that there was nothing else to be said for now. Letting her crash her lips to his in another kiss, this time more heated than ever before, William managed to back over the caffeinated mess on the floor and pull the blonde muse with him. Wanting to avoid the spilled coffee and broken glass as well, Noora took advantage of his strong pull on her hips and clung tightly  onto his neck, telling him to lift her off the ground. No one would have to tell him twice. As soon as she was safely placed on his lower abdomen, legs safely wrapped around him, she could go back to tug on his now damp hair.

“Straight,” she breathed heavily, barely managing to do so in between kissing him and being kissed, before finishing her command “ahead.”

For these two, there was no time to waste. Not right now. William immediately started making his way towards what he assumed was Noora’s bedroom, as she started unbuttoning the buttons of his drenched, white shirt.  He already had the very first one popped open, which caused her to momentarily smile into the otherwise carnal kiss - he’d remembered.

Upon walking into the bedroom, after having Noora’s back briefly rest against the closed door as he fumbled - already very busy -  with the handle, William let them plunge into the white sheets. It didn’t take much time, not being able to resist, before his hands were tugging on her oversized sweater and pulling it over her head. Growing impatient, as he had quickly removed both her sweater and pants, Noora put a firm hand to his chest and pushed him up into a sitting position - this without as much as thinking of breaking the kiss, of course. Quickly, small and swift as she was, she followed him and allowed herself to straddle his thighs. This would allow her to finish the button-job. When ripping it off his rain-damp upper body, and throwing it to the empty ground besides the bed, Noora couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be lucky enough to tug herself into it in the morning, as they ate breakfast. The brief daydreaming must’ve unconsciously caused her to momentarily halt, as a tight clench on her thighs - followed by sweet, delirious bites into her neck - drew her back into reality with a soft moan to show for it.

This was obviously a very desired response, as a smug smile crept onto the handsome’s face at the sound of the blonde’s pleasure. Upon noticing this, a furiously embarrassed blush crept to the apple of her cheeks. As much as Noora was in another world - completely lost in lust -

the young, innocent girl from high school couldn’t help but make a small appearance. And whilst it was no secret that her and William had done this many times before, another truth to add was also the fact that Noora probably couldn’t remember the last time (before the previous night) she was intimate with a guy.

“Cute,” he mumbled into her ear, grinning and making sure that his lips tickled it. Having this specific effect on her was more than a compliment to William, even though Noora obviously hated it, mumbling a faded, half-hearted shut up before immediately turning her head to bite down on his bottom lip, gently tugging on it. This surely would avoid more talking or looking at her rosy cheeks. Having to occupy her hands, they started wandering wildly all across his chest, taking in every little inch and detail that she’d missed for so long. As much as she hated the fact that it even as much as grazed her mind - especially right now  as she shivered beneath his cold hands as they slid up her back, feeling her figure, before experimenting with the clasp of her bra - she wondered if he’d missed her tiniest details, small secrets and quirks too? Or if Sophia had caused these things to vanish from his memory. Noora was the one to leave after all… Could she even stand a chance? Love him better than this flawless goddess that she - to some extent - hated so much for being in possession of his attention and love for so many years? After a few tricky seconds of work, William finally figured out the clasps, slipped off the tiny piece of lingerie and placed an adoring, long kiss to the empty valley between her two breast. A wave of undefined, strong, new emotion shot through Noora, hitting her like an epiphany.

Maybe she wasn’t Sophia and she’d never be. And maybe she wasn’t in London, where William loved and wanted to be. Yet, he’d still chosen to be here in Oslo tonight - where Noora wanted to be - instead of back home with her. This couldn’t be another mistake.

[welovekpopscenarios]

Unwind (OT5 x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Prompt/Ask: Just a purely platonic thing with all of Day6. Where you're having a hard time in college and they come up with something to help you ease off and take a breather.

Fandom: Day6

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: None!

Warnings: None, except a bitta sadness and stress :(((

Word Count: 1770

A/N: To the person who requested this – I cannot apologise any more for how late this is. I’m so sorry I left it this long, feel free to yell at me if you want. But think of this as a New Year’s Eve present from me, ilysm and if you were having a hard time with college, I hope things got better and that this makes you smile. Again, I’m so sorry my love. Happy reading, and have a happy and safe 2018.

“Do you think this will really work? Do you not think they’ll just get more annoyed?”

Brian was all for helping you ‘de-stress’, as the boys had put it, wanting nothing more than to see you finally put down those damned books you’ve buried your head in and for you to have a proper conversation with them that didn’t end with snapping or sighing loud enough for the next table over to even hear. But he didn’t think kidnapping you to go to the beach was really going to solve anything.

Not that the rest would listen to him.

“Of course man, it’s fine. They’ll love it. They need it,” Jae replied, occupied with moving bags filled with beach essentials and the odd bits and pieces deemed worthy enough to come on the trip and- was that a bucket and spade?

“Yeah, it’ll help them a lot. You’ve seen how they are – since college started, there hasn’t been a weekend where they haven’t studied. They honestly do it too much, and I didn’t think there was ever a limit to studying,” Wonpil agreed, hands hurriedly making sandwiches and other snacks for the beach day. Piles upon piles of food were made in surprisingly record time, and soon a single bag was full to the brim with snacks, drinks, and all of your favourite foods. Dowoon squeaked a ‘yeah!’ of agreement from his place on the floor blowing up a beach ball.

“See? The five of us are going to have a great time!” Jae grinned.

Brian rose a brow in confusion. “Wait, five? Don’t you mean six?”

“Oh, yeah, Wonpil isn’t invited. He’s being left behind.”

“Excuse me?! After I made all this food?” Wonpil gasped, indignation lacing his graceful features.

“Yeah, have fun at hom-“

“No one is getting left behind,” Sungjin announced, walking into the room decked out in a classic Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts that had everyone cringing and hiding their faces in the palms of their hands. “We’re doing this for Y/N, we’re gonna be good friends and try to make them feel better. Even if it’s only for one day. So come on, finish packing the truck and we’ll go grab Y/N.” He slipped on his shades and grinned.

“You mean kidnap,” Brian corrected, but simply shook his head and resigned himself to carrying bags to the truck. Maybe you’ll find the humour in this, and laugh about being brought against your will to the beach and away from your studies.

Well, he hopes.

When the boys arrived at your doorstep decked out in what looked to be beach wear and wearing smiles too innocent to be genuine, you honestly should have known better and seen through the fog of fatigue that they were up to something. But their offer of driving you to the library instead of you having to walk sounded too good to pass up, so after a coffee in your kitchen with Wonpil and Sungjin looking slightly nervous and waiting for Jae who took way too long to be normal in the bathroom, you all headed out towards the library in a very cramped mini van.

Or so you thought.

“Uhm, guys?” you asked aloud over the blaring of Teenage Dirtbag from the radio and Dowoon’s wailing rendition of the song. “Where are we going? This isn’t the library,” you informed dumbly. Obviously it wasn’t the library, you knew that, unless the library suddenly changed its décor to feature an a deep blue ocean and miles of sand, complete with ice cream stands every so often and brightly coloured towels lining the beach.

“Oh yeah, about that,” Jae said from his position in the seat behind you with Dowoon who was grinning uneasily when you caught his eye. “We’re going to the beach instead!”

“Excuse me? I have work to do, tests to worry about, I can’t waste time, are you serious guys?” you bellowed, flickering your angered gaze from each person to the next: poor Wonpil who shifted uncomfortably beside you, Dowoon who looked so guilty, Jae who simply smirked and looked indifferent at your outrage, Brian who avoided your eyes as soon as they met, and Sungjin who simply turned down the volume of the radio and drove in silence.

“Yes, we’re completely serious, Y/N. Do you even know when the last time you went out was? Or how often you talk to us anymore?” Jae asked, brow raised in a way that dared you to argue with him on this matter. But you couldn’t, he was right: you haven’t been anywhere in a long time, and conversation with the boys was quick and dull. But you had college to worry about, they should understand that.

“I have so much to worry about-“

“But you worry too much,” Wonpil piped up. “You only ever look at your books, only study, and you only ever spend time in the library, work, or at home. You keep everything bottled up instead of letting us help you. You need a break, from everything. Please?”

“One day isn’t going to make you fail an entire course, Y/N,” Brian reasoned, daring to meet your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “We want to help you, so just let us. You need this.”

You seemingly lost your voice at the sheer sincerity in each of their gazes and voices.

“…but-“

“Just relax today, Y/N. Forget about college, about work, about everything. Just have fun today,” Sungjin smiled at you through the mirror before returning his attention to the road, eyes roaming the streets for a place to park.

“But I don’t even have anything with me,” you mumbled, a last attempt at getting them to turn the car around despite your heart wanting to stay here, with the sun shining and your toes in the soft grains of sand.

“Don’t worry, we packed everything for you,” Dowoon explained, giving a soft little pat to the crown of your head.

“Yup, took me a while to find everything, but I got there in the end,” Jae added, and then it clicked for you.

“Wait, is that why you took so long in the bathroom this morning?”

Jae smiled widely. “Guilty as charged, dude,” he sang.

You sighed quietly, shoulders rising and falling with the action. “Sneaky.”

“What can I say? Years of watching James Bond and playing Tom Clancy games prepared me for this moment. Now, enough of the pouty face, we’re at the beach. You are going to hang out with us and have fun even if it kills me.”

“That sounds threatening,” you muttered, opening the car door once Sungjin had fully parked in what he deemed the perfect spot: close to the seaside shops and at the nicest part of the beach.

“Yeah, well, you’re my best friend and I love you to death, so I gotta show some tough love,” he replied, popping open the booth and throwing bags of beach essentials at Dowoon who yelped in surprise.

“C’mon everyone, let’s find a spot to put our stuff,” Brian yelled, taking off towards the sand with speed, Wonpil, Jae and Dowoon hot on his heels as Sungjin moved to stand by your side. He looked at you with a grin as he adorned a cap on his head.

“It's summer, Y,N! I got my hat on backwards and it's time to party! Let’s go!”

Smooth, ocean waves greeted the shore in soft movements, kissing the sand delicately as the day came to a close, the sun saying goodbye to the world for now and hiding behind the horizon. The beach was covered in a dull, orange glow as you and your friends lay prone on the sand, exhausted after a day of unexpected non-stop action. Your head rested on Wonpil’s thigh, whose rested on Dowoon’s, who rested on heaps of half dry towels, while beside you three Jae, Brian and Sungjin sat or lay watching the few stragglers wandering on the beach.

You sighed in content, that sigh releasing the last of your stress as you relaxed in content, simply taking in the atmosphere and being here with your best friends; your family. You gave a slight smile as you played with the ends of your shorts absentmindedly, Wonpil’s fingers gently untangling knots from your sea-soaked hair.

“So,” Jae broke the blissful lull, his voice revealing smug undertones that had you rolling your eyes slightly. “Enjoy your day, Y/N?”

You pretended to think hard about the question; humming in thought and face screwed up in contemplation, much to Jae’s annoyance, who stared at you with a flat look. You laughed amiably, winking at Jae who shook his head and pushed Brian’s shoulder when he laughed with you.

“I did. I really did. And I can’t thank you all enough for this, I…” you sighed, eyes returning to the horizon. “I’m sorry I was snappy and hurtful to all of you, you don’t deserve it at all. You were just trying to help me, and I was so awful to you, I was…” you could feel the familiar sting in your eyes as your vision clouded over with tears, throat closing up in shame.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Dowoon cooed, hand reaching towards yours to grasp it tightly in his large grip.

“Y/N, we understand why you were stressed and angry, we really do. So don’t apologise,” Sungjin explained, his warm, brown eyes smiling at you and spreading love through your body to the very tips of your toes. In fact, all of them were smiling at you so lovingly you burned with embarrassment at the way you have acted, in shock at how angered you had gotten at their kind gesture. Before you could dwell on it too long, Sungjin spoke again. “Just…do us a favour, Y/N?”

You nodded slowly, eying Sungjin’s now sad, bitter smile and feeling your stomach twist in pain.

“Let us help you next time. Let us know how you’re feeling, and if there’s anything we can do to help you. You have five shoulders to cry on if you want, take your pick,” he laughed quietly.

“He’s right,” Wonpil agreed, tugging playfully on your hair. “We care about you, you’re like our family. So please, just tell us when you need help. You’re never alone, you have us. Ok?”

Everyone looked at you expectantly, a sort of sad hope in their eyes that you wouldn’t dare squash.

“Ok,” you breathed, smiling at the wide grins spreading one each beautiful face.

Wonpil is right. You’re never alone. Not with this crazy and dysfunctional family.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Kærestefolk

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC Warnings: Slight Sexual Undertone Rating: PG13 Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: I have sat on this for 2 whole years, wondering, waiting to see if it would ever become anything. Well, here is it. Go gentle on me, now ;) 

Part II & Part III

"You know you love him when you can't sleep at night and get up early to talk to him the next morning."

The quote fleeted through her mind as she glanced at the clock, the bright green numbers told her that it was about twenty minutes to 5AM. What sane person was awake this early? The sun hadn't even began to think of rising and nothing in the city would be open for another two hours at least. Too bad for her, she had to be home before her husband; he would be finishing night shoots in another hour and it would be wise to be there before he came back.

On the edge of the bed, she glanced over her shoulder at the man in the bed, he looked so peaceful when he slept. His arm tucked up under his head, the other clutching the pillow beside him. Moments ago the same arm had been wrapped around, tucking her in safe and sound. She shivered, as if the realization of the warmth he'd provided was now gone, leaving her to fend for herself in the chill of the dimly lit room.

Quickly, she set to work finding her clothes, her hair a mess and his tshirt hanging low enough to barely cover her ass while she scurried around. With a thump and a curse, she whimpered, banging her toe on the side of a dresser. Tears welled up in her eyes and she flinched, hoping that she hadn't woke him. She wanted this get away to be as clean as possible.

No such luck.

"Wake the dead, woman." He muttered barely awake.

"Sorry, Alex." She apologized pulling her panties out of his boot.

"Why are you out of bed?" Alex grumbled at her, reaching for her pillow and smacking his hand into it. "Come back here, right now!"

"I need to leave. I've stayed too long already." she replied shuffling around.

The problem of being in...voled with a married woman. His lover was always running away, running home to her husband – his friend and work mate, none the less.

"It's way too early to be awake." he replied with a stiff yawn. "Besides, I don't want you to go, not yet."

As much as she'd love to stay, this was not the time.

"Please, only ten more minutes. Then," Alex smiled slyly, his blue eyes sleepy, "I'll let you run home."

"Spoiled baby." she winked playfully at him. Fixing her hair, she yawned and carefully did a sweep of the floor for anything else she may have left there. "I'm not going back to bed, not with you anyway."

"Suit yourself." Alex leaned over to pull a cigarette from the pack on his bed side table. Lighting up, he took a long drag, watching her search for her bra. Under the bed, her side. Keeping that detail to himself, Alex studied her movement.

What she ever saw in her husband was beyond him.

The way she complained, telling him how dull and boring their marriage had become. How her husband was more into work than her, shameful. Until she was ready, Alex was willing to keep his opinion to himself, despite how much he wanted her to end it.

What would a divorce change? Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she'd leave and magically run to him. No, this was fun – dirty, secret sex, nothing else.

"Is that my shirt?" he inquired, sitting up against the head board, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. She glanced at the tshirt and nodded. "I think that is the best it has ever looked." he complimented, leaning over and digging through his bedside drawer.

"You are full of shit." she smiled, bending to pick up her skirt.

"It's part of my charm." he bantered, shutting the drawer and sitting up to reveal a camera in his hand. Going silent for a moment or two, he fiddled with the camera, while she finished her search. "Smile!" he called out, grinning from ear to ear, as he snapped a photo catching her off guard.

"Put that away!" she demanded with a worried look.

What did he think he was doing? They'd agreed, no evidence.

"No." he argued, taking another photo and grinning.

"Please, it is early and the flash is way too bright. Besides, why do you want photos of me trying to escape you anyway?" She turned to give him a grand view of her ass, sliding her panties on over her hips. A deep throaty laugh emerged from the younger man in the bed.

"Because it gives me something to enjoy, when you're not here." he answered, checking the lens and taking another few photos. She sighed as the camera snapped, sometimes he was impossible. "Now, give me a smile or do something, I don't know, sexy." he laughed at the last bit.

A little visual to go along ;) 

[brookeap3]

DOQ prompt: Regina and Robin discuss sexual fantasies and one of them mentions threesomes.

To Be Loved { Part Two }

Day 4 of @doqweek. Things get a little wild in the missing year with Mal ;)

{ ffn } { ao3 }

Naked skin.

Soft and tempting. Like rose petals beneath his fingertips as Robin slowly strokes his hand up and down Regina’s spine, across her bicep. Her skin is still warm and flushed from their latest tumble in her bedchamber. It would seem it’s one of the rare times that she allows him to hold her after they’ve brought each other to the heights of pleasure.

Whatever it is that they have between them, this physical pull, emotional tether, uncharted chemistry, whatever label one would call it, feels stronger in these quiet moments. More intimate. While it’s not something that Robin could have ever anticipated feeling when he and the queen had met, he can’t say that he isn’t intrigued by it.

Where Robin would love nothing more than to delve into the depths of her soul, to learn every nook and cranny of what this fascinating woman is made of, Regina isn’t ready for that yet. Barely gives him anything more than the physical. And he can’t really blame her for it. What little he has learned of what she’s gone through, from Regina herself, as well as the princess, is that she’s been forced to endure pain and suffering for most of her life.

The loss of her son has prevented her from opening herself up to anymore pain.

So he will give her whatever he can, whatever she needs from him. If that means this stays merely sex, a distraction, Robin can accept that. Will bide his time and support her until she’s ready to give him the pieces of her heart that he craves. For she’s stolen his own out from under him.

Her leg slides over his, her thigh settling between each of his own as she tucks her chilled toes beneath his calf. It makes Robin chuckle and wrap his arm more securely around her shoulders as her head rests on his chest, just above where his heart rate is slowly returning to something resembling a normal rhythm.

“Tell me one of your fantasies.”

He can feel her frown, the wrinkle of her brow against his chest as she questions, “A fantasy?”

“Yes,” Robin answers easily, letting his eyes fall shut as he picks up the lazy patterns he’d been drawing over her skin again. “Something you’ve always wanted to try in bed.” His free hand shifts, cups her breast in his palm as he thumbs her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying the quiet groan the action elicits from Regina. “Surely the queen must have some wild, sexual fantasy in the back of her mind.”

For all her stunning beauty, and the men he knows would have easily fallen to her feet, from the time they’ve spent together, Robin doesn’t think Regina has all that much sexual experience.

But he wants to bring her pleasure, as much as he’s able. To expel that haunted, contemplative expression he notes on her face all too often. He wants to learn her deepest secrets, whatever she might want that he can give her Robin will. This turn of conversation seems an able method to that end.

For a moment, he doesn’t think she’s going to answer and he waits with baited breath before she whispers, “Well, I’ve always been curious…” her voice trails off, a hint of embarrassment evident in her tone as Robin urges her softly, Curious about? before she finishes her sentence with, “curious what it might be like with another woman.”

That takes him a bit by surprise. It’s not an answer he’d been expecting. Though it’s nothing he’s at all uncomfortable with. “You mean having sex with another woman?”

But Regina shakes her head quickly, correcting him, “No. I’ve been with women before. Well… one woman. Someone who I used to be quite close with,” as she buries her face into the crook of his neck, not quite able to hide the faint blush that rises to her cheeks.  

That intrigues him, something about the way she says it, open and vulnerable, two things he rarely sees from her. Pondering it for a moment, images of her over the last several weeks flicker through his mind’s eye before clarity washes over him.

Maleficent.

She has to be the woman to which Regina is referring. He’s seen the lingering glances between the mysterious queen who has captivated his attention from the moment he offered her his hand in the woods and the quiet, brooding dragon. There’s not much he doesn’t notice when it comes to Regina, after all. And though he’d sensed their bond, even with the awkwardness that occasionally hangs in the air around them, he’d never suspected it to be more than a rocky friendship.

Though thinking back now on the encounters he’s witnessed, Robin can see how there was some sexual tension between the two women. Subtle undertones that are easier to notice when given all the information. Not that he really has that either. His voice is casual as he questions quietly, “Maleficent?”

Regina’s head lifts at that, propping herself up on an elbow to stare at him curiously. “Yes,” she answers, confusion drawing a line between her brows, “how did you know that?”

“I pay attention, milady.” Robin answers with a slight grin, reaching over to let the tips of his fingers dance over her skin. He wants her again already. Can never seem to get enough of her and these little trysts are much too few and far between for his liking. If it were up to Robin, he’d have her in this large, luxurious bed every night.

Harrumphing, she lays her head back on his chest, focusing on the steady and even beating of his heart beneath her ear drum once more. “There hasn’t really been anything to pay much attention to lately. Mal and I haven’t been together that way since well before I cast the dark curse.” She’s tried to mend their friendship some, but there are a plethora of bruised feelings between them. It’s been difficult for both of them to move past.

Still, he’s managed to surprise her. But then the damn thief is far too observant for his own good. Sees too much. Can read her too easily. Only one more reason why she shouldn’t be doing this. Letting him into her bed, being even fractionally vulnerable with him (even if it is for just a short time), is a terrible decision. The trouble is, Regina doesn’t seem to be able to stop. Probably due to that damn tattoo on his wrist. Her heart knocks painfully in her chest as her eyes dart down to the black inked flesh. She won’t allow herself to consider what it means. What this man could potentially be to her. If she did, she’d never allow this, and, frankly, it’s one of the only things getting her by these days.

So it really shouldn’t come as much of a shock that he’s been able to read the silent vibes between her and Maleficent, but it does all the same. Partly because Regina hadn’t really realized that those feelings still might linger until this very moment.

“Even so,” Robin’s voice breaks through her silent musings, “there’s something there. I’m not shocked to hear that you two were intimate at one time.”

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by that fact either. Something that Regina is grateful for. For all his flaws, Robin is ever non-judgemental of her. Shocking really when you think about it. The Evil Queen. A woman who has done unspeakable things, remains unjudged by the one man who is supposedly tethered to her.

However, they’ve gotten off task, and Robin had asked a question that he’s quite interested in hearing the rest of her answer to. “Back to this fantasy of yours. Then you mean…”

Regina lifts her head, rests her chin on Robin’s chest and meets his gaze as she confirms, “Yes. What it would be like to have a woman join me and my…” Her voice trails off for a moment before she stutters over the word, “partner,” for lack of a better term, rolling her eyes at the pleased glint that instantly shines in Robin’s gaze, “in bed.”  

Robin merely hums, mulling over the idea. “Would certainly be an interesting experience, I am sure.” He smiles as Regina rolls her eyes at him and collapses back on his chest. No doubt, she will kick him out before much longer. So he relishes the time that she grants him. Even as his mind swirls with possibilities.

…

It stays with him.

The image of Regina and Maleficent. He’s positive that they had to have been breathtaking together. And over the course of the next several days he watches their interactions a bit more closely. There’s distance there now, but as he observes them, Robin thinks that it might be rooted more in caution than actual lack of feeling. Especially as the blonde watches her walk away, eyes lingering over the sway of the Queen’s hips in her tight leather pants and dresses that cling to her like a second skin.

A week after their discussion, Robin grows bold, settling across from the dragon at dinner, much to the confusion of both his men and the other inhabitants of the castle. They’ve never spoken before. Maleficent is much too quiet, prefers to seclude herself rather than participate in their war council, only speaks to Regina privately on occasion.

Merely raising one defined brow at him, she questions, “Something I can help you with, thief?”

Her voice is sultry and deep, and the shiver that runs down Robin’s spine at hearing it is unexpected. The use of Regina’s nickname for him does things to him as well. Not that it’s not true. He is a thief. But no one other than the queen refers to him as such here.

Robin studies her, takes in the voluminous blonde curls, the defined cheekbones, plump lips. Then there’s those eyes. They’re truly captivating. Draw him in until he’s rather mesmerized. Tearing off a hunk of bread from his plate, he takes a bite, swallowing it down with a swig of ale from his cup before he comments, “You care for her.”

Recognition and surprise flicker through the depths of those sky blue irises, and neither of them question to whom he is referring. “And if I do? What’s it to you?”

She’s barely touched any of the food on her plate. He’d watched her for several minutes before sitting down, and the woman across from him had done nothing but nibble at the array of meats and cheeses before her. Even now, she continues to ignore the plate in front of her as she watches him. Waiting for him to answer.

“So do I.” Robin finally replies, studying Maleficent’s face closely for her reaction. There’s no surprise in her gaze, merely a considering expression as she murmurs softly, I know. And apparently he and Regina haven’t done quite so well a job at hiding their relationship (if one could even call it that) as she would have liked. Or perhaps this woman is just more observant than most. Or she cares more than the rest.

Either way, it makes what he’s about to propose a bit easier for him to manage. Taking another sip of his ale, Robin watches her, as Maleficent does the same to him. Almost as if she’s trying to draw some conclusion, seeking an answer to a question Robin is not privy to.

Finally, Robin caves under the intensity of Mal’s gaze, setting his goblet aside as he tells the other woman, “Regina and I had an… interesting discussion the other night.”

He thinks he sees a slight twitch to her lips a moment before her features return to something neutral and she asks, “Did you? And what’s that to do with me?” Her fingers drum lightly on the wooden table, an idle movement.

Heat rises to Robin’s cheeks as his tongue darts out to wet suddenly dry lips. It’s not every day he asks a powerful sorceress to join his and his lover’s bed, after all. But there is interest in the blue eyes that study him. It’s not blatantly obvious, but it’s there. Just under the surface. And it’s enough for him to power through his request, hoping to hell that he’s not about to be burned to a crisp for his audacity.

“Regina mentioned you and she have a… history. Something I’d worked out for myself, but she brought to light other more… intimate aspects to your relationship.” Maleficent remains silent, only the slight lift of her eyebrow any indication that she’s listening to him. Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Robin carries on. “And her interest in how it might feel if you were to perhaps join us one evening.”

It’s not exactly what she had said. Not in so many words. But neither had she denied her continued interest in Maleficent. Robin may have drawn his own conclusions, but he is certain that Regina would not be opposed to the woman sitting across from them in her bed alongside him. He can only hope that the dragon is as opened minded and accepting of him.

She hums, lifting her glass for a sip of the rich red wine in it. “That is interesting. Though you seem to be managing things fine on your own.” There’s a hint of jealousy, or maybe not jealousy so much as possessiveness, in the way that Mal says it. So she’s been watching them more closely than Robin had realized. It would seem she’s not quite over Regina either. “Why would I consider such a proposition? From you and not her no less?”

How to answer that question?

As Robin tries to come up with a worthy answer, Maleficent watches him with interest. To say that she isn’t intrigued by the thief and his relationship with the queen would be a lie. They had seemed an odd pair to her, though upon further thought Mal had begun to understand the appeal. Regina had always been attracted to the less refined, earthly men. And he seems to understand her in a way that not many people seem able, even if Regina does push him away half of the time.

That in itself is telling.

Maleficent can’t deny that he’s quite attractive. The rough stubble along his jaw, the solidness of his build, those dimples that even make butterflies erupt in her stomach. She certainly can’t fault Regina for desiring this man. Suddenly, the image of that stubble tickling along her skin, those strong hands stroking over her body, fills her mind and heat stabs low in her abdomen. Intriguing indeed.

Robin’s response is all it takes for Maleficent to make her decision.

“Because it’s something we can give her. Something we can offer to help ease her heartache, even momentarily with a bit of uninhibited, indulgent pleasure.” He angles his head to the side, hoping he won’t be skinned for his next statement. “And I think you still care about her enough to want to do that for her.”

…

His back slams into the stone, his skull scraping slightly, enough that Robin would be seeing stars if he weren’t more concerned with the way Regina’s mouth has latched itself onto his. She’d cornered him in the corridor after a rather infuriating council meeting. They are no closer to defeating her wicked witch of a sister and she’s angry and frustrated and wants to work off a little steam.

What better way to do that than delicious orgasms courtesy of the thief?

Regina presses her body into his, soft breasts crushed against his chest as his hands find purchase on her hips, squeezing slightly as her mouth wars with his. Her tongue sweeps through his mouth, relishing Robin’s unique flavor before she nips at his lower lip, sinking her teeth into it, all while rocking against the thigh wedged between her owns. She wants him. Now. Here. Regina doesn’t care who might wander by their little darkened hallway. She needs a distraction.

So when Robin stills her with a hand to her jaw, pulling his mouth from hers, and a murmured, Wait, wait… Regina grumbles and glares at him. “What’s the matter? I don’t want to talk.” Shifting impossibly closer, Regina brings her mouth to his ear, whispering huskily, “I want you to make me scream.”

Lord. Her words go straight to Robin’s cock and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head as he struggles to reign in the fierce want for this woman. But there’s turmoil in her eyes that breaks his heart a bit. And he has a surprise for her. One that will not be happy to be kept waiting while they linger in this corridor.

Her mouth sucks strong kisses along his jaw and down his neck, nearly distracts him from his aim once more, but somehow, miraculously, Robin manages to draw the queen away from him again just enough that he can gaze into her eyes. If both of them weren’t so worked up already, her little huff of annoyance would likely amuse him. He strokes a thumb over her cheek, gazing into the storm brewing behind those gorgeous chocolate colored eyes he adores, before requesting, “Take us to your chambers.”

Robin doesn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in Regina’s gaze a split second before they are caught in a cloud of purple smoke, her magic surrounding them until they land in her room. Her mouth is on his again instantly as she groans into the kiss, her tongue running along the seam of his lips, and her fingers tangling in his hair as they stumble toward the bed.

“My, my, isn’t that a lovely sight to behold.”

The soft, feminine voice startles Regina out of the kiss, wrenching her mouth from Robin’s as her head whips around to find Maleficent lounging on her bed. She’s dressed to kill. A long, black sheer nightgown covering her down to her ankles, matching robe adorned on her shoulders. Though neither hide very much. Hints of alabaster skin peek out, Mal’s breasts framed by the low neckline, her pink nipples just visible through the lace that covers the bodice. She looks absolutely divine.

But what is she doing here? Regina’s gaze lingers on her friend and former lover for a moment before turning back to her current lover with a puzzled expression. “What’s going on here?”

Robin bites his lower lip, a sheepish look crossing his features as his eyes dart over to Mal on the bed. Though Regina doesn’t miss the way they darken visibly at the sight of the dragon either. Meeting Regina’s gaze again Robin answers, “I couldn’t quite get what we talked about the other week out of my head. About your fantasy. Your and Maleficent’s history.” There’s a light blush to his cheeks as he says it, tilting his head slightly to the side as he flicks his eyes quickly to the other woman and then back to Regina. “Maleficent was quite intrigued by the idea as well. We thought it might be something you’d enjoy experiencing.”

Oh. Well then.

“You’re saying the two of you talked about this?” Regina’s eyes move between Robin and Mal.

“Yes,” Robin replies.

The idea of the two of them discussing anything about her should upset her, but strangely enough it does not. Quite the opposite in fact. Them being friendly toward one another is an interesting idea to be certain, and picturing Robin and Mal together… well it’s not something Regina would mind witnessing.

Her eyes find Maleficent’s familiar blue, questioning, “And you’ve agreed to this?” It almost seems too good to be true. And good things do not happen to Regina Mills. Ever. Beyond even that, she and her relationship with the other woman remains rocky. She never would have thought that Mal still had an interest in any sort of intimate or sexual relationship with her.

A slow smirk forms over her face, eyes twinkling as she replies, “I have. I must admit I found the proposition rather compelling, darling. And was impressed with the forwardness of your thief.”

Her thief.

The phrase reverberates through Regina’s mind, her heart, causes a shiver to run through her. Maleficent has no idea how true those words may be. But if they do this, if the other woman gets a glimpse at that tattoo that adorns his wrist she will know. For Regina had once confided in her the tale of a man with a lion tattoo and the possibility of a second chance. And then there will be no more running away from the reality of what Robin could be to her. Not if Mal knows.

But she’d spoken true during that late night conversation. She is curious as to what it would be like. The chance to have not only that, but to have it with Mal and Robin, is too tempting for Regina to turn down.

Turning back to face him, she asks, “And you want this as well? It’s not just for me?”

Robin smiles, brushing a lock of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Of course this is for her. He’s come to find that he would do just about anything for this woman, shocking as that revelation had been. But he is also quite sure that he will enjoy it immensely. The attraction he feels toward Maleficent had taken him a bit by surprise as well and he is keen on exploring it. Not to mention he would be a fool to turn down two beautiful women. So this is for him just as much as Regina. “Yes,” Robin answers, “I do.”

Then what are they waiting for?

Regina grins, grabbing the lapel of Robin’s tunic with one hand and tugging him to her for another frantic kiss as they continue to walk backwards to where Mal is waiting for them on the bed. When her knees hit the mattress, Robin chuckles and draws back. Then she feels the bed shift behind her a moment before Maleficent’s heat is at her back.

She’s always overly warm, Regina supposes due to her dragon nature, but the familiar way Mal’s arms wrap around her waist, settling her hands over the brunette’s lower abdomen as she places light kisses along Regina’s throat is comforting all the same. Robin watches her movements for a few seconds, admiring the sight of the two of them before he leans down to kiss along Regina’s chest as well. He follows the line of her corset with his tongue, dipping it between the swells of her breasts and Regina moans and closes her eyes.

“So responsive already.” Mal murmurs against her skin, sliding one of the hands around her up to cup her breast through the material of her corset, the other heading in the opposite direction to rub between her legs. The hardness in Robin’s trousers presses against the back of Mal’s hand and she grins at both of them. This is going to be fun.

Regina hums, rocking into Mal’s touch and opening her eyes in confusion when both of their mouths leave her skin. When she’s greeted by the sight of Robin and Mal kissing over her shoulder, she can’t help the groan that rumbles in the back of her throat. They are so beautiful. The both of them. And for tonight she gets to have them together. Sweet anticipation skitters up her spine.

Robin’s hand skims down Maleficent’s arm as their mouths open and part for one another and both of them press closer to her, as if trying to reach each other through her. One of Regina’s hands lifts to thread her fingers through Mal’s blonde curls, the other squeezing between her and Robin’s bodies to lightly stroke his erection and he gasps into Mal’s mouth, pulling away to look at them with dark eyes.

“Gods, I want you both.”

Maleficent grins and then moves away from them to settle back on the bed, though Regina misses her warmth immediately. Regina turns to look at her, Robin’s chest pressing against her back as they take in the delectable sight of the other woman. Her lips are a touch swollen, a bit redder than usual from the pressure of Robin’s mouth. Blonde curls tumble down around her shoulders, the ends teasing the tops of her breasts, and, God, she looks good enough to eat. The thought has Regina growing even wetter between her thighs. It’s been far too long since she’s tasted Mal.

“I want to watch you two. Undress your thief, Regina. Let’s see what the forest has to offer.”

Happily, Regina thinks, turning to the side as Robin moves to stand beside her, in full view of the blonde. He’s smirking at her, his dimples winking out. Clearly he’s enjoying himself as much as she is and they’ve barely even begun.

Raking her eyes over his form, Regina sinks her teeth into her lower lip, lifting her hands to caress up and down his chest, tickling her fingers along the open v neck of his shirt and the hint of bare skin it teases. He’s watching her intently, letting her hands roam wherever they please as he wets his lips with his tongue. Then her hands are gripping at that collar and pulling it apart, ripping it down the middle to reveal Robin’s toned torso, the smattering of light hair that starts just below his bellybutton and trails down to his pants. He really should look into obtaining some finer clothing. Although then it wouldn’t be nearly as easy for her to do what she’s just done, and what a shame that would be.

Robin and Maleficent both chuckle at Regina’s little display of force and the mingled sound of their laughter eases some of the pressure that is ever present in her chest. Quickly, Robin divests himself of the tattered remains of his shirt as he snakes his hands out to tug Regina to him. As his hands slide up her spine, he makes quick work of the strings on her corset, loosening them bit by bit until the material falls to the ground and her glorious tits are at last on display for his and Maleficent’s viewing pleasure.

Both naked to the waist, neither of them waste any time in ridding the other of the remainder of their clothing, all the while kissing and sucking at each other’s skin. Robin buries his face in the crook of Regina’s neck, biting lightly up and down her throat. Her scent fills his nostrils. Lavender and just a hint of apples and it has him growing even harder. The proof of exactly how much he wants this woman now visible to them all.

Her arms wrap around his neck and Regina’s nails scrape along his shoulder blades, leave angry red marks as she tosses one leg over Robin’s hip. She’s slick and hot already and as his cock slides easily along her sex, all three of them release twin groans.

The sound of Mal from the bed diverts both of their attention from each other and back to her. She’s watching them as they make out hungrily, her pupils wide as she caresses her breasts, cups them in her hands and pinches her nipples between her fingers through the thin lace of her night gown. Mal has certainly never been shy about pleasuring herself, but somehow, the sight only spurs Regina and Robin on. “You two are gorgeous,” the blonde sighs.

Regina smiles, glancing at Robin, before letting her leg slide back to the floor and turning to the bed. “And you, my dear Maleficent, are wearing far too many clothes.”

The other woman grins mischievously, lifting her hand and snapping her fingers until she too is naked as they are, spread out for them. Disappointed for the briefest of moments (she’d wanted to strip Mal out of that sinful excuse for nightwear), the feeling quickly vanishes as she takes in the sight before her. She’s magnificent. Every inch of her skin, her long limbs, legs that go on for days and how wonderful it feels to have them wrapped around her. Regina can’t wait to touch her.

Climbing onto the bed, she lays beside the other woman. Finally, finally, kissing her with a fiery passion that feel so natural, so familiar between them. Regina hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this until just this moment. Mal’s fingers thread through her hair, stroking the dark locks and settling into their depths. Her tongue darts out to lick at Regina’s upper lip, sweeping into the cavern of her mouth when she opens easily and eagerly for her.

Regina can’t help but touch the other woman, her hand running over her taut abdomen, along the outside of her breasts, down her arm, anywhere that she can reach. Her skin is so soft. Like rose petals. She is quite certain she could touch and touch for days and never get enough.

Mal’s low and throaty moan as she breaks their kiss and tosses her head back into the pillows startles Regina. But then she’s glancing down and realizes what’s caused the sudden shift in the dragon. Robin has positioned himself between her thighs, is currently licking at her sex over and over again, palming her thighs and spreading them wider. He grins up at Regina as their eyes meet and then wraps his lips around Mal’s clit, sucking firmly.

She shudders beside Regina, gasping and moaning as Robin continues exactly what he’s doing. And it is such a turn on. Regina knows exactly how Mal feels, what she is experiencing. Robin is incredibly skilled with his mouth, and uses it in ways that continuously make her see stars. Regina can practically feel the ghost of the sensation and she hums appreciatively.

Wiggling a bit lower on the bed, Regina lays alongside Mal’s body, picking up those light, teasing caresses over her skin again as Robin worships her body. The blonde’s back arches on a particularly hard suck as Robin adds two fingers to the mix, pumping them slowly in and out of her. Lowering her head, Regina takes one of Mal’s nipples between her lips, flicking her tongue over the pebbled peak, swirling it around.

The combined sensation of having both their attention on her is amazing. Blissful. Maleficent hadn’t realized quite how hot this entire experience would be. She’s lived thousands of years, been with a good number of people, both humans and dragons, and so far, nothing has quite measured up to this encounter. Perhaps it’s because it’s Regina, and their relationship has always been special. But her reactions to the thief are particularly surprising. Not unwanted. But surprising nonetheless.

But then Robin’s fingers are stroking that spot inside her, rubbing over it and crooking just so and pleasure blooms and pulses through every inch of her body. One of Mal’s hands grips the bedsheets, crumpling them in her grasp, as the other clenches in Regina’s hair.

“Oh god, it feels so good. You both feel so good.” Mal moans. She hadn’t expected to come so soon, thought it would be much more of a drawn out process. A leisurely ascent to ecstasy. Obviously, she had been wrong. She’s close already, the muscles in her thighs trembling as Robin licks the flat of his tongue over her sensitive bundle of nerves. Over and over again as he pumps his fingers inside her, adding a third digit as Regina sinks her teeth into her flesh, soothing the slight sting with her tongue and massaging her other breast.

It’s all too much, too wonderful, and with a shout that is entirely uncharacteristic of her, Mal comes. Hard. Her walls spasming around Robin’s fingers as he laps up her release enthusiastically. Regina releases her breast with a wet pop, smirking as she watches the way Mal’s chest rises and falls with her erratic breathing. She kisses her way up her body until her mouth meets hers again, tongues tangling for a brief sloppy kiss.

Giving her another few licks, Robin angles his head and kisses along the soft skin of Mal’s inner thigh tenderly, sighing, “Mmmmm, you’re so beautiful. So sexy,” before he’s crawling up the bed to mirror Regina’s position on the other side of her. His heart soaring at the dazed and satisfied smile painted on Mal’s lip as she watches him. He’s hard as rock. His cock aching and begging for attention it has not received enough of. But the sight and sound of Maleficent coming from just his and Regina’s mouths is well worth it.

Regina turns to smile at Robin, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss of their own. She can taste the other woman on his lips and it’s sexy and arousing, has lust shooting straight to her core. When she and Robin break off their kiss, Regina’s eyes dart down to his straining erection, poking along Mal’s side as he bends and kisses her also.

Reaching out a hand, Regina wraps slender fingers around his length, giving his cock several strokes up and down. Robin gasps into Maleficent’s mouth, dropping his forehead to her shoulder and he can’t quite stop himself from rocking into Regina’s grasp.

“We’ve been neglecting you.” Regina hums, twisting her wrist on every upward and downward pass of her hand.

Robin makes a noncommittal sound, his eyes closed as he shrugs his shoulders slightly, kissing along Mal’s collarbone as her fingers play idly with his hair while watching Regina. She tsks, however, adding, “We can’t have that now. Not when you’ve brought us all together.” Blue eyes meet brown, a playful twinkle in them as she asks Regina, “How should we make it up to him?”

She’s venturing back down from her high now, itching for a bit of turnabout. It only seems fair that she and Regina might torture him a bit. Give him the same attention that he’s just shown her.

With a knowing gleam, Regina pumps her hand up and down a few more times before releasing her grip on him and giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “On your back, thief.”

Groaning, already missing the feeling of Regina’s hand on him, Robin complies, watching both of them through heavy-lidded eyes as they shift around. Thank god for the large expanse of her bed. Some have called her decadent for it in the past, but she’s grateful for her taste for the luxurious now that there’s plenty of room for the three of them to maneuver on it.

She ends up kneeling next to Robin’s hip with Mal opposite her. The blonde leans over and kisses Robin once more, scraping her nails along his chest, scratching over the toned muscles and his belly quivers beneath her touch. Regina’s hand sweeps over Maleficent’s back, stopping to palm at her ass adoringly before focusing on the task at hand.

Gripping the base of Robin’s shaft in her hand again, she gives him a few more of those light teasing strokes before lowering her head and letting the tip of her tongue pick up the drop of pearly liquid leaking from the head of his cock. It’s barely anything, but Robin still gasps into Mal’s mouth and bucks his hips, apologizing immediately when Regina draws back.

He’s aware of her past troubles with this particular act, is always overly cautious to be as respectful as possible whenever she deigns to grant him this pleasure. Just one more piece of herself that she’s unwittingly shared with him. Assuring him it’s fine, Regina smiles slightly, continuing her easy strokes and  meets Robin’s gaze so he can see the truth of her words and then shifting them to Mal’s. She’s got that knowing look on her face. Also acquainted with Regina’s struggles. She’d witnessed her disastrous marriage to the king after all.

There’s a bit of silent communication between them as Mal leans back on her heels so she’s opposite Regina again and then the blonde smirks at her and lowers her head to Robin’s cock, wrapping her lips around the tip of him and gently sucking.

“Ooohh, god—“ Robin exclaims, gasping as the feel of Maleficent’s tongue swirling over the head of his cock hits him. It’s amazing. Wet and warm as she slowly bobs her head up and down. Over and over again, working Robin up even more.

Regina watches them for a few minutes, admiring the sight of Mal’s pink lips swallowing Robin’s cock, slicking it up with her spit as she teases him. She’d been right. The two of them together are quite a delight indeed. It doesn’t take long until she’s eager to join in on the fun, however. Dipping her head again, Regina licks a line up Robin’s shaft starting from the base to where Mal’s lips reside.

Eyeing him out of the corner of her eye, Regina notes the way his breathing is labored, how his stomach expands and concaves deeply with each inhale and exhale. He’s biting his bottom lip again, and, dammit, the habit does things to her. Makes her want to sink on his cock right here, ride him while Maleficent watches them. Who knew voyeurism was a buried kink of hers?

Navy irises latch onto hers and Robin grins, his dimples deep crevices in his face. He’s enjoying this. Obviously. But it pleases her that she and Mal are able to affect him this way. His whole body grows taunt when Regina kisses lower, sucking lightly on his balls for a few minutes and Mal takes him as far as he will go, just touching the back of her throat, before releasing him with a wet pop.

They trade places, Regina’s lips replacing Mal’s as she takes Robin deep within her mouth, sucking on him thoroughly, while Mal peppers kisses at the base of his shaft. Two of her fingers circle around him and squeeze gently, a move that Robin likes very much apparently if the gutteral grunt he lets out is any indication.

His fingers stroke through Regina’s hair, encouraging her, and she sucks him harder, hollowing her cheeks a bit to increase the pressure. They continue their slow torture of him for a few more minutes until Robin is gasping out, “Ugh, alright, enough. Getting too clos—” Neither of them let up though, walking that precarious edge as he moans and shifts his grip from Regina’s hair to the bed sheets and fists them there. “Oh— love. Stop, please. I’m gonna—”

With a final suck, Regina releases him, flicking her eyes up from where she’d been focused on her task and admiring Robin squirming on the bed, the way he struggles to keep himself in control on the verge of orgasm. She chuckles slightly, turns to look at Maleficent who also has a grin adorning her features as she watches Robin, stroking up and down his thighs as he catches his breath.

Laying down beside him, Regina meets Robin’s mouth for a leisurely kiss as she gives him a few moments to recover. The least she can do after tormenting him the way she had. When the pull apart, he whispers into the slight space between their mouths, “You’re a bloody minx, you know that?”

Regina’s laughter echoes around them. A truly beautiful sound if he’s ever heard one. It occurs to him that he and Maleficent have been rather lacking in giving her attention, which had been the whole point of this little endeavor. They’ve gotten a bit carried away it would seem. Though, Regina certainly seems to have been enjoying herself.

Still, when Mal crawls up the bed and hovers over Regina, capturing her mouth with a kiss, Robin makes no objection. Nor does he when the blonde woman slips her thigh between Regina’s, allowing the brunette to grind against it, groaning. He’s still a bit on edge, more than happy to let the two of them have some time with each other. He places a hand at the small of Mal’s back, running his fingers up each vertebrae of her spine.

As Regina hikes her hip up over Mal’s, rocking against her while their lips press together and their tongues dance with one another, Robin props himself up on an elbow and leans over to follow the path he’s just traced with his tongue instead of his fingers, enjoying the shiver the move elicits from Mal, moaning into Regina’s mouth. He can feel the echo of it along her spine.

Maleficent’s hands journey over Regina’s body, caressing smooth skin, squeezing her breasts and plucking at her nipples. Something she knows the other woman to like. She’s rewarded with a loud moan and the feel of Regina’s fingers tightening in her hair. She rocks more insistently against Mal’s thigh, her slickness coating her skin and she can’t help slipping her hand lower, rubbing two fingers over Regina’s clit.

Dipping two fingers inside her, Mal thrusts her fingers in and out, letting her palm slap against that sensitive nub on each pass and Regina gasps and babbles incoherently, her eyes squeezing shut to absorb the pleasure. Robin has shifted, hovering over her as he kisses along her back and Mal’s thighs clench automatically with desire. She wants to feel him. Wants to know what it feels like to have him pounding into her.

Turning to look over her shoulder at him, Mal demands, “Fuck me.”

Robin groans, his hands roaming over her back, her ass cheeks as he squeezes his fingers around her hips. He can see how wet she is and he wants nothing more than to sink inside the warm temptation that is Maleficent’s cunt. Meeting Regina’s eyes over Mal’s shoulder, she gives him an almost imperceptible nod before she’s letting out another gasp as Mal hooks her fingers inside her.

It’s all the permission Robin needs. Gripping the base of his shaft he angles his cock into her, slowly pushing inside. Only the tip of him at first before he’s withdrawing and pushing back in deeper. He repeats the motion over and over again until he’s inside her to the hilt and Mal is moaning as he thrusts into her. She’s still fingering Regina, circling her thumb around her clit and sucking on her nipples. But all Robin can focus on is how hot she is. Wrapped around him like an inferno. It’s amazing. Incredible.

He’s still a bit on edge, and it certainly won’t take him very long to finish. Not like this. With Mal wrapped around him, her warm, wet heat driving him closer and closer to that peak. Robin shifts his hand, maneuvering it between Mal and Regina’s bodies and he rubs at her clit as Mal pounds her fingers in and out of her. Together, they work Regina up, and every movement is effortless. Every sigh and moan music to their ears as they bring her pleasure. She’s needed this.

Suddenly, Mal’s pulling her fingers out of her, bringing them to her lips and Regina groans at both the loss of them and the sight of the woman licking her wetness from her, savoring the taste with a low hum. Her eyes lock on Regina’s as she tells her, “Scoot up the bed, dear. I want to make you come on my tongue.” Regina’s eyes nearly roll to the back of her head at that and she nods eagerly, more than happy to comply.

Robin is still thrusting into Mal, their bodies moving together with each pass of his cock and she takes a moment to admire them for a minute, the light sheen of sweat to Robin’s skin, the look of pure bliss on Mal’s face as she closes her eyes and absorbs each sensation. Her mouth open on a tiny “o” of pleasure on a particularly deep thrust, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.

They look marvelous. She wants to watch them like this all the time. Regina hopes to hell, that this will not be the last time the three of them are together. Now that’s she’s experienced what it can feel like, how amazing it is, she thinks she’s a bit addicted to them.

Once she settles more comfortably at the head of the bed, Regina spreads her legs to grant Maleficent access. The blonde smirks as she opens her eyes to the image of Regina before her, a mischievous glint to her blue gaze, and then leans forward a bit more. The shift must do something to the angle that Robin is at inside her because Mal moans loudly, crying out, “Oh, yes. Oh, god, yes. Just like that.”

Pride flashes across Robin’s features and he picks up his pace some just as Mal wraps her arms around Regina’s thighs and tugs her cunt to her face. Her tongue dives into her immediately, flicking up and down inside her and Regina groans. Letting her hands slide up her torso, Regina cups her breasts, squeezing her nipples between her fingers and tugging on them.

“Fuck, that’s sexy.” Robin murmurs, his voice a bit breathless, the effort of what he’s doing distracting him. But the sight of Maleficent between Regina’s thighs as she touches herself is bloody gorgeous. If he weren’t already ridiculously close, that view alone would have him barreling faster to the edge. Robin slows his thrusts some. He wants to watch Mal make her come before the two of them finish.

The blonde protests with a tiny whine, but doesn’t move her mouth from Regina’s sex. She tastes just as Mal remembers her and it’s been too long, she can’t get enough. Switching to suck at her clit, she circles her tongue around the bud, relishing each gasp and moan that the action draws from Regina. Every pass of her tongue has the other woman growing wetter, practically dripping and Mal laps at her enthusiastically.

Robin’s fingers are rubbing at her own clit, his mouth kissing along her shoulder blades as he mutters compliments into her skin. And the damn combination of Robin behind her and Regina before her drives her closer to the edge, her walls fluttering pleasantly around Robin’s cock. That sweet ache inside her growing stronger as he slides in and out.

She knows why he’s slowed down, is well aware of how close he’d been earlier and everything they’ve done since has surely only worked him up all the more. Maleficent doubles her efforts on Regina, determined to have the woman crying out for her. She sucks harder, firmer, switching between the deep pulls and rapid flicks of her tongue.

Regina moans, babbling incoherently, “Please, mmmmm, feels so good, Mal— I’m so close. Just a little bit,” her voice trails off on a moan, back arching against the mattress, thighs closing around Mal’s head. “Oh, yes, right there. Oh—”

Regina comes with a shout of Maleficent’s name, her entire body on fire as waves of pleasure wash over her. She feels warm and sated, her limbs tingling as she manages to open her eyes enough to look down at Mal and grin stupidly. The woman is smiling back at her, a grin that reminds her of a cat that ate the canary on her face.

But Robin’s picked up his pace again, watching Mal making her come proving to be too much for him to handle and he’s driving into her at a rapid speed. The sound of their skin slapping together ringing through the room as Maleficent groans, mixing with Robin’s grunts every thrust. Her forehead drops to Regina’s thigh and her fingers sink into her skin as she tries to ground herself.

It feels too good though. Robin is thick and full, stretching her in a way that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Every wet slide increasing the friction between their bodies until she’s steadily climbing toward her peek. Regina sits up some then, enough that her hand can move to rub at Mal’s clit while Robin fucks her.

Tipping her head back, Mal lifts her face for a kiss, one Regina happily bends to grant. Her tongue sweeps into the blonde’s mouth, tasting herself and a bit of what must have been wine from dinner. Together, she and Robin focus their attention on Mal for the next few minutes until she is crying out their names, gasping as her muscles clench around Robin’s cock.

He groans, tossing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to maintain control through her orgasm, letting her ride it out for as long as she can. But the fluttering and spasming of her muscles is too much and with a few quick jerks of his hips against hers, Robin is spilling inside her, groaning at the release after so much build up.

The three of them collapse into a heap of limbs on the bed, all struggling to catch their breath. That had been more intense than any of them had anticipated. It doesn’t take too long before they are moving to snuggle together on the bed, Regina sandwiched between their bodies. Mal’s fingers brush the hair from her forehead, trailing her fingers lovingly down the side of her face as Robin’s hand skims down her side, over her hip.

His mouth moves to her ear, whispering, “Was it everything you imagined, milady?”

Regina laughs, a light airy sound that makes both of her lovers smile. “More than.” She sobers for a minute, cupping Mal’s cheek and meeting her steady gaze. “Thank you,” she turns her head, looking at Robin over her shoulder, “both of you.”

He grins at her, a boyish, impish thing as he tells her, “I believe the pleasure was all ours,” his eyes meeting Maleficent’s. The blonde nods her agreement, leaning forward and capturing his lips for a kiss, turning to do the same with Regina before laying back down.

They drift off after that. All of them surprisingly comfortable with their positions.

It might not have been said aloud, but they all know that they won’t be able to keep from doing this again. Not now that they know how marvelous it feels. As they succumb to dreams, all new sorts of fantasies of what they can do to each other dance through each of their minds. It seems the adventure is only beginning.

[rikrakyarnncrafts]

Introducing Luminance Hand Painted Silk Yarn

If you haven’t found the time to take a look at our new Luminance Hand Painted silk lace yarn, you’re in for a real treat. Already there was nothing boring or plain about “regular” Luminance. Every time I handle it, I am always surprised at how soft it is, almost unnaturally so! I guess with how bright and lustrous it is, I always expect it to be somehow metallic or brittle feeling, but it is literally the softest, most supple yarn that we carry.

The bright and shiny spectrum of original Luminance

In silk, even solids have an amazing vibrance; some of the brighter colors seem to literally radiate. We took that gorgeous, amazing yarn and gave it the hand paint treatment, and even we were a little astounded at the results.

Hand Painted. . .Lace?

Hand painting and lace sometimes have a problematic relationship. Bold visual effects like Hawthorne Multi, with lots of strong contrasting, don’t play well with lace. Delicate stitch textures can get lost entirely, and large, dramatic openwork often comes out looking choppy and incomplete.

Hawthorne Tonal, which we liked so much we wanted to use the colors again

If you noticed that the colors of Luminance Hand Painted seem a bit familiar, it’s because we took them from the Hawthorne Tonal line. We were so excited when that came out. Hawthorne is always a favorite around here and the subtle and sophisticated tones and blends that came out of the Tonal line were so rich and versatile. We started thinking about what else we could do with that effect.

The gentle shading and analogous hues seemed like a surprisingly good fit for lace. With only subtle color changes, it adds texture and visual interest without overwhelming.

Silk vs. Wool

Comparing the two lines is also a fascinating exercise in the idiosyncrasies of fiber. If you follow our blog or podcast (or dye your own!), you probably know that the color that comes out is as much up to the fiber as it is to us, and it can be a struggle to get *exactly* the right colors we want (I’m looking at you Felici). So, even though they were dyed with exactly the same colors in exactly the same way, the silk of Luminance sometimes makes for a pretty different product than the wool of Hawthorne. It’s sort of a collaboration and sometimes the fiber has better ideas than we do.

Skeins of Luminance Hand Painted over unfurled Hawthorne Tonal Justice/Klamath Falls, Charm/Corvallis, Courage/Hood River, Temperance/Grants Pass

Some of the colors turned out remarkably similar. These were mostly the darker, bolder colors without strong contrast. They are still brighter in Luminance, which has as much to do with the sheen of the silk as anything else, but the tones, combinations, and overall look is pretty consistent between the two

Charity/Springfield, Hope/Astoria, Gentle/Newport, Patience/Silverton

Some of the colors actually mellowed quite a bit in the transition. These were generally the paler colors to begin with, but in Luminance they softened even further in tone. Combine that with the shine and slight and subtle halo of silk and they became almost ethereal. Interestingly, with the softening of the main tones, some of the analogous contrasts are actually more noticeable. While Springfield in Hawthorne has a more generalized yellow tone, Charity in Luminance has fairly defined pops of warmth that contrast against the distinctly un-yellow teals. The silk Hope became very silvery overall, less blue in tone than Hawthorne Astoria, but took up more enunciated pops of tan and slate.

Eugene/Brave, Sweet Home/Kind, Ashland/Glow, Sophistication/Rockaway

The clear winners of the transition were actually the most contrasting of the original colors. As with the previous group, the existing contrasts that were present in the Hawthorne as more blended undertones became more distinct pops, with a more pronounced differences from the stronger combinations involved. While Hawthorne Ashland is generally a light jewel-y purple with some subtle pink and fuchsia hints, it’s aptly named Luminance counterpart Glow is so bright. A gorgeous, incandescent amethyst in color, it has defined streaks and chunks of darker purple and brighter magenta. Hawthorne Sweet Home came out as a sort of pinker, less purple version of Ashland, but Kind in Luminance is very clearly pink with varying shades all over and only isolated hints of more purple tones.

So many possibilities. . .

100% Silk yarn isn’t very common in general, and, with the combinations and colors that came out, we think that Luminance Hand Painted silk lace yarn is something rather special. We have so many ideas (Alison, our Director and never-ending font of inspiration, thought that using a bit of this leftover from a shawl to hold double with Stroll would make some killer glamorous reinforced toes and heels on socks) and we are already looking forward to the next lace collection where we can use this. We cannot wait to see what you all do with it.

Get 20% Off with the Luminance Hand Painted Complete Yarn Collection

If you want to see all of the gorgeous hand painted hues for yourself, we don’t think you’ll be disappointed with the Complete Collection, at 20% off. And you can still grab the Complete Hawthorne Tonal Collection, to compare the two for yourself.

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