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abundanceofnots · 3 years

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a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.

“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.

Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”

It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.

“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”

Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.

This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.

The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.

In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.

He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.

It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.

This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.

Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.

Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”

“For us. Definitely.”

They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.

How the fuck did they get here?

“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”

“Okay!”

With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.

“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.

“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”

“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.

Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”

“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”

“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”

“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”

Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.

“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.

“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”

Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”

“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”

That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.

“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.

“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.

“Hah. No.”

“You told Mickey yet?”

Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”

From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.

“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”

“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”

The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.

“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.

“Polite,” Lip appraises.

Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”

“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”

They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.

“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”

Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”

“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”

Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.

“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.

Ian gives his brother a pointed look.

“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”

“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”

“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.

“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”

“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.

“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”

“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.

“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.

“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.

“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Told you he was.”

“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”

“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.

Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”

Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”

Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”

Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”

Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”

“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.

Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.

“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”

Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.

Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?

#toe fic 🍅#my fics #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction

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sooniesspot · 3 years

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Coming Down | myg

Okay, so here's the second installment of my BADLANDS Series. This is loosely based around Coming Down by Halsey. I realise I haven't really done them in a specific order, just the one I am pulled to next to write.

Warnings: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!Reader, mentions of slight work stress and societal pressures of being a woman, you know. All that good stuff.

Reader is a F E M I N I S T and proudly so. Loose mention of not wanting kids (which is fine btw) this is just a whole load of smut, not much fluff as it's FWB but.

Okay so, oral, f & m receiving, face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, rough sex, light spanking, choking (for like a milisecond) use of ties, slight sensory deprivation, slight body worship, overstimulation. Slight name-calling?? Yoongs says kitten ironically. Use of safe word/safe signal. Yoongles has a Sir Kink. (I can only apologise) Reader has a hand kink (obvs) just wants to get off and relieve stress, Yoongi is happy to be their relief.

word count: 9.8k 👀🐸☕ don't @ me

'I found God, I found him in a lover'

It was a normal Thursday evening, you'd finished work at 6pm on the dot and took the bus home. Fishing for your keys as you approached the front door of your apartment. Key in the lock, turn. Open. Silence. Walking into your hallway, slippers not quite on the rack by the front door as you rushed out of them into your heels this morning. Just where you left them. Sliding off your heels with a sigh as you trudged into your slippers, immediately comforted by the soft memory foam that supported your tiresome toes. Returning your heels to the rack. Shrugging off your bag and long coat, reaching nearly 2 feet above you on your tiptoes to hang your bag and coat on the coat rack. Muttering to yourself like you did every day. 'Coat and bag, then heels. Won't have to stretch so much.' Venturing into the living room. Magazine on the coffee table infront of the sofa where you had left it last night.

Empty. Not that you expected anyone to be home. No one making you dinner you didn't want, or taking up the whole sofa, or hogging the remote. You lived alone, and you liked it. Sure, for a pretty young girl in her mid twenties you often had looks and questions.

'When are you going to find the one?'

'When will you settle down and have a family?'

And truth be told, you didn't want to settle down. You had told your mother from a young age that you didn't want children, whether that would change over time or not you weren't sure. It hadn't changed. You still wanted your independence and that was okay. Women were not put on this earth just to bear children and you were the firmest believer in that. You liked your life just the way it was. A job you loved that you worked hard for, an apartment you were proud of and nearly every night you got to sleep in your own bed, alone, no one to whine at when they snored or your body being used as a warmer for their cold feet. The few nights you were away from your bed came from your once in a while rendezvous with an acquaintance of yours. Although you knew eachother more than mere acquaintances should.

You met at a bar some time ago. Lights flashed, sure to give you a migraine and music so loud your eardrums could burst at any given moment. You were dragged out to this stingy bar by your bestfriend in her attempt to finally get noticed by that one guy. Even in her twenties she was still as smitten as when you were both back at school. You wore a simple black dress with a low cut front, skirt just above the knee and plain black heels. Hair not much different to your everyday, maybe a few waves here and there and some more mascara than your normal work volume. Trying your best to blend in but still having the ornate ability to have eyes on you in any setting.

You spent a lot of time on the dance floor until your friend had found her prey and you circled around the bar. Much rather wanting to stay at home with a tub of ice cream and your cat watching some terrible reality show about Cabin Crew on a cruise ship. Shouting at the TV to throw the nasty woman overboard; waving your spoon at the screen as your cat looked on in understanding almost. But here you were, slumped against a sticky varnished oak bar, propped up on an old velvet stool, twisting your straw in your glass, nonchalantly spinning the steadily melting ice as you listened to your friend talking to her guy. Suddenly feeling a hot hand against your lower back and someone lean over the bar between you and your otherwise occupied friend. Looking up at a pale man to your left.

" Whiskey on the rocks. " came his order to the bar tender; sharp, leaving no room for anything blasé.

Catching his eye, he looked you over once with a subtle bite of his lip and the flick of his tongue at the seam of his mouth; eyebrow raised with a lingering smirk before he vanished into the sea of people again with his drink.

Dumbfounded, you sat there, staring at the now empty spot where he had been mere seconds ago, the now cool expanse of your lower back where his large hand once was, fizzing. Swinging round on your stool, propping your elbow on the bar behind you, your eyes scanned the room. It wasn't the biggest bar. It wouldn't take long to find him.

Soon you caught eyes with him across the dance floor, stood with his taller, tanned friends as he held the whiskey glass firm in his hand; talking amongst themselves. Dark Brown, almost black hair feathered across his forehead, just above his twinkling chocolate eyes. Thin upper lip pressing to his plumper bottom lip before perfect white teeth graced your vision in an endearing gummy smile. Eyes still not catching you between the bodies of people dancing. Several silver hoop earrings in each ear. He wore a long black sweatshirt, black ripped jeans and boots. A couple of silver rings adorned his strong fingers.

You took a sip of your drink, gaze intermittently fluttering in his direction as you scanned the room, your friend had left to go and dance. Eyes found her and you nodded, knowing she was fine. As your stare focused back on the man before you he finally looked up, catching your eye with his, dark and mysterious. His lips pulling into a smirk again as he gazed at you. Heat bubbling in your chest from his wandering eyes on your body through the gap in people on the dance floor. He eventually made his way over to you and whispered a few words into your ear. Cool and calm.

" Come back to my hotel. "

And so you did. One slightly drunk, intense one night stand later and here you were, 6 months down the line sleeping with eachother whenever he was in town. A classic Friends With Benefits situation, although you weren't really friends.

You walked into your kitchen, greeting your ginger tabby cat with a kiss as she meowed at you in greeting. Grabbing yourself a glass for water and pouring kibble into her bowl on the floor, your routine monotonous but you didn't mind. Your cat tucking into her dinner as you filled up your glass, taking a sip. Looking at delivery menus on your fridge under old magnets from previous travels, deciding on Chinese; plucking the menu from the fridge, you had a training day for other colleagues at work tomorrow which meant a day off for you. No needing to cook dinner and get an early night tonight. Placing your glass and the menu on the coffee table in the living room, you switched on the tv, chucking any random show on then bumbling along to your room, opening the door. Greeted by quiet and serenity. No dirty pants on the floor or unmade bed. You smiled with contentment, unzipping your dress to pool at your feet before tossing it into your wash basket. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your most dependable black bra and panty set glaring back at you as you fixed your hair into a ponytail and wiped off your makeup. Throwing on a sweatshirt and some leggings. A short while later you plopped yourself down on the sofa and switched on the tv, greeting your cat with a scratch under her chin as she sauntered into the room, hopping up on the sofa with you.

Zoning out to the world around you as a terrible drama played on in the background as you glanced over the menu, not really paying attention to anything in particular. You had been a little stressed over the past couple of weeks, mounting pressures of a new senior in your department threatening to change everything you had sculpted into a balanced working environment over the last 3 years. Societal pressures and backhanded compliments from your mother's 'garden party' friends concerning whether or not you were defective in choosing a man. Or having one choose you. But in reality, the truth is, you had a stable relationship previously, unfortunately he was a dick and you're not stupid. So the single life had been your rather quiet reality for the last 18 months. No one to answer to or to worry about. Just you and your cat.

Your mothers friends never seemed to understand that, always too engrossed in whether or not you had a man on top of you every night to see that their husbands had found other, much younger women to be on top of. All of this filtering through the crack in your hardened shell, filling your mind with alternate realities until you got a text coming through. Cutting through all the fuzz that piqued in your brain. Picking up your phone, you saw who it was. Him.

'I'm in town, come over?'

Your reply was short and sweet.

'Sure, be over in 20.'

Snapping out of your previous thoughts and placing the menu back on the coffee table you sat and pondered for a minute. This was fine. This was what you needed. To let off some steam, in a judgement free setting. No cold glances your way, or harsh words uttered, unless it was you being tied to the headboard again like you had been convinced to try last time with his unadulterated gaze looking down at you writhing underneath him. The thought alone had your hair standing on end and a shiver running through you as you stood from the sofa, heading to your room.

Sifting through your wardrobe to pull on some old trainers, checking yourself in the mirror not really knowing why. In your hallway you made sure the lights in the apartment were off and your cat was happy, tucked up in the corner of the sofa snoozing away. Making sure you had your keys and phone in your bag, you left, key in the lock, turn. Locked. Walking down the hallway and down to the ground floor, heading out of the building to head right. The hotel he always stayed at was only a block or so away so the walk was relatively short. The sun was setting now as it hid behind the skyscrapers that canopied the city. Passers by making their way home or even to work. Still lots of cars on the road and bicycles that weaved in and out of traffic. The breeze was light and cherry blossoms danced in the air, separating from a tree as you passed a nearby park. The air was cool, as it would be in early May. Not too hot. Reminded of your journey, that first night.

'When his hair falls in his face and his hands so cold they shake'

You had left swiftly after his original proposition, making up some story about your cat or an early work meeting or something. Anything to get you out of there and with him. His hand returned to the small of your back as you left the bar, being ushered into an awaiting taxi outside. Shuffling all the way over to the other side, he slid in next to you blurting out the address to the hotel at the driver. Hair falling in his face. Eyes wild as they sparkled from the reflection of the dim streetlights. Smirking at you as the same powerful hand you had grown accustomed to on your back, made a home on your knee, slightly tucked under the skirt of your dress. It was now cold to the touch. Strong and intimidating as the taxi started to drive away. Not being able to take his eyes off you he leant forward and whispered in your ear.

" You look so delicious. " His voice low that reverberated through you, straight to your core as he squeezed your knee. Uttering the last syllable with a kitten lock to the shell of your ear.

To this you bit your lip and shifted uncomfortably in your seat. His hand, in turn sliding further up under your dress to the wider expanse of your thigh. The material of your dress pressing his hand taught against your skin.

He swooped down to your ear again, pressing an open mouthed kiss under your ear before he whispered " can't wait to taste you. "

You keened away from his grasp to no avail. He knew what he was doing to you, breath shallow and flighty in your chest as his teeth tugged at your earlobe.

"Please " You breathed, the first word you uttered to him.

Not really sure what you were pleading him for but the fire in your chest and the dampness of your panties flourished an urgency within you that was incorrigible. He smirked again at this, eyes dancing like Fireflies in the night. The hand that was to his side while the other hid between your thighs came up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards him.

"Soon. " He chuckled before biting your lip.

Drawn back to reality, passing people and cars. Your trainers pulling you towards your destination as your head had an argument with your feet. Was this a good idea? You didn't want to get yourself into a situation where either of you caught feelings. You were a pro at being a cold hearted bitch now but the odd sincere glance your way, especially from him seemed to melt your resolve, even just a little. Recounting the previous times you had taken this walk and what it would lead to.

After your first night with him, it was like a drug. You always wanted more. To say he was good in the bedroom was a complete cop out. He was...He was something. Made you feel things you'd never felt before and noises you'd never in your wildest dreams imagine yourself making. At decibels only a dog could hear. So once the addiction started, you started seeing one another everytime he was in town. Sometimes a couple of times in a week. That went on for a solid 4 months and as work pressures mounted, you fell distant. Always busy catching up with work or having some alone time with your thoughts and your cat. He also got busy, having to travel more for work. You didn't really know much about except it was important and you felt based on the guitar he always packed with him, propped up against the wall in the corner of the room, it was something to do with music.

'I found a devil, I found him in a lover'

The last time you had seen eachother had been a little over 2 weeks ago. That night you'd stayed, which didn't come easily. You were adamant you would leave as soon as you'd cleaned up, even telling him so as he helped you wash in the bathroom, almost requesting a second round when he looked at you through the mirror with those sparkling brown eyes like the devil, but you had been so wound up and pushed to your limits that you felt sleep take you as soon as your body hit the mattress again. Memories of restraints, dark water colours that created the murky palette of his hotel room and the low thumping of your heart, even as you entered the apartment, seeing him there, a tie in hand and a coy smirk. That night he had called you. He never called.

" You busy? " He sounded gruff like he'd just finished working out - which you knew not to be the case.

"When am I ever busy? " You rebuttled with a laugh.

He joined you, then you could hear him grin down the phone. A different sort of grin. A devious one.

"I wanted to try something. "

There was quiet, you wished him to continue silently.

"Something I can't stop thinking about doing to you. " He whispered lowly.

Your ears on fire and furiously red in the face you hung up. Chucking a quick 'omw' text to him in return. That night had been the best sex you'd ever had. That's why you'd stayed. For fear of walking into oncoming traffic at 2am because of your disorientated state.

Your heart skipped a beat at the anticipation of what was to come once you knocked on the door and it sent a thrill through you. Rounding the corner you were met with a bleak grey concrete block of apartments that made up the hotel with a black sign. Crossing the street after looking both ways you jogged up the steps as you saw the door beginning to close after a couple just exited. Sliding in you headed straight for the elevator.

He always had the same hotel room which avoided any confusion. You ran to the elevator that had just opened and pressed the 7th floor. Alone again your mind wandered to your first night here, in this lift.

You'd both stumbled out of the taxi and shuffled over to the lift, he pressed the elevator button furiously as he got impatient; leaning against eachother. As soon as the lift doors were closed he pressed you against the wall, face millimetres from yours as his nose skimmed over yours. Both of your breathing, laboured and slow. His large hands roamed your body; your waist, up and down your thighs. Gripping at the flesh as if he owned it. You wanted him to. God you wanted him to own all of you in that moment. Gaze intense and unwavering as the mysterious glint in his eye grew. His hands slid around the curve of your ass which made you stutter, giving it a harsh squeeze that made you lose your breath.

"I'm gonna ruin you." He whispered devilishly in your ear as he bit the shell.

Pulled out of your reverie as the elevator doors dinged open, signalling you had reached your floor, face burning as you stepped out of the lift, cold fingers pressed to your cheeks to try and cool them. Preparing yourself for what man would greet you at the door. You never knew which one you would get. Sometimes he was ravenous and you never made it to the bed, lipstick smeared and tights ripped as he never had time to waste when he felt such a desperate need for you. Or you would get the cool calm and collected man that caught your eye that night all those months ago. That was, until he got you here. Alone with him.

Walking down the corridor to his room now, counting the doors as they seemed to go on for miles, dark in wood with numbers etched in gold with golden handles. Your breath starting to slip away from you as you imagined as soon as you opened that door you wouldn't be able to breathe steadily again for a while. Room 93. (Shoutout to Halsey's first EP) There it was. You slowed to a stop, almost nervous to knock. 'Just knock' You muttered to yourself. Rolling your eyes as you fidgeted on the spot, sighing as you raised your hand to knock on the door. Knock. Wait. Silence.

You were waiting for a little while which was unlike any other time. Checking your watch and the door number. You waited a little longer and you were just about to walk away when the door opened slowly. You turned; met with the same dancing brown eyes you caught in yours all those months ago, although slightly sunken, maybe he hadn't been sleeping well? His lean frame propped up against the door. Arms folded over his broader chest. Hair fluffed over his forehead, slightly damp. Pale skin flawless and glowing against the dark background of his hotel room and the darkness of his simple black tee and sweatpants. Silver hoops still adorned his ears and rings still glistened on his beautiful hands. Eyes unwavering as they honed in on you. Smirk playing on his thin lips.

"You're early." He mumbled all knowingly, looking at the rings that adorned his knuckles, as if he were about to connect them with a wall.

You stuttered, heart in your mouth as you gawked at the man. Feeling like a naughty school girl that was about to get a ruler spanked across her a-. You stopped the thought for fear of collapsing in the hallway. His eyes still on you, looking you up and down. You mentally slapped yourself for your attire. Sweatshirt and leggings. Not sexy in the slightest. Anyway. Why did you care? Not like you wanted to impress him, right? After another beat his strong arm pulled you in the room by the collar of your sweatshirt, closing the door swiftly behind you and pinning you up against it.

"Just means I have more time." He whispered against your lips.

Sweeping strands of hair out of your face delicately, tucking his fingers behind your ears. He smiled at you, his gummy smile. You never thought that smile would be directed at you. Let alone in this setting.

'With his lips like tangerines, and his colour-coded speak'

His lips moulded to yours with a sudden urgency. Teeth and tongue caressing your lips with power and want. Heavy breaths exchanged as you dropped your bag; hands trying to find purchase somewhere sturdy and stable. Deciding upon the strength of his arms. Eyes closing as you were swept away in the moment of teeth and tongue and pent up tension and wanton need for eachother. His fingers pulling out your hairband so your hair pooled around your face. His fingers lacing through the soft locks as he grinned against your lips. Always having an ornate infatuation with how silky your hair was. How good it felt wrapped around his fist as he fucked you into the mattress. How it spread out behind you like waves across the crisp white bedsheets, framing your face perfectly as you slept.

He missed this. Maybe he missed you. Jolted back from his sweet thoughts, hearing you start to mumble against his lips as he continued to pin you up against the door, your head firmly in his hands.

"Yoongi." You murmured again, slurring the word slightly; drunk off the potent lust he cradled you with.

He never let up from your lips, intent on breathing you in. Hands untangling themselves from your hair as his cool calm hands landed on your shoulders, moving you away from the door to pin you to a wall, nearer to the bed. An eventual destination set in his mind. He couldn't get enough of you. Your hands travelled to cup his cheeks. His lips dry against yours gaining moisture from the saliva rolling around in your mouths as your tongues fought. Small whimpers beginning to swim their way into the air. Music to his ears. Of all the music he'd ever had a hand in creating, he wished he could emulate your tiny whimpers. Your cries for more of him. All of him. Wanting to devour him whole.

"Fuck" He exclaimed, finally pulling away from you, heavy breathing as his forehead was against yours.

Not even giving you time to breath he reached for the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head to reveal your gorgeous body to his hungry eyes. Knowing now that hiding from his gaze would be futile. An attempt at covering up would leave your ass raw and marks all over every single inch of your body. God's above. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, to him you practically were. He never sought out for any other attention or company from other women. The taste of you as often as he could have you was more than enough to satiate his heart.

He made quick work of your bra before throwing his own shirt off onto the growing pile on the floor. His hands, rough against your soft, plush breasts as his thumbs circled around your pebbling nipples. His teeth latching onto your bottom lip, humming as he looked into your steadily closing eyes. Teeth venturing south along your jaw to your neck and collarbone as he began to grab at the skin of your waist after he finished moulding your breasts; as if trying to memorise the feeling of them in his hands. The weighted comfort he had grown to adore about your chest. Teeth sinking in, enticing low gasps and the tiniest of squeaks as he would bite too hard on already sensitive flesh, intent on getting every inch of your skin covered in small indentations from his teeth. Tongue lascivious against the contours of your neck and collarbones, sickly sweet taste of your skin that drove him wild.

'Now we're lost somewhere in outer space, in a hotel room where demons play'

All you could do was pant and mule against him, your hands in his steadily drying locks. Suddenly pulling away as he untied the drawstring of his pants.

"Knees, now." He whispered authoritively and you happily obeyed.

Flicking your hair off your shoulder you sank down onto your knees. Eyes ignited with a fire he practically stoked out of you. You admired his body on the journey down. Body lithe and pale, defined arms and chest with a flat stomach, no six pack or defined v lines that led to the promising tent that you saw in your line of sight. Just a small happy trail of hair from below his belly button sneaking into the hem of his sweatpants. Swiftly taking them down and off you were greeted with black boxers, looking tight around his cock cased within. You licked your lips in anticipation as his fingers forked through the hair on your scalp. Looking up to his face as he gazed down at you with a stern look in his own eyes; burning into your already flushed skin.

"Someone looks like they've missed this." He smirked as your hand rose to palm him through his boxers.

He released a low hum at the feeling of your hand cupping his balls. You knew that he was very sensitive there, from past experiences.

"Does the slut want my cock?" He asked, a feather of a chuckle rumbled in his chest at your immediate nod as you ran your tongue over the seem of your lips.

Your fingers delved underneath the fabric as you began to pull them down. Sudden slap to your hands had you shying away from him.

"Hungry sluts have to wait don't they, kitten?" His eyes zeroing in on your reaction to the pet name.

You gritted your teeth in vague annoyance at the name, after the first night, you told him you had to be home for your cat. Finding it oddly adorable you were a cat lady he called you kitten ironically, now it's stuck. Your eyes looking away from him, turning your head slightly towards the large window that showed the rest of the city. Twinkling lights now shining in the moonlight. His hand gripped your chin, pulling your attention back to him, forcing you to look up into his devious eyes.

"I don't think you answered me, slut." He snarled; releasing your chin from his grasp.

Your heart jumped in your chest. "Y-yes, sir."

He smirked again, feeling triumphant he patted your head, thumb smoothing over your hair line with ghost like touches before running it along the seem of your mouth, popping his thumb in, flat against your tongue. Closing your lips around him, beginning to suck, big eyes gazing up at him.

"Good girl." He whispered before removing his thumb from your mouth and yanking his boxers down and stepping out of them.

His fingers danced through his damp hair as his cock sprung up against his stomach, a muted groan as the cool air touched his reddened and straining cock. Your eyes widened, never getting used to the sight of his cock, inches away from your salivating mouth, making your panties pool with a carnal need for him to be inside you. Your hands began to rub up and down your jeans clad thighs, waiting with baited breath for him to give you the command. This man and the things you'd do for him would have others question if you were a feminist or not. How a strong single woman with a steady career and bustling social life could want to be so utterly defiled by a man and be at his every whim really flipped your ideology on its head. But a drug was a drug, and you were high on him like cocaine.

"Alright, stop giving me those bedroom eyes." He gushed, dominating voice faltering as he gazed down at you, waiting and ready for him to let you begin.

You fluttered your eyelashes at him, big and bold. Biting your lip as your hands rubbed along your thighs again.

"Fuck, just get over here." He laughed, holding the base of his cock in his hand as your hands slunk up his sturdy pale thighs.

Fingertips sending sparks through his body. Your lips reaching his tip, you looked up at him again as you kitten licked his bulbous tip, testing it. Like testing a car. He hissed to which you smirked. You took your tongue to lick the underside of his cock lightly, teasing his frenulum before swirling your tongue round his tip several times. He puffed out a harsh breath but never said a word, fingers beginning to weave into your hair with a softness you were unfamiliar with. Surrounding the tip with your lips as you slowly sunk the head into your waiting mouth. Giving kitten links to the underside again as you sucked on his tip for a moment. Yoongis breath was heavy, you could tell by his chest moving, half lidded eyes looking down at you as you took more of him in slowly. Tongue still licking everywhere you could. Your other hand still positioned on his thigh as you rubbed small circles in it with your thumb.

Starting to take him deeper in your mouth and pulling him back out for breath had him seeing double. His vision was blurred as he could feel your heavenly lips wrap around his strained cock, precum and spit starting to pool at the corners of your mouth; threatening to spill as you bobbed your head back and forth on his dick. Setting up a rhythm you plunged him in deep so your nose touched his abdomen and he threw his head back with a grunt; gritting his teeth.

"Uh, fuck. Your mouth is so good" He whispered into the air.

'I've got a lover and I'm unforgiven, I'm such a fool to pay this price'

Your mouth worked on him as well as it could. You would take a lot of him in and proceed to gag which made him grunt. As your hand began to work at the base of his shaft. Giving him your all. Making up for lost time.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last." He hissed. His hands in spearing through your hair as his thumbs rubbed at your scalp.

"I should've kept my hands to myself... Always impatient." He chuckled menacingly to himself; shaking his head.

Your breath was heaving as you pulled back from him. Hands gripping his thighs tight as you looked up at the man towering above you.

"What do you say, will you let me fuck your mouth like a good pet?" He asked, hands still in your hair.

"Make me cum, then it's your turn? How about it, kitten?"

No hesitation in your eyes as you gazed up at him as if he had hand painted all of the stars in the sky. You nodded profusely and he grinned at you; swiping the spit away from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Good girl, remember your safe signal?" He asked, almost sweet in his tone.

You tapped the back of his thigh 3 times with your finger and he nodded. Feathering his fingers through your hair again, your hand still at the base of his dick lining him up to your waiting mouth. You gave him the go ahead as he thrusted shallowly into your mouth at first. Finally in your mouth his hands speared through your hair behind your ears to hold you still as he began to move his hips back and forth. You had done this before. Let him do this. But this time was so raw and so needy you honestly couldn't fathom how much you needed this. And it wasn't even your turn. He began to set up a rhythm working his length deeper with every thrust; starting to make you gag as you tried your best to relax. He breathed in sharply, his head thrown back as he pumped in and out. His shaft gliding smoothly across your tongue and beginning to slip down your throat as you sputtered around him. Hands firmly gripping the back of his thighs, the same way he was gripping your hair.

"Fuck, fuck. Your mouth. Kills me." He mumbled to himself; thinking you couldn't hear.

You looked up at him, a picture of bliss. Arms locked in place, keeping you still as he slid in and out of your mouth, picking up speed now. The veins in his neck; protruding under a velvet blanket of Frosted skin. Teeth gritted and brows furrowed. He looked down to see you already watching him. To this he groaned deep within his chest at the sight of you so willing and ready for him. Setting his nerves alight he could feel his orgasm approaching. Gripping your hair even tighter as he gave you a moment to breath before jackhammering into your mouth with a low whine.

"Fuck. Holy shit." He whispered before you felt his cock twitch deep in your throat and thick ropes of cum travel down it as he came; hips jerking at weird angles as you noticed sweat beading across his neck and collarbones; reaching up to his hairline.

After he had composed himself he pulled out of your mouth and you swallowed everything still left in your mouth before opening your mouth to show it was empty. He ran a solid hand through his own hair before he pulled you to your feet; planting a heavy kiss to your lips as he walked you back towards the bed. Practically pushing you back on it with a soft bounce. He suddenly rounded to the other side of the hotel room rummaging through a suitcase. Soon returning with several black ties in hand. Giving you a knowing smirk. You felt your stomach sink at the memory of your last adventure with this man. In this hotel room. With those ties. But judging by the look on his face and the fact his previously lifeless cock had begun to spring to life again; you knew it was different.

'I found a martyr, he told me that I'd never'

He began to move you up the bed to where he saw fit. Nodding when he had got you where he wanted. Straddling your waist he grabbed an arm tying the tie around your wrist to then loop it around the headboard. He soon did the same to the other one. Then finally you saw him gazing down at you from above before he slipped a soft silk tie over your eyes fastening it behind your head. Everything went black, but you could hear him; feel him. All around you. Feeling weight either side of your head you suddenly felt breath over your nipple; squirming at the sensation and your clothed pussy clenching around nothing. You felt him kitten lock his way along your breast before landing an unexpected bite against your neck, causing you to pull against the restraints with a sharp intake of breath.

"Remember your safe word, kitten?" He whispered in your ear.

You nodded. "Seesaw."

He sat back on his heels; still straddling you. Crossing his arms with a nod.

"Why is it Seesaw, again?" You ask, a grin sliding onto your face.

He chuckled at this before you felt weight lifted from the bed. You skin crawling with goosebumps as you waited with anticipation. Suddenly feeling deft fingers pulling your leggings and panties down in one swift movement. A beat of silence. Feeling like forever until you felt the same fingers, calloused but oh so soft against the skin of your collarbone.

"You don't remember?" He whispered into the darkness.

You shook your head no as your body began to squirm. Feeling his finger trail delicately down to your chest, followed by his other pointer finger on his left. Circling your nipples in precise motions. You sucked in a breath and your back arched as you felt him blow cool air onto the perking bud.

"Oh kitten, it was the bar where we first met" You could hear the smirk evident in his voice as his fingers trailed underneath the curve of your breasts.

"The night I took you home and ate you so good you nearly passed out." A dry chuckle left his lips at the gasp that left your own.

He began to drag his sturdy fingers slowly; tantalisingly, in soft motions towards your belly button where he would branch out with delicate touch; placing more fingers on your skin as they circled your hipbones. Finally sloping down to your thighs where his grip became firm and he pryed your legs apart to expose you to him. Heat flashing across your face as you whimpered at the action. Oh god. The things he made you feel. You felt electricity surge through your body, bouncing off your bones as you heard him hum.

"Mmmm. So wet, just from sucking my cock, kitten?"

You bit your lip with a whine; nodding profusely. Blush creeping across your cheeks. He seemed to like this as you heard a deep rumbled in his chest in approval. You could feel the bed dip slightly due to transferred weight. Right between your legs. Shit. If only you could see him. What was he doing? Was he pleased? Oh fuck, you didn't shave your le- your thoughts were far removed as you felt lips across the inside of your thigh; just above your knee.

"Shit, I can't wait to taste you." He whispered; sending cool air rushing up to your core.

Feeling his lips drag effortlessly along your thigh to where you wanted him most; needed him. He was tender; savouring the moment. He had missed this, giving you what you wanted. Watching you underneath him. Tasting you; devouring you. That's why he was so quick to cum the first time around. Too excited by the thought of having you again he had started to touch himself in the shower. Thinking of your soft, sweet body; Bending to his every whim. Your mouth stuffed full of his cock. Your enticing wet pussy that always made you blush at the sounds it would make, as he would fuck you. Hard and rough. He groaned at the thought before his face was level with your heat. Soft breaths that made your body wriggle; desperate to escape and want more; all at once. He hooked your knees over his elbows as he held your legs down. blowing against your exposed clit and watching your pussy clench around nothing; glistening with your essence he hungered for.

'With his educated eyes, and his head between my thighs'

"Mmmm. Sweet pussy baby girl." He kissed the apex of your thigh watching you writhe against the restraints. He hadn't even started yet. You were in for a long night.

You didn't seem to notice the name at first. It wasn't what he had called you any of the times before. But as the air thinned out around you; feeling the silence weighted around the room like a thick curtain and nothing was corrected, it almost felt affectionate; coming from his sinful lips that had just attached themselves to your-

"Fuck." Your breath caught as you threw your head back against the mattress.

Feeling lips suckling against your clit with vigor. He knew what you liked and knew how to get you where he wanted you. His tongue began lapping at your clit as his lips sucked where they could. Your breathing was heavy and you tried to pull against the restraints; your legs restless as the odd whimper left parted lips. His eyes although you couldn't see him, were focused on you. Watching every bite of your lip, every salacious moan or whimper; every gasp. You began rocking your hips in a rhythm against his tongue and he moaned at the pressure you posed against him. Trying to feel some friction as his throbbing cock had sprung to life from your first whimper; sandwiched between his abdomen and the mattress.

"God, this pussy is so good." He moaned; muffled by your legs trying so hard to clamp around his head as he continued his ministrations.

Soon enough you could feel the familiar rope spread throughout your body, begin to coil; tight as a spring before you felt a nip to your clit and you unravelled underneath him. Feeling weightless and weighted all at once. Stars beneath the blanket of the silk tie; delicate against your eyes. Head thrashing around as arms pulled with all their might against the restraints. Your back arched as you moaned loudly; legs starting to shake at the force of your orgasm. But that wasn't the end. He flicked his tongue against your swollen clit with more intent. Determined to push you through another orgasm before he even started using his fingers. God his fingers. Your lower body began to lift off the bed as his grip on your legs only got tighter.

"Fuck, fuck Yoongi. Oh my fucking g-"

You heard an animalistic growl as you felt another nip to your clit; yelping at the sudden spark of pain amongst your pleasure.

"Sir. Stick to the rules." He punctuated with a slap to your clit. Back arching for a moment as you felt a pulse throughout your body.

"Or I'll keep biting." He mumbled the last part.

You pouted. "Yes sir." You could feel your orgasm beginning to ebb away as he took longer to return to your clit.

You whined and you felt breath on your clit again as he chuckled. Although your predicament was purely casual. Wanting to get off essentially was your main goal. Neither of you ever rushed. Enjoying one another's company. Feeling his slick, swift tongue dancing along your clit again you moaned; trying so hard to keep quiet out of respect for neighbours as you tried resting your mouth against your arm to muffle your high pitched moans. His tongue retracted until you felt the tip of his tongue tease the edge of your entrance before dipping his tonulgue in for a moment. Your hips bolted you forward at the intrusion before settling back down on the bed. His tongue running up and down from your entrance to your clit in long strokes. Quickly settling his tongue back against your throbbing clit. You yelped as he applied more pressure.

"Fuck, I love this cunt."

Slurping noises ensued as he dove in deeper. You orgasm building again and again, holding on for dear life. Holding onto your sanity. His tongue swirling around the pulsing bud as you continued your previous rhythm rocking against his face. Your knuckles were turning white at the sheer grip you had on the ties; feeling yourself drift away.

"Fuck, please, yoo-"

He pressed his face even further into your heat as you cried out in pleasure. Tongue flicking mercilessly over your engorged clit. Reaching the summit again to fall all the way down into the abyss. He never let up from you as his tongue lapped at your juices spilling from your entrance. Nerves alight and pulsing throughout your body. A thin layer of sweat was evident against your face, collarbones; the whole of your body. Sweat beaded from his own forehead and he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth as he watched you regain your breath. Stilted in the silence. Only your chest rising and falling as your lungs gasped for air.

He loosened his right arms hold around your leg and brought his fingers forward to your sensitive pussy. Humming to himself as he gathered the Juices on the tip of his fingers and spreading it all over your pussy as it glistened in the dim hotel light. Knowing how much you lost your collective shit over his hands he couldn't help but watch his hands tip toe up to your breast; squeezing the flesh roughly in his hand before slinking it over to massage your neck for a second. Only to grab it a moment later. Your breath caught quite literally as you could feel the bed move from where he was sitting up. He could feel the pressure against your soft skin and the way your breath constricted; only for a moment as he loosened his grip. His fingers still flush against the skin. His veined hand looked like it belonged around your neck. He thought to himself before sliding his thumb into your mouth again; which you accepted with enthusiasm.

'I found a saviour, I don't think he remembers'

"One more from you, kitten. Then I'll fuck you. Okay?" He hummed.

Your reply was noncommittal as you nodded vehemently; still sucking on his thumb. He looked down at you with a certain adoration. Laying there, naked for him. Tied up and blindfolded. If he'd have thought this would be the case after that first night, he would have laughed. But here you both were.

His fingers began to trace the outline of your entrance; whisper like touches that made you clench around nothing. He began experimentally pushing his long slender middle finger inside you a little; chuckling lowly as you let out a whine. Your pussy trying to suck him in further. Wanting to feel him. All of him.

"Sir. Please." You murmured, legs that were now free from his grasp allowing you to rotate your hips.

He wanted to tease. God. He wanted to tease you until the sun came up. But he was desperate and so were you. He removed his finger earning a cry from you. Until he slid in two fingers to your shock and set a brutal pace. Feeling those godly fingers of his curl into you. Moulding you perfectly to him. Tapping against that sweet spot inside. He used his other hand to press your hips to the bed; preventing movement as you felt a touch of sensitivity kicking in. But you put it to the back of your mind; focussing on the way his fingers were drilling into you at an inhuman pace now.

Your senses heightened due to his silk tie that blocked your view. Oh how you wished you could watch his fingers sliding in and out of you like you had done countless times before. Acquiring quite the affinity with the mans hands. Pale, veiny; strong in their ability to hold you but soft when he caressed your cheek, wiping the spit away from the corner of your mouth or the pad of his thumb sweeping away tears from overstimulation. God you loved them.

"Fuck. I'm so close." You cried out, to someone. Anyone who could hear you as he continued his ministrations.

"Yeah? The slut loves my fingers doesn't she?" Yoongi spat; his voice laced with venom.

"Loves my fingers fucking her, huh?"

All you could do was mewl as you could feel your body going into overdrive. Your head slamming against the pillow as you could feel yourself near the edge. Just needing one final push.

"But you love it best when my hand's around your throat. Isn't that right? Slut?"

You hadn't felt his hand move. Too lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Until you felt it grip your throat. Not hard. But just enough. Squeezing when he said slut. Sparks flew and your fingers and toes felt as if they were set to a light simmer. Your body going numb at the feeling and your pussy throbbing as you came. A high pitched moan of his name left your bitten lips as he continued thrusting his fingers in and out of you. Body moving in time with your spasming cunt as you began to feel the overstimulation kicking in, rearing its ugly head once more. The pain was excruciating as he continued but the pleasure washed over you again as your entrance continued to clench around his fingers. Silence as a moan caught in your throat. This had to be the biggest orgasm you had ever had. Nerves set alight with matches and turning into a forest fire that exploded like gasoline until it set to a simmer when Yoongi slowed his fingers down ever so slightly. Enamoured by your head thrown back and your mouth in the perfect shape of an O. He would've cum right there, just at the sight of you convulsing beneath him.

"Cause he's off to pay his crimes, and he's got no time for mine'

"Fuck, me." He breathed, shaky breaths too.

Quickly flipping you onto your front, your still tied arms now crossed over one another. Propping your legs up so you were on your knees. A sharp smack to your ass sent you reeling into another sobbing mess. Beginning to plead with him. For something; anything.

Soon enough you felt his hands returning to your hips and ass, caressing them carefully. Your ass flinching at the contact of his lips on your lower back, you could hear a slight slapping sound behind you, assuming he had started to touch himself again. You whimpered at the thought of not being able to watch his veiny hand slide up and down his equally veiny cock. Fuck.

His lips still against your skin as he whispered "I nearly came just like that, watching you cum all over my fingers baby."

There it was again. Baby. Nothing more nothing less. There was a pregnant pause before he sighed, beginning to speak again.

"You're so fucking hot" a groan sounded as the pace of his hand quickened against his length. The slapping sound intensified.

You whimpered, beginning to move your ass up and down, wiggling it at him to invite him in.

"Yoongi, just fuck me already." You whined.

A sharp slap sounded against your ass, reverberating through the room. You winced at the pain, taking in a quick breath before a hand returned to your ass kneading it in his palm.

"Slut is so impatient today. I'll fuck you, don't worry." His words were menacing.

'Now we're lost somewhere in outer space, in a hotel room where demons play'

His hand continued to knead at your reddening cheek before pulling it aside with his thumb, showing your dripping, waiting entrance for him. He almost lost it. Almost. Deciding that you had both waited long enough he lined his throbbing condom clad cock up with your entrance and pushed in with great speed. Hissing at the feeling of your tight wet walls surrounding him.

"Oh god." You managed a strangled whimper into the mattress.

Breath caught in your throat as you could feel his dick beginning to move swiftly inside you. His hips slapping against your ass that was sure to bruise tomorrow, your wrists were aching, your body going numb to every other feeling apart from the feeling of him ploughing into you. Your vision was starry eyed and you hated it. But you loved it. Sobs began to rack through your body as he spanked you once again, sending waves of pain and pleasure through you.

His pace continued as all you could do was lie there with your hands tied, begging for anything he was willing to give you. But also feeling the familiar sting of too much. But it was never too much. You willed your body to continue on. To not give up the ghost yet. You prayed for your body to fight on. To take every thrust he battered into your throbbing, weeping pussy.

The coil you had almost forgotten existed now in the plains of numb, vacant ability to even string a sentence together, began to tighten again, expecting a fraying spent body, not one this eager for your umpteenth orgasm this evening. Your pussy clenched as he continued, hollow groans you imagine him with his head back as he thrusted into you, licking his perfect lips with that sinful tongue. God, he made you crazy.

"Yoongiiiiii, fuck I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, please" your tone indescribable as you panted for breath that escaped you with every thrust as his skin continued to slap against yours.

Suddenly feeling him pull out which almost made you weep but being turned back over onto your back, the tie being ripped from off your head. You were greeted by a furiously sweating Yoongi. Sweat dripping from his dark chocolatey hair just above his eyes. His lips swollen pink from where he had probably been biting on them so much, not to mention when he had used the same lips to devour you not 20 minutes prior. His chest was heaving and lips parted as he gazed at you for a moment.

"I'm seeing that gorgeous face when you cum, no way I'm missing that." He stifled a laugh as he lined himself up with your entrance again after wrapping your legs around his torso.

'They run around beneath our feet, we roll around beneath these sheets'

Sliding in once more you rattled your wrists against the silk tie restraints as you cocked your head back in pleasure. You let out a high pitch moan, almost exasperated in tone, your back arching up into him before slumping back on the bed in defeat. Yoongi almost reading your mind whilst still thrusting inside of you began to untie the ties that bound your wrists. You thanked heaven for your saving grace. You could run your hands through his hair now, feel his sweaty skin beneath your fingertips. And soon after your hands were free he laced them in his own. This also being new to you. You knew the drill when having sex with him. He laid down the ground rules early on. No kissing. No cuddling. No hand holding. So what he did next really sent you through a loop.

"Fuck I'm close." He sighed before leaning down to kiss you.

His lips were salty, battered and bruised much like your own but you didn't care, you kissed back with all your might as he continued to thrust away inside you. Feeling his cock hit that sweet spot again you mewled, breaking the kiss with your head thrown back.

"Here kitten?" He asked, smirk evident in his voice.

You whimpered with a nod as he continued to thrust in the right place, hitting your spot so deliciously you couldn't help cry out when his pace turned rampant and he held your hips in his bone crushing hands, sure to bruise tomorrow. The punishing pace was set as his hips bucked into you and you tried to grab at anything you could, finding no sturdy comfort in the crisp white hotel sheets beneath you. Your breathing was erratic, you hadn't realised you'd been sweating until now, although not as much as the man above you. You watched in distracted awe at the sweat running down his broad chest, along his stomach and down to where his cock was pummelling into you.

You could feel it again, serious this time. Your orgasm creeping up on you faster than any bullet. Your legs tingled and your toes curled. Your knees felt like they would break and your arms felt detached from the rest of your body. In the last moments you saw him gazing down at you, exasperated, fucked out beyond belief. But smiling. You reached up at the nape of his neck and pulled him down to you, pressing your lips against his as you succumbed to the pleasure that wreaked havoc throughout your body. A heart wrenching shout came from your lips. In every moment, a glitch of your body as it spasmed with unruly disregard and poor timing. Your pussy clenched repeatedly on his cock while he continued to thrust inside of you.

"Oh fuuuck, I'm coming." He groaned into your neck as he used hard, purposeful thrusts as he came in the condom.

'He's coming down, coming down'

The sweat that accumulated on both your bodies cemented you together for moments after. All pretence and notions suspended as you both caught your breath back. Heaving. Breathing one another in. Soon Yoongi peeled himself off of you and went to remove the condom. You lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Stars still there. You weren't imagining it in the end. Scraping your hair from off your face as you wiped the sweat from your brow. Soon he returned, bouncing onto the bed next to you, looking up at you in adoration almost. A nervous smile present on his lips as if he didn't just drag you to the 7th layer of hell with him. Or was it heaven? You could never be sure.

You looked over at him with heavy lids, inquisitive look on your face as he swept hair from your shoulder. Looking down at you with that same smile. Before -

"You fancy going on a date, some time?"

NOW Mr Min is usually not my main man but i can't help it, just, shit okay Min Yoongi.

I realise I'm probably going to hell for this but we joon

Hope you guys enjoyed, working on the next installment as we speak 🤪 if you want to be added to a taglist let me know 🥴

Love Always

Mac 🧡💜

#BADLANDS x BTS #smut series #myg x reader #non idol au #min yoongi smut #this is intense #i can only apologise #bts #bangtan #bts smut

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initiala · 3 years

Text

Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would.

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

---------------------------------------------------------

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

--------------------------------------------

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out.

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

------------------------------------------------------

The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

-------------------------------------------------------

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again.

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

----------------------------------------------------

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs smut #cs fluff #amanda writes #cssns #oh god it's been so fucking long #please yell at me in reviews it will help me move faster

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norcumii · 3 years

Text

...oh thanks, Tumblr, it wasn’t like I was trying to answer that ask or anything. -_-

OHKAY. Take two! For this trope mashup meme, @dogmatix asked:

Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Apocalyse AU / Mermaid/Siren AU / Aroused by their voice

This modern!AU got a liiiiiittle bit more absurdist than planned, but NO REGRETS. Assistance was provided by @dharmaavocado and @deadcatwithaflamethrower -- THANK YOU BOTH!

*****

There was a lovely breeze coming in across the ocean, the sky had just enough puffy white clouds to keep things interesting, and Rex was taking a maintenance day. The last family group of tourists to charter a day trip had included several children that were at least two parts sticky and three parts grime. His poor Vigilance needed a serious scrub down, and Rex was not looking forward to restocking. Small Grubby Fiend 1 had stumbled – supposedly due to a sudden swell, but more likely because Small Grubby Fiends 2 and 3 hadn’t stopped ‘not kicking’ each other for way too long. Not being an entire idiot, Rex has gone right for the band-aids with cartoon characters, but since it wasn’t a cartoon Small Grubby Fiend 1 liked, that meant another – until all three Small Grubby Fiends had been plastered with far more of his first aid kit than was good for anyone.

It had been a long day.

So there he was, untangling life-vests that hadn’t even been used, while singing along with whatever music was playing from the boat’s speakers. Rex wasn’t sure if the music was pop, rock, or some other unholy category he’d never heard of, but thankfully it didn’t matter. He liked it, and could figure out which of Tup’s mix tapes it was on, which was the important thing.

Tup always made hilarious offended noises when Rex called them mix tapes, which was a significant reason why he did so. They were music folders, sensibly labeled by mood, because his little brother had realized at some point that was the only way to keep Rex up to date on anything past the 90’s grunge music.

Tup’s accusation, not his. Rex damn well knew how to use a radio – several kinds of radio, thank you very much.

He was several songs into mind-numbing chores when he spotted a flash of red streaking under the dock, and Rex ducked his head to hide a grin. He’d started spotting movement like that a couple of weeks ago, around the time the neighbors descended on their beach house. There were several ginger teenagers, so he figured one of them was a hell of a water rat who had damn odd taste in music.

To be fair, so did he.

It’d been weird at first, realizing he had an audience that disappeared the moment he acknowledged their existence. But the most he heard or saw out of them beyond the momentary glimpse was a bit of percussion, someone drumming in time against the water – and once, the dock itself – so Rex had shrugged and accepted their presence. It was kinda nice, actually, just to have someone around. He lived a ways off the end of a long, sparsely populated road, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, sometimes you just wanted another–

Rex’s train of thought went off the rails with a loud yelp as he discovered something slimy stuck to the back of a life-vest. It might have been edible once – it was a shade of radioactive green he didn’t associate with anything other than candy or video games, at least, so that was his best guess. Much as he wanted to blame the Small Grubby Fiends, he hadn’t done more than a spot check of these vests for awhile – could’ve been anyone.

Ugh. At least unlike some clients he could name, Rex’s eavesdropper wasn’t vandalizing anything. Wasn’t about to begrudge that.

Rex had managed to get most of the neon green grossness cleared when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting visitors, not that that had ever stopped any of his brothers. Lost delivery drivers usually turned around before hitting up the driveway, which was long enough and had enough private property signs to keep out idiots looking for easy water access.

“Who the hell is this?” he muttered, setting the vest aside. He didn’t recognize the little black car, or the burly guy stepping out of the passenger’s side, but the guy waved and casually started towards Rex as if he knew who the hell he was.

Not reassuring, especially since the stranger rapped the car’s roof, and it headed back up the driveway.

“You seem lost,” Rex said, standing up and trying to look just the right level of intimidating.

“Nope,” the guy said back, still heading towards him. “Need your boat.”

“That’s work related – you need to wait till I’m back at the marina tomorrow. I’m at home, it’s my day off.”

Burly guy finally stopped, planting his hands on his hips – a move which just happened to part the jacket of his cheap suit enough that Rex could see the gun he carried. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Fett. I don't want any trouble – I just want you to head inside, and take that day off while I borrow your boat.”

Oh, FUCK. Nobody really talked about how the mob owned most of the marinas in Tatooine Bay, but you didn’t need to declare water was wet to get drenched in the rain. It just wasn’t something that ever happened to someone you knew, just friends of friends or something.

“And if I don’t agree?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

Burly Guy had a surprisingly expressive shrug. “Most people don’t enjoy pushing their luck that far.”

To his credit, it was a remarkably polite threat. “I’m surprised anyone ever does.”

“Eh, every now and then there’s some freaky masochist looking for cheap thrills, but it ain’t my kink. Don’t think it’s yours, either, so if you’d just head inside, that’d be appreciated.”

The smart move was probably to comply. Rex wasn’t inclined to cooperate anyways. He was saved from making either bad decision by...sound.

It didn’t register as singing – there was something too off about it, a combination that wasn’t quite autotune, or that polyphonic singing Echo had gotten into when Fives got obsessed with the guitar. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right in a way that was madly distracting.

The...singing? – pulled both Rex and the goon around towards the end of the dock, and if Rex hadn’t been so muzzy-headed from that sound he would have been gaping much more blatantly.

There was someone slipping out from under the dock, and it was most definitely not one of the neighbors.

It was a trim, shirtless figure in the water – ginger indeed, short red hair just dry enough to be messy spikes. Pale skin was freckled in scales of shimmering reds, protective lines over what would be vulnerable areas on a human. It swam close enough to the surface that Rex could see the sleek fins and tail, and part of his brain kept screaming ‘mermaid!’ while the rest took in the long, sharp claws on webbed hands and whispered ‘predator.’ Its singing showed sharply pointed teeth, and it should not have been nearly that gorgeous.

The mermaid glanced over at him, eyes a deep blue-on-blue that could never masquerade as human, flicking a look up and down him that could have been flattering or terrifying – it all depended on if that was measuring him for a meal euphemistically or not.

The singing changed as the creature turned its attention back to the goon, and the magnetic pull on Rex lessened. He staggered back a step, not too surprised to find he was halfway down the dock without noticing. The hazy feeling in his brain stopped, or at least dropped down to levels that were close enough to normal, so he got a clear view as the goon started walking into the water, oblivious to everything except the mer-siren-thing he was shambling towards.

The siren moved when the goon was almost waist deep in the water, flowing forward to delicately place a hand at the goon’s throat. The singing continued, but now there was a new undertone, soft and somehow questioning. Rex couldn’t tell if there were words to it or not – maybe a whole other language for all he knew – but the goon responded, voice soft enough that he couldn’t make out what was said.

Whatever he said, it didn’t please the siren. It kept singing, but it snarled, showing more of those pointed teeth, then it twisted and dove, hauling the unresisting goon under the water.

A terrifying few moments more, and the last hums of the song seemed to stop vibrating through the water.

“What the absolute fuck?” Rex said numbly. Thank everything, no one answered.

A smart man would’ve hidden inside, or driven off to a movie theater or something – inland and away. Rex wasn’t sure why he stayed: curiosity – morbid or otherwise – shock, or a healthy disbelief in the whole debacle. He was maybe a bit too numb to not have some kind of shock, but –

He felt like he maybe deserved it. “Yeah, I can have a bit of shock,” Rex muttered to himself. “As a treat.”

Okay, he might have more than a bit. But by the time the siren poked his head out of the water again – politely out of arms’ reach – Rex had calmed down a decent degree. They just looked at each other for a bit, then the siren gave him a polite nod.

“Hello there,” he said in a pleasant, deep voice with a hell of an accent.

Rex held up a hand, needing a moment. Of fucking course the British even colonized under the goddamned sea. “Hi. You speak English.” It wasn’t quite the most inane thing he could’ve said, but his brain hadn’t managed to catch up yet.

He was talking to a goddamned mermaid who had just kidnapped and possibly eaten some mob thug who’d been trying to take Rex’s boat. It had been a day.

“You’re not the first land-dweller I’ve made the acquaintance of.”

Rex absolutely refused to make any kind of a crack about being charmed. There was too much hysteria lurking in there. “Speaking of acquaintances, you didn’t, ah, kill that guy, did you?”

The siren’s lips pulled back from his teeth a little. “I still haven’t decided what to do with him, so right now he’s out of the way.” He must’ve seen something impressive in Rex’s expression, because the angry disdain smoothed over to something more neutral. “He’s stashed in a cave I know. Enough air to breathe, but the only entrance is underwater and too far for most humans to swim without assistance.”

That was...a lot. “Thanks for the help.”

The siren smiled, an oddly sweet, bashful expression. “I’d be a very poor guest if I didn’t assist.” He cleared his throat, his expression going awkward. “Though I...suppose ‘guest’ is a bit presumptive.”

Rex grinned. “No, I spotted you a couple weeks ago – ah, I mean, sort of.” Before he could make more a hash of that, he cleared his throat. “The name’s Rex.”

The siren folded his hands together and did a little bow thing. “Obi-Wan. Pleasure to meet you.”

He wasn’t blushing. He absolutely was not blushing. “So...you in town for long?” Ok, now he was blushing, that was worst subject change ever meeting worst fishing attempt – meeting worst and wildly inappropriate pun.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, sorrow way too visible in those non-human eyes. “I suppose you could say that. I...no longer have a home to return to.”

Definitely not a topic to change to. Right. Rex cleared his throat and shifted. “Well. You’re welcome anytime, for what that’s worth.”

The slow-growing smile didn’t remove that sorrow, but it did kindle something warm inside. This was at least three different kinds of trouble, but Rex didn’t think he’d regret any of it.

~end

#star wars #My writing #meme #trope mashup #Rex/Obi #mermaid #dogmatix #still not thrilled with how it wraps but it's certainly not the worst fic ending I've read recently #oh I'm still salty #whoops?#meanwhile there's several lines in here i adore more than is reasonable #AND I DON'T CARE

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

Text

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH4

one // two // three

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, cheating

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // im so sorry to the vanilla beans for this one xxxx

Green was definitely your colour. At least that’s what George thought as you ran down the stairs, the dress you were wearing was elegant and sophisticated but still casual, George thought you looked absolutely ravishing in everything you wore. You smiled lovingly at him when you caught him staring. You hadn't spoke to Fred since the incident when he tried to kiss you, having well and truly avoided the topic for at least 3 days. you were not looking forward to having to feign your love for each other.

Despite the fact that Fred had already apologised, it didn't make things any easier. "You look beautiful." he stated, as you straightened his tie and flattened down his hair, "And you look a mess, Fred". His tired eyes looked at you pleadingly, as his hands came up to button his suit jacket. George and his heavy stride came barrelling down the stairs, when you spotted him, he looked like a work of art, his features were glowing and he was clean shaven, perfect hair hanging and framing his face, a request from you that he should grow it out a little more than usual. He didn't look stressed or worried like Fred did, and in this moment you realised the toll that days like this took on Fred and George did too.

The shop was perfectly pristine, the new massive display fully stocked and the centre of attention, Fred had briefed the employees this morning, making sure that they knew the drill. Crowds and the press were all gathered outside in anticipation, the volume growing so much that you began to hear it from within the confines of the shop.

When the doors swung open, it well and truly became show time. You hung delicately off of Fred's arm, as you stepped out of the opening doors, huge flashes of cameras, as well as cheers of excitement all bombarded your senses, however it was nothing compared to the thrill of the stadium.

Fred began to deliver the speech about the new line of products, taking a moment to thank the investors and patrons of the shop, George followed on by unveiling the collection of items from the new line, the gorgeous green packaging complimenting your dress perfectly. Your eyes were fixated on the man of your dreams as he talked with such passion and vigour. You had to remind yourself that there were hundreds if not, thousands of eyes on you and that you probably shouldn't have been staring at George the way you were but you just couldn't help it. Fred once again takes to the stage to begin the personal thank yous before the store opens.

"we want to thank the family for their continued support in our endeavours, also, Cheryl, our press manager and last but very not least my gorgeous girl, who has been with us every step of the way." he beckoned you onto the stage, as he continued, "Even though she has quidditch practice out of her ears for the big game next week, she always finds the time to brighten my day." His hand snuck around your waist before travelling down to firmly grab your ass.

Fred's mind was racing, he thought that here would be the perfect opportunity to finally have his lips on yours, crashing them down onto you without even a second thought. There was absolutely no way you could pull away in front of everyone, you were conflicted. The frantic flashing, as well as cheers and woos from the crowd were distraction enough. It was stopping you from hurling sick directly into his mouth at the thought of George being subjected to this bullshit.

George watched the events unfold before him, stopping himself from ripping you away protectively. He wanted to cut off Fred's hand more than ever, disgusted that he had the balls to grab your perfect ass so candidly in public - an ass that didn't even belong to him. George was absolutely livid, he could tell your discomfort a mile away. His heart shattering at how hopeless and weak you were to the situation.

The doors of the shop finally opened and shoppers began to swarm in, ready to grab the latest products and creating a comforting blanket of noise. Cherry was smiling happily at you, sending a wink and a thumbs up your way. Your eyes however were searching for your Lover, disappointed he was nowhere to be seen, you pull out your phone to see a text from less than a minute ago.

>> Toilets, Now. Don't make me wait x

This was not good, but your heart raced faster with every step you took towards the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar when you got there, slipping into the cosy room you noticed George there and waiting, you shut the door behind you, flicking the lock before you heard him cast a silencing charm on the room, you heard the sounds of the bustling shop slowly fade, leaving the only audible sound as your staggered breath.

George's strong hand was on your cheek as he kissed you passionately. This kiss felt right, a thousand sparks of electricity coursing through you the very second your lips touched and you felt as if the whole world was spinning. His lips were the perfect warmth against yours, the sticky saliva rolling off both of your tongues as he parted your lips with his, taking the opportunity to swipe his tongue over yours, letting you know who you belonged to. He was moaning into your mouth, an action that made your cunt throb with anticipation. He pulled away only enough to spit directly into your mouth before feverishly shoving you down to your knees. "Use that wet mouth of yours, now Princess."

Your needy hands were unbuckling his belt, metal clinking against itself as you pulled his hard on out from his trousers, you obliged immediately, lips wrapping around his cock as you sucked, taking him deep down your throat. The sounds you made as you gagged on his thick shaft were sending him to heaven, his hand was firmly gripping your jaw as he coaxed nearly his whole length down your throat. You pulled away for air, moaning as he slipped out of your mouth, your hand came up to stroke him quickly before taking him past your lips again. This time however, George took no solace as his hand gripped into your hair, making it the perfect leverage to hold your face in place as he rocked his hips, cock fucking every flicker of anger directly down your throat. Hearing you choke and splutter with every thrust was only egging him on more, it was one of his favourite sounds and he couldn't get enough.

"I hope he fuckling likes how my cock tastes." he growled as he locked eyes with you. "That's it take it all, my good little cockwhore." he was still fucking your mouth, chasing his own release, your hands gripped the back of his thighs as he pushed himself fully into your mouth, hot streams of his cum hitting the back of your throat, spilling out of your mouth as he pulled himself free. His thumb swiped from the corner of your mouth, "Swallow like a good little girl." he marvelled at you eagerly taking his thumb into your mouth. He smiled proudly when you opened your mouth, seeing every last drop gone.

You loved it when George used your mouth like a fuck toy, it didn't happen often, but when it did, he was often angry like now or stressed and desperate for a release. "Up. get up on the sink." he commanded, you immediately pulled yourself to your feet, sitting up on the sink, his hands coming up to spread your legs apart as he found himself on his knees before you. "Tell me who you belong to." you sighed as his finger hooked quickly into your underwear pulling it to the side, you felt his breath fanning over your exposed pussy. "You, George, only you."

"Good, let's see if Daddy can help his pretty girl then, hm?" His sinful lips had attached to your clit, sucking slowly as his tongue lapped over it, the pleasure of being touched pulled a long desperate moan from you, you thanked that he had at least silenced the room, because with every motion and movement of his skilled tongue, you were moaning and spluttering, desperate to have a release. "Georgie, your tongue is so good!" he hummed in appreciation, thumb running through your sticky sweetness before coming up to circle over your clit at an antagonising rate. "I wanna cum daddy, please, feels too good." he chuckled, lips pressing dainty kisses along your inner thighs and right over your tight hole, before blowing a gentle cool breeze over your whole wet and glistening cunt.

His hands found your thighs, hooking them into his arms to move and press your back against the wall. "I don't even care if we get caught or if I'm taking too long anymore, you're mine and I fuck you when I want." he pulled your hips down onto him, making you bounce against him a little, you knew it wouldn't take you long to be coming all over him, you were already a blubbering mess for him, pulling every moan from your lips as he kissed you feverishly. He knew he'd hit the right spot when you clenched all around him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He pulled out of you, leaving you sat on the counter as your legs still shook from the orgasm running through your muscles.

He used the mirror to make himself presentable once again, smirking as he left you blissed out on the counter, pressing a simple kiss to your lips. "Such a good girl, I love you, baby." He was out of the door before you knew it and you were left with your own juices running down your legs. You looked in the mirror, taken back by just how fucked out you looked, making yourself smile, George really did do a good job with his girl. You pulled yourself together, quickly, using a spell to fix up your hair and makeup, thankfully in time for Cherry to burst through the door. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

The small clip of her heels against the hardwood floor as you followed her to find Fred, was enough to pull you back down to earth, still high off the rush of ecstasy. It was no doubt she was wrangling you and Fred together for a picture opportunity, spotting George smirking as he clocked just how distracted you were. Smiling and posing for the cameras was second nature, Fred was watching just how happy you looked, his heart beating faster at the thought that you were smiling because of him.

"Simply another perfect kiss from a star couple!" Cherry beamed before parading off to talk to the reporters. Fred's brow furrowed, "Another?" he queried, you'd realised now that he hadn't yet seen the paper with yourself and George caught on the cover. "She's probably comparing us to someone else, Freddie." you shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, Probably." sadness falling to the pit of his stomach, the girl he was crazy for wouldn't even look at him, and he wanted nothing more than the electricity of his lips against hers once more, he needed it, no - he craved it.

>>>>> Chapter 5

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn @pigwidgexn@starkidpotty @mrmoonyy @mackaywhore @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana @kaylahmarie

#Fake It Fic #george weasley fic #george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #weasley twins #harry potter #ginger hair #harry potter fic #harry potter smut

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Welcome Christmas Surprise (Natasha Romanoff x Wife! Reader)

3rd Person POV

Natasha wakes early Christmas Eve morning, watching her wife sleep. (Y/n) had taken to sleeping on her side, facing Natasha, recently.

Natasha smiles tenderly at the (H/c) haired woman, resting her head back on her memory foam pillow, her dark ginger hair splayed out on the pillow.

(Y/n) shifts drowsily, her hand coming to rest lightly on her stomach.

Natasha turns to her side, watching her wife with a soft look in her eyes.

The door squeaks softly as the Bohemian Shepherd puppy sticks his head into the room.

Bear springs lightly onto the bed and lies down at (Y/n)’s feet.

(Y/n) sleepily opens her eyes, smiling drowsily at Natasha. “Morning, Nat,” (Y/n) says, blinking at the light streaming through the burgundy curtains.

"Morning, Love," Natasha says, leaning over, and placing a kiss on (Y/n)'s lips.

(Y/n) lets out a happy little hum, shifting closer towards her wife; her eyes fluttering closed again.

But then, (Y/n)'s eyes flash open. "What time is it?" she asks, panicking slightly.

"Hey," Natasha soothes, rubbing her thumb atop her wife's hand. "It's only eight."

(Y/n) lets out an uncomfortable noise as she raises herself from the bed, and Natasha moves her wife's pillow against the wooden headboard, and (Y/n) rests her back against the pillow.

(Y/n) turns her head slightly to the right, and smiles at Natasha.

"The others should be here around three," Natasha tells (Y/n), and the (H/c) haired woman nods thoughtfully.

Natasha and (Y/n) had bought their own house a few weeks ago, just before they had gotten married. The other Avengers, as well as Daisy, Wanda's girlfriend, Pepper, and Morgan, were coming for Christmas, and to also see the house with the couple's things in it, for the first time.

"I think I should make Christmas dinner," (Y/n) tells Natasha, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"I agree," Natasha says with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but you better help," (Y/n) says with a laugh.

"Yeah, but I burn water, so," Natasha says and (Y/n)'s eyes flicker with amusement.

"You can cut potatoes," (Y/n) replies simply.

Natasha smiles and (Y/n) leans over, placing a kiss on the redhead's lips before she gets up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom. Bear jumps up and trots after the woman before she can close the door.

A few minutes later, (Y/n) emerges from the bathroom, wearing a pair of jeans, and a Stitch Christmas sweater.

Bear trots at (Y/n)'s feet before he jumps onto the bed.

(Y/n) smiles at her wife before she climbs back into the bed, moving to snuggle up to Natasha's side, the redhead wrapping an arm around (Y/n)'s waist, pulling the (H/c) haired woman even closer. (Y/n) rests her head against Natasha's shoulder and she begins fiddling with the ends of Natasha's hair.

"You're so quiet today," Natasha says, looking at (Y/n) thoughtfully.

"I'm just excited to give you my gift," (Y/n) says simply, her eyes sparkling. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm off to start dinner at eight-thirty in the morning."

Natasha chuckles and (Y/n) kisses her cheek before getting up from the bed, Bear trotting after her.

Around two-o-clock, Wanda Maximoff, and (Y/n)'s cousin, Daisy Johnson arrive.

Wanda hugs (Y/n) tightly and Daisy smiles at her cousin brightly.

"Here, Wanda made this," Daisy tells (Y/n), handing her a nine by thirteen casserole dish of sweet potato casserole.

Daisy smiles at her girlfriend as (Y/n) takes the dish.

"Thanks, Tremors," (Y/n) nudges Daisy, "and you, Wanda."

"No problem," Wanda says, following (Y/n) into the kitchen as Daisy takes the bag of gifts that she was carrying and sets it by the Christmas tree. Natasha smiles at the brunette as Daisy sits down on the couch, the two beginning to chat animatedly.

"I'm making pie," (Y/n) says, smiling down at Wanda. "Wanna help?"

"Of course," Wanda says.

"Pumpkin or pecan or both?" (Y/n) asks, pulling ingredients from the pantry.

"Daisy's favorite is pecan and everyone likes pumpkin, so, I'd say both," Wanda says, making (Y/n) laugh.

"So, how are you and Daisy?" (Y/n) asks as she and Wanda start.

"Good," Wanda says, smiling at the thought. "How are you and Nat?" the girl liked to keep tabs on her mentors.

"Good," (Y/n) grins down at the piecrust she was rolling out.

"You're so excited about something," Wanda says, noticing the change in (Y/n)'s behavior.

It wasn't as though (Y/n) wasn't ever cheerful, but Wanda notes that she seemed a lot more excited and cheerful at the moment. Wanda chalks it to be Christmas spirit and drops it.

The doorbell rings again, and Natasha stands up from her seat next to Daisy. Natasha opens the door and smiles at Tony and Pepper, and their young daughter Morgan.

"Hey, Red," Tony says, setting down a box of gifts and hugging his daughter-in-law.

"Hi, Tony."

"Hi, Nat," Pepper smiles at the redhead, a covered dish in her hands.

"Pepper," Natasha nods to the auburn-haired woman.

"Hi, Natty," Morgan says happily, jumping into Natasha's arms.

"Heya Morgan," Natasha hugs the little girl. "Come on in, you guys," Natasha steps aside so the three could walk inside.

Tony carries the box of gifts and set them around the tree while Pepper carries the dish into the kitchen where she finds (Y/n) and Wanda sliding four pies - one pecan and three pumpkin - into the oven, and she sets the dish on the counter.

"Pepper!" (Y/n) rushes over to hug her step-mother.

Pepper laughs, returning the hug warmly, "Hi, (Y/n), Wanda."

The witch smiles at Pepper and accepts the hug Pepper offers.

"It's good to see you, (Y/n)," Pepper says as she sits down on one of the barstools against the island.

"As am I," (Y/n) says, sliding a ham out of a second oven.

"You've been busy?" Pepper asks.

"Well, you know Tasha can't cook, but it hasn't been too bad," (Y/n) answers, looking up from the mashed potatoes and gravy on the stovetop. "She helped me chop a lot of things."

By three-fifteen, everyone had arrived. Steve, his boyfriend Bucky, Sam, (Y/n)'s uncle Rhodey, Bruce, Clint, Laura, Lila, Cooper, Nathanial, Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, and his team - Mack, Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Melinda May, and Elena Rodriguez - and finally Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter.

Phil walks into the kitchen to find his honorary daughter pulling things out of one of the ovens.

"Hi, (Y/n)," he says, taking a potholder and pulling things out of the second.

"Dad, when did you guys get here?" (Y/n) asks, looking over at Coulson.

"The team and I got here a few minutes ago. Let's just say Cap was a little surprised to see me," Coulson says and (Y/n) chuckles.

"Wanna help me carry this out into the dining room?" (Y/n) asks, grabbing a dish from off the granite countertop.

As Natasha sees (Y/n) and Coulson bringing out dishes, she excuses herself from her conversation with Wanda and Daisy and goes to help; a moment later, everyone was helping move food into the dining room.

Once everything, except the deserts, was on the table, Natasha nudges her wife into the chair at the head of the table.

(Y/n) stands up once everyone's seated at the table and everyone turns to look at her.

"We're really happy that you guys could come out today," (Y/n) says, then pauses. "That was the most formal sounding I've been in my whole life," she smiles and everyone chuckles. "Eat food, it's there," (Y/n) sits down, and everyone cheers.

Natasha smiles at her wife and passes her a bowl of mashed potatoes.

(Y/n) winks at Natasha as she takes a scoop of the potatoes and passes them to Wanda, who was sitting on her left.

The conversations at the dinner table were cheerful and Wanda, Pepper, and Jemma help (Y/n) clean the dishes before everyone sits around the living room to open gifts.

Natasha smiles as (Y/n) leans into her on one of the many couches in the living room.

"You okay?" Natasha murmurs in (Y/n)'s ear.

"Yeah, just a little tired," (Y/n) answers with a tender smile.

The group opens their gifts until (Y/n) gets up towards the end and grabs a final gift from the back of her closet.

(Y/n) stands in the doorway, watching as everyone opens their last gifts.

After a moment, (Y/n) walks over and kneels in front of Morgan.

"Wait until everyone is done, then open this one," (Y/n) murmurs in the girl's ear.

Morgan looks curiously at her older sister but then nods.

Natasha glances at (Y/n) as she walks back over and sits beside her on the couch, scooting over, their shoulders brushing.

(Y/n) suppresses a grin as Morgan opens her last gift from (Y/n).

Morgan looks excitedly up at (Y/n) as she reads what's written on the shirt.

"What does it say?" Tony asks, the excited look on his youngest daughter's eyes making him curious.

Morgan turns the shirt around so everyone can see what's written on it, Only the best sister gets promoted to an aunt.

Natasha looks wide-eyed at (Y/n) as everyone begins to give their congratulations.

(Y/n) nods and Natasha wraps her wife in a tight hug. "Are you really pregnant?" Natasha murmurs into (Y/n)'s ear.

"Yeah," (Y/n) breathes, placing a kiss on her wife's lips.

"I'm so excited," Natasha says, then looks over at Tony and Coulson, whose eyes were wide. "I think you broke your dads."

(Y/n) kisses Natasha on the cheek before walking over to Tony, being stopped a couple of times by her friends, who continue to offer their congratulations, but then move off to congratulate Natasha.

(Y/n) sits down beside Tony on the couch, and places a hand on his arm. This jolts Tony out of his reverie.

"Dad, are you okay?" (Y/n) asks, her worry showing in her eyes.

Tony's eyes soften, and he wraps his daughter in a hug.

(Y/n) lets out a laugh, returning the hug.

"I'm happy for you two," Tony says, pulling his daughter to look at her arm's length away.

"Aww, thanks Grandad," (Y/n) says with a small laugh, leaning forward and kissing her father on the cheek. "Love you. Now I've got to go shock Coulson out of his own reverie."

(Y/n) crosses the living room, glancing back over her shoulder at all their friends and family congregated around Natasha, and the bright smile on the redhead's face.

"Congratulations," Jemma says, bounding over to (Y/n) before she can reach Coulson.

"Thanks, Jemma," (Y/n) steps forward, wrapping her scientist friend in a tight hug.

"You going to help Coulson?" Jemma asks, her British accent prominent in her question.

"Sadly, he still gets shocked by things that come out of my mouth," (Y/n) grumbles.

"Well, good luck," Jemma says with a smile, and Fitz, who had walked over, grins at (Y/n).

As (Y/n) reaches Coulson, she sits down on the couch. The two have a similar conversation to (Y/n) and Tony's, and it ends with a hug.

"Now, go see your wife before she kills us all," Coulson says and (Y/n) looks over, catching Natasha's eye.

"I guess I will then," (Y/n) rises to her feet. "Love you, Dad."

Coulson smiles. "Love you too, kid."

(Y/n) crosses the living room, and makes her way through the group surrounding Natasha, and sitting down on the couch beside her. Natasha wraps her arm around (Y/n)'s waist, and (Y/n) lies her head on Natasha's shoulder.

After about half-an-hour, everyone clears out of the house, leaving Natasha and (Y/n) alone.

"I can't believe we're going to have kids," Natasha says, leaning her head against (Y/n)'s.

"I'm so excited," (Y/n) murmurs, closing her eyes. Bear jumps onto the couch, resting his head on her knee.

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freddiefiction · 3 years

Text

Jimercury kid series (pt.44)

Warning for the death of an animal. Credit goes to the anon who requested Oscar spending his last moments at GL. Credit also goes to @idontknowhowthisworked who suggested Freddie hanging up Khaleel’s paintings in the house.

Leaving Queen behind had been far from easy. But Freddie found himself adapting to a quiet life out of the spotlight far more easily than he’d originally expected. Of course, the press had a field day when the band announced their split, publishing all sorts of ridiculous theories as to what had caused the breakup (his personal favourite was a claim that Brian had actually died in ’75 and been replaced by a lookalike.)

But while the world mourned, Freddie had yet to feel an ounce of remorse for his decision. He loved to perform; his heart leapt at every beat of the drums, every flash of the stage lights. But nothing, not even music, gave him more joy than hearing Khaleel’s footsteps on the stairs, seeing his excited smile as he scampered into the kitchen for breakfast, and listening to him babble about what he wanted them to do together that day.

Khaleel was a gift that he didn’t deserve.

This particular morning, Freddie had taken him on a shopping trip to Selfridges, ensuring there were special arrangements in place for them to enter and leave without being detected by any paparazzi or fans. The purpose of their journey was to buy some picture frames for Khaleel’s paintings, which his Baba insisted on hanging around the house, but quickly descended into Freddie buying the boy a whole new wardrobe purely out of a desire to spoil him. They returned to Garden Lodge ladened down with bags, Freddie mentally preparing himself for the scolding that was inevitably coming his way.

That lad is pampered enough, he heard Jim’s Irish voice growl in his head, he doesn’t need any more clothes!

But as soon as he set foot in the house, Freddie knew something was wrong. When he called for Jim, he didn’t get an answer and he found his husband standing in the kitchen with Phoebe, looking unusually pale. His heart immediately went tight in his chest and he gently shooed Khaleel upstairs to put his clothes away so he could speak to the Irishman alone.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked desperately once the boy had left, his hands shaking involuntarily. ‘Are you alright? Is it my parents? Please, darling, tell me.’

Jim glanced at Phoebe, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He took a deep breath and went over to Freddie, cupping his face in his hands.

‘It’s Oscar, love. He doesn’t have much time left.’

‘You know Oscar’s technically stolen property?’ Freddie chuckled weakly, another tear spilling down his cheek. ‘Took him off an ex-boyfriend who cheated on me. Flew him right out to the airport and told him to pack his bags but leave the cat.’

Oscar had been ill for several months now. Jo Mundy, the neighbour who had taken him in, had kindly kept Freddie and Jim updated about his condition, and in return Freddie had covered Oscar’s vet bills to save her the expense. Oscar was still, after all, one of his children as far as he was concerned.

Today, Jim received the phone call they had all been dreading. The last few days, the ginger tom had been refusing to eat and was spending most of his time either sleeping or staring blankly into space. The vet determined that, while he wasn’t in any pain, he was clearly on his last legs and Jo had been kind enough to allow Oscar to spend his final hours with his old family. They all gathered in the lounge by the fireplace, Oscar tucked in a little blue blanket like a newborn baby, nestled safely in Freddie’s arms.

‘You don’t think he’s in any pain, do you?’ Freddie asked, allowing another tear to fall.

Beside him, Jim shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’ He reached over and gently petted the tom between the ears, smiling thinly at the soft purr this earned. ‘I think he’s ready. He knows that, wherever he’s going, he’ll never have to worry about being sick again.’

Khaleel was silent, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. Oscar had moved himself out long before the child arrived at Garden Lodge, but whenever the ginger cat climbed over the brick wall for a visit, Khaleel would spend hours with him in the garden, mucking around with the laser pointer Phoebe bought, or just lying with the cat on the grass, watching the clouds. Oscar had never been wild about children, but the bond he had with Khaleel was truly special. He even let him rub his belly, which was something even Freddie couldn’t get away with.

The little boy reached out and carefully stroked the soft fur, bottom lip trembling when Oscar weakly turned his head and began licking his hand with his sandpaper tongue.

‘I don’t want him to go.’ Khaleel sobbed, tears dribbling down his cheeks. ‘Why does he have to go, Dad?’

Jim held out his arms for his son to nestle into, gently stroking his dark curls. ‘I don’t want him to go either, pet. But we all have to go sometime. That’s just the way it is.’

‘It’s not fair.’ Khaleel buried his face into Jim’s front, wetting it with his tears. ‘It’s not fair, Dad, it’s not fair.’

‘I know, my love.’ Jim felt his eyes begin to sting but was determined not to fall apart in front of his child. He had to be strong for them all. ‘I know.’

After a while, Oscar’s breathing began to slow down, and Freddie knew he didn’t have long left. Phoebe made them all a cup of tea, but it was more for something to do, as no one was really in the mood to drink anything. As the clock neared midnight, Freddie leaned down and murmured into the little orange ear poking out from the blanket.

‘You’ll be alright, my lovely boy. You know why? Because your sister Tiffany is waiting for you. You’ll both be together soon; you’ll be in a place where you’ll never feel pain again, with all the toys and treats that you want.’ He felt his voice begin to tremble. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more for you, darling. I’m so very sorry. But you don’t have to worry; when you go to sleep, you’ll wake up somewhere warm and safe. We love you so much, Oscar. And we’re never going to forget you.’

By the time he had finished speaking, Oscar was already still. Phoebe came over, checked the cat’s eyes just to be sure; but when he saw the blanket had been soiled, it confirmed their worst fears. Freddie reluctantly allowed Phoebe to take the body away to be cleaned and burst into tears the moment Oscar left his arms; he cried uncontrollably like a child, too overwhelmed by grief to even be embarrassed. Jim pulled him into his arms and rocked him back and forth, stroking his hair in an effort to soothe him. Khaleel joined the hug, also weeping, and they all cried together for several uninterrupted minutes until Phoebe returned with the little blue bundle, clean and smelling of the dry shampoo they used for whenever the cats came in reeking of the garden.

‘He looks so peaceful.’ Freddie murmured, running his hand up and down the stiff body, knowing he would never hear it purr again.

Jim sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. ‘You gave him the best life he could have possibly lived. He was so lucky to have you, sweetheart.’

Freddie considered himself the lucky one. His cats had always been there with him, through thick and thin. They were his children in everything but biology. And Oscar was one of the first to ever set their paws on Garden Lodge soil.

He had already decided where they were going to bury him. Under the dining room window, where Tiffany resided. He felt it only right that they should be together.

Freddie wiped the last of his tears away and leaned down to place a kiss between the cat’s ears, before turning to Khaleel. ‘Give Oscar a kiss, darling. It’s time for him to go now.’

It took everything within him not to cry again as he watched Khaleel kiss the cat between the eyes, before Jim bent down to do the same. Once they were ready, Phoebe carefully took the bundle and left with Jim to begin preparing the grave outside. Freddie remained in the lounge by the fireplace, Khaleel cradled on his lap, the two of them shedding silent tears until the child eventually drifted off to sleep.

Before carrying his son up to bed, Freddie took a moment to scan the art mounted on the walls – portraits, landscapes, oil, acrylic, watercolour – until his eye landed upon a small, framed finger painting that Khaleel had made when he was a toddler. It was a large orange blob with two black splodges for eyes and a big smiley mouth.

Below it read: Oskar.

#jimercury #jimcury #jimercury fanfiction #kid au #my writing #she's a killer queue

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pickalilywrites · 3 years

Text

for @certainbonksaladranch, whose kind words always give me a reason to continue writing. thank you for always being a beautiful soul in the rivetra fandom 💖

--------------

If You Have Some Time, Would You Like to Marry Me?

Rivetra. My Girl + My Strange Hero AU.

A Love More Than Diamonds Series: Chapter 1

10175 words.

Read on Ao3!

The first time Levi encounters her is at a wedding.

Levi does not know the bride nor the groom. He actually doesn’t know anyone at the wedding. The only reason he’s attending at all is because the bride is the daughter of a businessman who has been a close associate of his grandfather’s for years. Because Levi’s grandfather was unable to attend due to his poor health, Levi had come in his place. He should be used to it by now, attending all these business meetings and social events with people whose names he can’t ever remember, but Levi still finds them tedious. This wedding is no exception.

After being greeted at the front of the garden and handing off his wedding gift to a staff member, Levi wanders aimlessly around the garden trying his best to be sociable even though so many unnecessary conversations leave him exhausted. He has to remind himself several times not to glance at his watch lest he appear rude. He does one round around the garden, making sure he doesn't miss anyone, before giving up on socializing completely and spending the rest of his time standing beside the fountain and remarking to everyone that passes by that he had never seen such a beautiful wedding before even though it’s a lie. He’s probably been to half a dozen ceremonies that were just as good if not better than this one.

When it’s time for the wedding ceremony to begin, everyone falls into place easily. It seems Levi is the only one stumbling about searching for a free seat. There isn’t anyone he wants to sit next to nor anyone that seems to want to sit next to him, so he sits in the very last row in the corner where nobody will take too much notice of him. He fidgets in his seat, frowning when the orchestral quartet begins to play Pachelbel’s Canon.

It shouldn’t be too long now before Levi can leave. He just needs to wait until the bride walks down the aisle and says her vows alongside the groom and then he’ll wait for the appropriate amount of time before leaving. He just needs to be patient.

Levi turns his head, expecting to see the bride making her way down the aisle. He doesn’t expect to see another woman hurriedly running towards the area where Levi and all the other guests are seated. Other staff members in their monochrome suits chase after her, hissing at her about trespassing because they’re too afraid to raise their voices and ruin the bride’s moment even more. It’s only when the woman pulls out an invitation from her purse and flashes it at the staff that they stop chasing her, although it might be in confusion over how a guest could possibly be so rude as to show up this late. The woman finally reaches the seating area and Levi glances at the bride at the end of the aisle, but it’s difficult to tell her expression under the covering of her veil.

When Levi turns around to check where the late guest has decided to seat herself, he’s almost horrified to find her sliding into the seat next to him. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his horror because she settles in easily next to him, brushing her ginger hair out of her face and flashing a smile at him.

“Ah, my ride was late,” she tells him as if he had asked. At least she has the decency to keep her voice low. Leaning her head towards Levi, the woman asks, “Do you think the bride hates me?”

“I don’t know,” Levi answers. He doesn’t know why he replies at all. He should have ignored her. The woman already made a small scene by arriving late to the wedding, and nothing good will come out of associating with her. He’ll probably have to apologize to the bride’s father for being seated next to the woman even though she was the one who sat next to him. He knows all this and yet he still finds himself saying (quite unnecessarily) to the woman, “I don’t know her at all.”

The woman doesn’t look surprised, only curious. “You’re a friend of the groom’s then?” she asks as they begin to untwist their necks and sit properly in their seats now that the bride is walking down the aisle through the rows and rows of seats.

“No,” Levi replies. “Not really.” He should have lied and said it was true or even made up some kind of distant relation between him and the groom. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. Maybe he’s so surprised that he’s even having this conversation that he doesn’t think to tell any lies.

To Levi’s confusion, the woman looks absolutely delighted. She leans in even closer, her smile dazzling as she grows ever near. “Me neither. I don’t know anyone here at all,” she confesses, which only confuses Levi all the more.

She had clearly shown an invitation to the staff earlier or she would have been dragged out of the garden when she had first waltzed in late. Why, then, is she claiming not to know the groom or the bride? It might be the case that she is like Levi, only there to maintain a business relationship with either the bride or the groom’s family, but the more he studies the woman, the more unlikely Levi finds this theory.

The woman isn’t dressed in the same black-tie attire that everyone else is wearing, Levi realizes. While all the other women wear gowns with skirts that trail on the grass, the woman’s skirt barely ends at her knees, revealing smooth legs and open-toed shoes. Her hair hangs in a simple bob, ginger locks framing her heart-shaped face, instead of done up in an intricate hairstyle or set in elegant curls. It makes Levi wonder if she had perhaps missed the dress code on the RSVP, but he thinks it’s more likely that she doesn’t belong here at all.

He’s about to ask her how she was invited to this wedding when she suddenly lets out the tiniest squeal and whispers to him, “This is my favorite part!” She sighs with the most wistful smile on her face. “This whole thing is awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

Levi forces himself to look up front where the bride is standing with her groom. The groom’s back is turned to Levi as the bride’s veil is lifted, the bride’s smile blinding as she looks up at her husband. Levi assumes the groom is equally elated to have his soon-to-be-wife by his side. As the bride and groom recite their vows to each other, Levi watches the woman beside him from the corner of his eye.

She sighs almost wistfully as the bride and groom share their vows, chest heaving with a longing sigh and eyes sparkling. Levi doesn’t know how someone can look so enamored with the matrimony of two people they don’t even know, but maybe she’s a hopeless romantic who watched too many romcoms. He expects her to get teary-eyed when the minister asks if anyone would like to “speak now or forever hold their peace,” but she doesn’t. Instead, the woman does something much worse.

At the minister’s words, the woman stands up and Levi has no choice but to watch her even though he wants nothing more than to drag her down by the arm and ask her in a hushed whisper what the fuck she’s doing disrupting the wedding of a perfect stranger. He watches helplessly as the woman stands, her face cold and steely as if she hadn’t told Levi a few minutes before in an awestruck voice that she found the whole wedding awfully romantic, and says the absolute worst thing that can come out of her mouth:

“She can’t marry him.”

And then somehow even more unexpected and horrible:

“I love him.”

She’s staring directly at the groom, Levi realizes, the same groom she had claimed not to know when she had first met Levi. At first, Levi thinks this is just some terrible joke or that he had heard wrong, but everyone around him looks equally horrified and it’s clear that they’re all in the same state of disbelief as Levi.

Tears are welling in her amber eyes, an elegant tear even dripping down her cheek as she looks at the stunned couple. All eyes are on her, but it’s as if she doesn’t notice. Her gaze is fixed on the groom whose hands have fallen from the bride’s. As if entranced, she walks to him, stopping only a few paces away. With tear-filled eyes, she looks to the groom and stretches a hand towards him.

“Darling,” she says. Her voice is hardly a whisper but it seems to ring in the stunned silence. “Darling, run away with me. I love you.”

Everyone’s gaze turns to the groom now. The man looks just as confused as the other wedding guests, but he takes a tentative step towards the woman, then another. He takes another step and then one more until he’s finally reached the mysterious wedding crasher. His hand reaches out to meet the woman’s and she smiles as she intertwines her fingers with his. The woman’s face breaks into a dazzling smile and, without another word, she pulls the man after her and the two run down the aisle while the bride begins to shriek for the wedding staff not to let the runaway groom get away.

Levi watches as the poor maids and butlers try to chase after the groom and the woman who has just spirited him away, but the escapees manage to slip right through everyone’s fingers. The groom and woman make it to the entrance of the garden where an idle van awaits them. As soon as the woman slips inside after the groom, the door slams shut in the sweaty faces of their pursuers and the van takes off. Everyone watches as the van grows smaller and smaller until it finally vanishes and all the while the bride sobs like her heart is being torn out.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The second time Levi sees her is at a bar that he had initially no intention of going to.

He usually didn’t have the time to attend social outings aside from the ones necessary to appease the business partners that Levi’s grandfather had long been associated with. It doesn’t bother Levi most of the time. He’s not a fan of crowded places, but Hanji always has a way of dragging him to places he doesn’t want to be. They had insisted that this particular bar was worth going to at least once, and Levi had reluctantly agreed because Hanji assured him that it was a hole-in-the-wall establishment where he wouldn’t be bothered even if people did recognize him.

“The atmosphere is very relaxed there. You might be able to take your mind off work for once,” Hanji told him. “The drinks aren’t half-bad either for their price. Oh, but the singer is absolutely divine. She comes out every week and she’s really amazing. Doesn’t a talented singer add to the ambience of a place?”

Upon arriving at the bar, Levi does have to admit that the atmosphere of the restaurant is indeed as relaxing as Hanji had assured him it would be. At the back of the restaurant is a small stage where a jazz band is playing. The place where the singer should be is empty, but Hanji assures him the singer is probably just going on a break and will be back soon. The bar is dimly lit, which gives Levi a slight feeling of anonymity that he typically doesn’t have under bright lights and flashing cameras. Nobody stares at or turns their head as Levi and Hanji make their way to a table in the corner of the bar, and Levi finds himself breathing more easily than he usually does.

“So, tell me about the runaway groom and the mysterious woman who whisked him away,” Hanji asks. In their hands, they cradle a glass filled with an electric blue beverage that smells vaguely of peaches with a wedge of lemon stuck to the top of the glass.

“You’ve heard this story already,” Levi replies. He knows it’s his own fault that he’s about to talk about this scandalous story over a gin and tonic. He doesn’t care for gossip, but he had off-handedly mentioned that he had sat next to the mysterious ginger-haired woman after Hanji had shown him an article in the news about a famous businessman’s daughter being left at the altar. Hanji, always interested in stories about anything strange or scandalous, has asked him to retell the tale at least a dozen times since then.

Hanji leans forward, elbows on the table and face in their hands. “Did you know when she walked in that she’d be running away with the groom? Did it look like the groom was having an affair behind the bride’s back the whole time? Was their getaway dramatic enough to be in a movie?”

Levi rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his gin and tonic. The sharp taste of alcohol burns quickly down his throat and he’s left with a lemony aftertaste on his tongue. “It’s not like I got to talk to her very much. The woman came late to the wedding. She sat down just as the bride was walking down the aisle,” Levi tells Hanji.

Hanji whistles. “Wow, she ran away with the bride’s man and didn’t even have the audacity to come on time. You’d think she’d have some manners.”

Levi believes the tardiness is negligible given the woman’s more offensive crime of running away with the groom, but he doesn’t say that out loud. “It’s strange though,” he says instead. “The woman mentioned that she didn’t know anyone there — neither the bride nor the groom. It might have been my imagination, but it didn’t look as if he recognized her either, at least not at first. He didn’t seem to expect her at all.”

“Well, it’s not every day that someone crashes your wedding and proposes that you run away with them,” Hanji points out. They’re not wrong, but that doesn’t explain everything either.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Levi grumbles as he settles with his back against the seat, his arms folded across his chest.

“Maybe she was his first love or something and their parents wouldn’t let them marry because of their difference in social status,” Hanji says, chewing on their straw thoughtfully.

“This isn’t a soap opera,” Levi snorts.

“No,” Hanji agrees, “but it could be.”

Levi shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of the strange woman. He doesn’t have the time to think about a wedding crasher he’ll probably never meet again. It’s already too much drama that he doesn’t care for.

“Was she pretty though?” Hanji asks. They reach across the table and munch on a crispy potato chip from the appetizer bowl that was set for them when they had first arrived. It’s clear that even if Levi is done talking about the woman, Hanji certainly isn’t.

Levi wrinkles his nose. “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“It’s important to me,” Hanji says. They sigh and nibble at the end of their straw. “I was just curious if you had an opinion of her. I probably shouldn’t have asked though. You never have an opinion on these things.”

He rolls his eyes and is about to open his mouth when the lights on the stage begin to change color from a soft white to a warm violet.

Hanji sits up and twists in their seat. “Ah, it looks like the singer is about to start,” Hanji says eagerly. They settle down against their seat, hands folded in front of them. “You’ll see what I was talking about, Levi. Even if you aren’t a music aficionado, you can’t deny her talent.”

Levi merely grunts and lets his eyes flicker to the stage. As the band readies their instruments, a woman walks on the stage and the sight of her nearly makes Levi fall out of his seat. The flash of the woman’s ginger hair makes Levi blink — once, twice — and he leans forward in his seat to get a closer look.

The more he stares, the more he’s certain that the woman is the very same that he had met at the wedding. It’s the same woman he had seen running away with the groom, the woman Levi was certain he would never see again.

The woman sits on a stool at the center of the stage while the soft violet lights settle on her. Her eyes are cast downward as the band begins to play, a slick jazzy tune that drifts through the bar, and raises the mic to her lips. When she opens her mouth, the most angelic voice comes out, a voice that was made for singing.

Levi leans over the table, tapping on the surface to catch Hanji’s attention. “That’s her,” he says, not taking his eyes off the woman for a second. “That’s the woman who was at the wedding.”

“She’s the woman from the wedding?” Hanji repeats, confused for a second before they realize what Levi is saying. They do a double-take and then turn back to Levi, eyes wide. “She’s the woman from the wedding you’ve been talking about? Why didn’t you mention she was an amazing singer? We could have found her earlier!”

“It’s not like she sang at the wedding,” Levi scowls. “And even if I did find out she was a singer, how would you be able to connect those two dots?”

“I would have,” Hanji says confidently before taking a sip of their cocktail. They turn back to where the woman is singing. “Should we ask if we can talk to her backstage after the set? She seems so interesting. You don’t meet a wedding crasher with a phenomenal singing voice every day, you know.”

“Please don’t stick your nose into things that aren’t any of our business,” Levi says, although he knows Hanji isn’t listening. They always do what they want anyway.

Levi raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip of gin. He’s so fixated on the woman on the stage that he hardly feels the burn of the alcohol as it slips down his throat.

The woman looks comfortable on stage. Dressed in a loose white peasant blouse and dark trousers, she looks like she belongs under the spotlight and isn’t at all out of place like she was at the wedding. Her voice is melodious and sweet like a songbird, which Levi finds strange. He doesn’t recall her speaking voice as being musical, but he supposes there are people who have singing voices that don’t match their speaking voices.

He ignores Hanji as they flag down a server. The server leans over to hear Hanji’s request better — they’re most likely asking the server for a chance to speak with the singer after her set is over. Levi has half a mind to swat the server away. They’re blocking his view of the stage.

He wonders what a nameless singer is doing in a hole-in-the-wall jazz bar after crashing the wedding of two of the most powerful families in the city. Why isn’t the woman with the runaway groom somewhere overseas where nobody could find them? Why is she here singing at a bar like she hadn’t ruined someone’s wedding the week before? Who exactly is this woman?

“Is she really that pretty?” Hanji asks and snaps Levi out of his thoughts. When Levi looks at his friend, they gesture towards the stage. “You’ve been staring at her. If you’re enraptured by her, just remember: she already ran away with the groom at the wedding.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Levi frowns. He sits up and turns his head, pretending to stare at the wall as he sips his drink but he takes a peek at the woman from the corner of his eye.

Hanji rolls their eyes. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not staring,” they tell him. Levi is about to open his mouth and protest that that isn’t what he’s doing, but Hanji waves their hand about to silence him. “The set is almost over and the waiter I talked to earlier said we could meet with her backstage if you’re so curious about her.”

“I’m not,” Levi says, but Hanji clucks their tongue at him and gestures for him to follow. He doesn’t want to be left alone in an unfamiliar place, so he reluctantly follows Hanji. At the very least, he can apologize to the woman about his nosy friend.

The two follow one of the bar staff towards the stage where they’re taken to a backdoor. The staff holds open the door for Hanji and Levi. The staff member informs the two that the woman has been told of their request to see her and is expecting them backstage.

“She’s very flattered that you want to see her,” the staff member says as they lead Hanji and Levi through a dark hallway. “She’s very shy, though, so don’t do anything to startle her.”

“We won’t,” Hanji assures.

“If she’s so shy, how is she able to perform on stage every night?” Levi asks. He yelps when Hanji jabs him in the side with their elbow, but his friend only smiles sweetly at the staff member who turns around curiously.

The staff member leads them to the back of the stage where some of the musicians are resting. Hanji and Levi follow them to a woman standing nervously in the corner staring at her phone. She looks up quickly at them before looking back at her phone. It confuses Levi when the staff member stops them right in front of the woman. The ginger woman who had sung on stage only moments ago is nowhere to be seen.

“Ruth, here are the people who were so eager to meet you,” the staff member says to the woman, who smiles timidly at Hanji and Levi. To the two, the staff member says, “I’ll leave you two here for a bit. I’ll come collect you before the jazz band starts their set.”

Levi and Hanji don’t say anything for a moment. The three awkwardly watch as the staff member leaves before turning towards each other. It’s clear that the woman in front of them is too shy to say anything and both Levi and Hanji are too confused to introduce themselves properly.

After a moment, Levi asks, “Where’s the woman who was singing just a moment ago?”

“She’s ... I’m the one who was singing,” the woman — Ruth, the staff member called her — says. She plays with her hair, wrapping her finger around a dark lock and spinning it around and around. Levi notices that she doesn’t look up as she speaks. “The woman who was on stage … she just lip-syncs.”

Hanji is much faster at putting the pieces together than Levi. “So you’re the one who sings, and she lip-syncs,” they say, rubbing their chin thoughtfully. They tilt their head as they give Ruth a once-over. “Why, though? Do you two have some sort of deal? Is she forcing you to sing for her so she can claim all the glory?”

“N-no, it’s nothing like that,” Ruth says with a shake of her head. She bites her bottom lip as she finds the words to explain. “I’m just … so shy. Painfully shy. It’s just easier for me to sing backstage and have someone lip-sync on stage. She goes on stage and I sing, and then she gets a small cut of the money every night I work.”

Hanji hums. They’re no longer curious about the singer, but about the woman that had been on stage earlier. “Are you two friends?” Realizing that their questions might be frightening the woman, Hanji straightens up and gives Ruth a friendly smile. “Sorry, I’m just curious about how you came about this arrangement.”

Ruth looks down as she purses her lips. She kicks at some imaginary dust on the floor. “There’s a … company. They fulfill odd requests like mine,” Ruth replies. “I asked them if I could have someone stand on stage for me while I sang and they sent that woman.”

“That woman,” Levi repeats. He doesn’t say it in a particularly harsh tone, but Ruth still flinches. He should probably apologize for startling her, but he has a question he’d rather ask. “Does she have a name?”

Ruth nods reluctantly. “Yes … but she said it was a need-to-know basis,” the singer says. She rubs her arm awkwardly, her expression almost apologetic. “She told me when we were introduced, but she also requested that I not give out her name.”

And so the mysterious woman grows even more mysterious, Levi thinks with a frown. No longer interested in making conversation with Ruth, Levi withdraws behind Hanji as his friend bombards the singer with more questions: Where else does she sing? How long has she been singing? Would she be comfortable doing shows where she wouldn’t have to show her face? At a certain point, Levi thinks Hanji is overdoing the polite conversation and he’s thankful when the staff member finally comes back to collect them.

“So she’s a bar singer in the evenings and a wedding crasher on her free days?” Levi asks when they settle down in their booth. He slumps against his seat, frowning with his arms crossed against his chest. “This just makes less and less sense.”

“I think she’s just a woman of many trades,” Hanji says. They pull something out of their pocket: a little business card. They push it across the table towards Levi.

Levi picks up the card and inspects it. In the very center in simple typescript are the words “As You Wish.” In smaller font underneath are the words “A Wish-Fulfillment Company.” On the very bottom is a number and a website address. Levi looks back up at Hanji, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s really like Ruth said,” Hanji says with a smile. “The woman you’re so curious about works for a wish-fulfillment company. Apparently, they do odd jobs at strangers’ requests. For a price, of course.”

Pretending not to be interested, he pushes the card back towards Hanji. “Are you going to call them up?” Levi asks.

“Nope,” Hanji replies. They look at him with a grin. “I don’t have any wishes for them right now. You can keep that card though. If you really want to know more about that woman, you could call them.”

Levi snorts. He knows he’s never going to call that number, but he tucks the card into his wallet anyway.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

The third time Levi sees the woman is when he finally learns her name.

He’s just finished dining at a restaurant with a few businessmen, who had (of course) left him with the tab. While everyone else has left, Hanji remains at the table, eating an enormous ice cream sundae that’s large enough for two people.

“We could just take it to-go,” Levi tells Hanji, who shakes their head.

“You’re just going to complain when I get ice cream on the car seats,” Hanji says, and they’re absolutely right. They’re a terribly messy eater and them dropping ice cream on the seats is inevitable. They gesture towards their ice cream. “I’m almost done anyway, so just give me a second.”

They aren’t almost done. They have over half the sundae left, but Levi just rolls his eyes and settles in his seat. He lets his eyes roam about the room. He looks over people who are eating and chatting about trivial things: the celebrity they ran into at the hair salon, the dress someone was wearing at the charity dinner, the yacht party someone else held the other night, or something equally unimportant. He’s about to turn and tell Hanji to hurry up when his eyes rest on a familiar head of ginger hair. He sits up in his seat and narrows his eyes, wondering if he’s imagining things.

The woman a few tables away from him has hair the same shade of ginger as the woman who had sung at the bar the other night, the same woman who had sat next to him at the wedding before running away with the groom. She’s the same height and build too, from what Levi can remember. She’s dressed just as oddly as she had been at the wedding, not inappropriately, but it’s clear that she doesn’t belong here. While most guests at the restaurant are wearing suits and elegant cocktail dresses, she wears a short frock that ends inches above the knee. Although he’s sitting from a distance, Levi can tell that even her jewelry is out of place: cheap cubic zirconia instead of the flashy pearls and gemstones that other women are wearing here.

He leans over towards Hanji and asks, “That woman over there … doesn’t she look familiar?”

“Mmm?” Hanji hums with a mouth full of ice cream. They follow Levi’s gaze to where the woman is sitting and their eyes widen. Nodding excitedly, Hanji hastily swallows their ice cream and says, “Oh my god, it’s her! The-the-” They gesture wildly as they try to collect their thoughts. “The woman from the bar! The one who wasn’t really singing! The one you said was at the wedding!”

Levi hurriedly shushes Hanji, not wanting to draw the woman’s attention. She, like many other guests, looks over in Hanji and Levi’s direction, but her eyes just gloss over him before returning to the man she’s seated with.

He’s not the groom from the wedding, Levi notices. He’s a completely different person. Unlike the woman, his attire is suited for the restaurant they’re dining in: a slick suit of midnight blue with a powder blue tie and a matching handkerchief tucked in his pocket. The man looks like he’s apologizing to the woman for whatever reason, bowing his head as he does so, but the woman simply smiles and waves her hand. Levi wonders for what occasion they’re dining together, but he finds out soon enough.

Another woman, an older one with a heavy fur coat and dangling pearl earrings, bursts into the restaurant.

“Where is he? Where is he?” the woman screams as staff members try to hold her back. They say something about having to make a reservation beforehand, but the woman ignores their words and shakes them off before bellowing, “Where is my son?”

Levi watches as the man seated beside the ginger-haired woman shrinks. He looks as if he’s about to hide behind the woman, but the ginger woman puts a comforting hand on his back and says something in his ear.

The woman in the fur coat scans the restaurant and sees where the ginger-haired woman and her companion are seated. She’s absolutely seething as she crosses the floor to where the couple is seated. Her face is flushed red and she’s breathing hard when she finally reaches the two.

“You stupid brat!” the woman hisses, reaching out to pinch the young man’s ear.

Alarmed, the ginger-haired woman reaches out and tries to pry the mother’s fingers off. “God, what are you doing? We’re in public!” she says.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so innocent, you tramp!” the mother screeches. She lets go of her son’s ear to point a menacing finger in the woman’s face. “It’s your fault he’s like this! Maxed out his credit cards because you goaded him into buying luxury cars and flying you two to Cancún on spontaneous vacations! You’re responsible for this too!”

“Mom, can we talk about this somewhere else?” the man says. He looks nervously around the room. “Everyone’s staring at us …”

“Oh, now you’re concerned about people staring? You didn’t care when people talked about you having a cheap floozy on your arm,” the mother hisses. She looks at the ginger-haired woman disdainfully. “She’s not even pretty, and you’ve clearly bought those earrings at the dollar store. How dare you corrupt my son?”

“Ma’am,” the ginger-haired woman says, not even flinching at any of the insults. She gestures towards the guests. “If you could just sit down, maybe we could talk this through like civilized people. I’m sure we could work things out. You’ll see I’m not as bad as you might believe me to be and -”

The ginger woman doesn’t get to finish her sentence before the woman in the fur coat picks up a glass of wine from the table and spills it over the younger woman’s head.

“Don’t you try to talk to me about being civilized,” the mother sneers. “I’ve seen dogs more civilized than you.”

Levi doesn’t know when he had stood up or crossed the room. He doesn’t know when he grabbed the wrist of the woman with the fur coat. He doesn’t know why he’s getting involved when he normally wouldn’t. He’s almost as shocked as everyone else when he says to the woman, “Don’t speak to her that way. You’re the only one here being less than human.”

The woman is speechless — everyone is speechless, holding their breaths as they guess what’s about to happen next — and Levi turns to the restaurant staff.

“Please escort this mother and her son out of this establishment. She’s disturbing everyone here,” Levi tells them.

The woman is sputtering something incomprehensible as the wait staff ushers her out of the restaurant. The son leaves rather reluctantly, apologizing profusely to the ginger-haired woman. The ginger-haired woman is oddly unbothered by everything, calmly dabbing the wine out of her dress with a cloth napkin from the table.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d be that bad,” the son says as his mother is dragged kicking and screaming out of the restaurant. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll … you can send me the tab for the dry cleaning.”

“Oh, I could just throw this in the wash,” the woman says, wringing out her hair. Wine drips on the floor and she frowns. “Don’t worry about it, really. Just wait for your mom to cool down and I’m sure everything will be fine. If she hates me this much, it’ll make your real girlfriend look so much better in comparison. Just … budget yourself more when you take her out on dates and stuff.”

“I will,” sighs the man. He looks reluctant to leave, but some waiters are already asking him to leave. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“That’s fine,” the woman says with a smile. She gives him a small wave as he leaves before turning to Levi. The ginger woman raises an eyebrow. “Thanks for stepping in, but I had it handled.”

“That woman dumped wine all over you,” Levi points out, but the woman just waves him away.

“It’s fine. It’s just part of the job,” she tells him.

“And what,” asks Hanji popping up from out of nowhere, “is your job, exactly?”

The woman pauses for a moment before pointing from Levi to Hanji. “A friend of yours?” she asks him.

“Yep,” Hanji answers happily. They extend a hand towards the woman, who takes it after a beat. Hanji shakes the woman’s hand enthusiastically, pumping it up and down. “I’m Hanji Zoe, and this is Levi Ackerman.”

“Petra Ral,” the woman says.

“Ooh, cute name,” Hanji says. They look slyly over at Levi and give him a wink. He knows Hanji is going to brag about finding out the mysterious woman’s name once they get back in the car. To Petra, Hanji asks, “I see your companion has abandoned you. Would you perhaps like to dine with us?”

“We just finished eating,” Levi begins to protest but Hanji hushes him.

“Sure,” Petra says with a shrug. She doesn’t seem at all embarrassed to be dining in a wine-stained dress.

With a sigh, Levi gestures for the wait staff to clear out the table and waves over another waiter to take the woman’s order. The woman hardly glances at the menu before ordering, not shirking at the expensive prices.

“The crab cakes, please,” Petra says as she hands the waiter the menu. “And the Caesar salad as well.”

“Oh, and the dark chocolate crème brûlée,” Hanji adds quickly. To Petra, they say, “It’s amazing. You have to have it.”

“Don’t,” Petra says, eyeing Levi as he begins to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get the tab for my food, thank you very much.”

“You make a lot of money, then? Doing all this?” Hanji gestures at Petra vaguely. Hanji’s question makes the ginger raise an eyebrow, wondering if she should be offended, but Hanji quickly elaborates. “I’m just curious. Levi took notice of you at the wedding the other weekend, where you ran away with the groom.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Petra says. She nods at the waiter pouring her a glass of water and mouths a quick thanks before taking a small sip. She purses her lips and looks at Levi, tilting her head as she tries to recall him. He’s a bit uncomfortable under her cool gaze but he tries not to look away. After a moment, she smiles and sets her glass on the table. “Ah, did we sit next to each other? I think I remember you.”

“Well, he definitely remembers you,” Hanji says unnecessarily. It doesn’t surprise Levi when they begin to tell Petra exactly how they came about learning about her and her rather strange occupation. “He was so intrigued by you — I mean, who wouldn’t be? A mysterious woman running away with a groom at such a glamorous wedding — and then he recognized you at the bar you sing at sometimes.”

“She wasn’t singing,” Levi mumbles.

Petra glances at him but doesn’t react, her eyes quickly flitting back to Hanji who’s still talking.

“And then we found out, as Levi pointed out, you weren’t the one who was singing. We spoke to the real singer and she talked about you and the interesting work you provide,” Hanji gushes. They tap their cheek thoughtfully. “What was it again? ‘As You Wish,’ I think was on the card. A wish-fulfillment company. I didn’t know people had wishes about having people ruining their weddings, lip-syncing for them onstage, and getting drenched in wine by their mothers.”

Petra doesn’t flinch at any of these descriptions, although Levi would personally find them distasteful. She only shrugs. “Rich people have an odd assortment of problems and I help them through it,” she says. She pauses to allow a waiter to place a plate of Caesar salad and another dish of crab cakes in front of her, turning for a moment to thank the waiter before taking a fork and knife to cut off a chunk of juicy crab cake. “Although, I’ve had drinks thrown at me more times than I’d have liked.”

“Why do you do it then?” Levi asks.

Petra looks surprised at the question. She doesn’t answer right away, instead cutting another piece of the crab cake. It’s thick and juicy and the outer layer is crisp as she cuts through it. She lifts her fork to her mouth and takes a delicate bite of crab cake, chewing thoughtfully before she replies. “I like money,” she finally says. It’s not the answer Levi expects, but it makes Hanji roar with laughter.

“Gosh, you’re so interesting,” Hanji says. Levi’s certain that Hanji is giving Petra an admiring look. “I bet you have some stories to tell.”

“Probably as many stories as anyone else,” Petra says with a half-hearted shrug of her shoulder. She eats well, Levi notices, making sure to get every crumb and bit of sauce off her plate.

“But do you like your work?” Levi asks, and he watches as Petra stiffens at the question. He probably should prod and normally he wouldn’t poke and pry into stranger’s affairs but he’s been curious about her for quite some time. He was hardly thinking when the question just slipped from his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” The ginger woman doesn’t look at him when she replies. She keeps her amber eyes steady on her plate, cutting the last bit of her crab cake into tinier and tinier pieces but never picking up another bite to eat.

“Well, because it’s all a lie, isn’t it?” Levi says. He can feel Hanji look at him in alarm and he knows he can stop, but the words continue to spill from his mouth. “You posed as someone’s long-lost lover to get him out of an unwanted marriage. You posed as a singer to mask someone’s stage fright. You posed as someone’s gold-digging girlfriend to divert a boy’s mother from the truth about her financially irresponsible son.”

Petra continues to look down at her plate, pushing her food across the porcelain dish. “People have problems and I simply help them in whatever way I see fit, Mr. Ackerman,” she replies.

“If they think poorly of you because of it, if they’re throwing things at you and insulting you, I can’t see how it’s worth it,” Levi says. “Don’t you value yourself?”

It’s only then that Petra looks up at him, but her expression is unreadable. “I value myself enough to not let the opinion of others hurt me,” she replies easily. There’s a flicker in her eyes, a spark that makes it seem like she’s challenging him. “Some people hire me because they need a shield to hide behind, someone to lie for them. I don’t mind being a liar, especially if they pay me well enough.”

Hanji looks at their watch in an obvious attempt to end the conversation. “Ah, Levi, it’s getting a bit late now,” they say. They reach out to tug at Levi’s sleeve, but he snatches his arm away.

“That sounds terrible,” he tells Petra.

“Then you’re lucky. I guess you have enough money to solve all your problems. Since that’s the case, I don’t expect you to understand why I do this since it seems you neither care for nor have a need for my services,” she says rather coldly. She turns her gaze away from Levi once more and goes back to her meal, finishing the last bites of her crab cake. Lazily, she flicks her fork in Hanji’s direction. “Are you going to leave, Hanji? I think it’s best to do so now. I’d hate for us to leave on bad footing.”

“Bad footing? Oh no, the footing is great. It was a pleasure meeting you. I just have to apologize for Levi. He’s rather … rigid in many ways,” Hanji says with a nervous laugh as Levi scowls. They’re already getting up on their feet, tugging Levi by the sleeve and forcing him to follow. “It was … fascinating meeting you, although it would have been nice to meet you under nicer circumstances.” They gesture from their head to their person, alluding to the wine stains on Petra’s dress.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. It was interesting bumping into you two at this time,” Petra assures. She pauses for a moment, choosing her next words, and finally says, “And thank you for earlier, Mr. Ackerman.”

“... Sure,” Levi replies stiffly, but he still wants to know more even as Hanji is about to drag him out the door. He wants to know if she’s going to continue her work even if she’s left humiliated half the time, if she really only cares about the money, and if she really doesn’t care what other people think about her that she’d let them hurl drinks and insults at her without even batting an eyelash. He doesn’t, though, because Petra’s right. He doesn’t care for her work, so it isn’t any of his business. He turns around to follow Hanji only for his friend to stop abruptly.

“Ah, Petra!” they say, hurriedly returning to the table. They twiddle their fingers while their eyes wander towards the ceiling. “I was wondering if I could have your card or maybe your number?”

Petra looks confused for a moment and then amused. “Do you have something you need help with?” she asks. Her face breaks into a smile and Levi’s hypnotized for a moment, remembering how dazzling it was when he saw her smile the first time at the wedding.

“Well, not at the moment,” Hanji says sheepishly, “and maybe not even in the future. If you don’t mind having a chat every now and then, we could go out and grab a coffee. You just seem so … fascinating.” They say the word ‘fascinating’ as if Petra is a rare butterfly or a never-before-seen dinosaur fossil. It makes Petra laugh.

“You’re peculiar,” she says, “but that might be fun. Call me whenever you feel like it and maybe we can chat.” She reaches into her little clutch purse, a beaded bag with some loose threads here and there, and pulls out a card. It’s the same business card that Ruth had given to them at the bar the other night. “Just ask for me,” Petra instructs.

“Great, will do!” Hanji beams, cradling the card in their hands like it’s precious gold. They hook their arm around Levi’s, giving Petra a little wave as they practically skip out of the restaurant.

When the two settle into the car, Hanji is still holding the card in their hands, turning it from front to back several times. They look completely enthralled even though it’s just a tiny piece of cardstock.

“Are you really going to call her?” Levi asks.

“Why are you curious?” Hanji says. There’s something of a smirk curled on their lips. Levi wants to smack it off. “Do you want to call her, too?”

“Not at all.” Levi pretends to be disinterested, leaning against the armrest with his chin in his hand as he stares at his reflection in the car window.

“Well, let me know if you ever change your mind,” Hanji says in a sing-song voice. They waggle the card under Levi’s nose. They pause for a moment. “Do you still have the card that Ruth gave us?”

“No, not at all,” Levi lies. The card is still sitting in his wallet. He hasn’t taken it out since then. He had said he’d throw it out, but he never had. He just never had the time to and he had forgotten it after how busy he was, although he can’t say for certain that he would have tossed it even if he had remembered. “I threw it out a long time ago.”

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Levi sits beside the hospital bed where his feeble grandfather lies, holding the old man’s hand. It’s so bony and withered compared to his own. His grandfather is sleeping as he normally does. He’s usually asleep whenever Levi comes to visit. Although he’d much rather his grandfather were awake, he understands. It takes so much energy for his grandfather to even open his eyes some days.

It’s quiet in the room save for the gentle beep of the heart rate monitor in the background. It’s more feeble than it was the last time Levi was here. It always surprises Levi whenever he visits his grandfather. Although his grandfather’s health has been deteriorating for quite some time, it's so strange seeing someone who was once a powerful businessman waste away in a hospital bed. He had a weak heart, the doctor had said a few years ago, probably from stress and overwork. It would be a miracle if he lived more than a year. Levi’s grandfather exceeded those expectations, still living years after the diagnosis, but it has taken a toll on his health. The doctors have warned Levi’s family that the man could pass away at any time.

Levi’s grandfather stirs in his sleep and Levi grasps the man a little tighter. He can see the old man’s eyelids flutter until they open weakly. His grandfather looks around bleary-eyed, eyes resting on Levi but not quite able to fully focus on his grandson.

“Grandfather?” Levi asks, his voice soft. His grandfather looks so fragile that Levi’s afraid even the slightest noise will be able to shatter him. “How are you? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Levi,” his grandfather rasps. His voice is barely audible over the heart monitor.

“You don’t have to answer if it’s too much. Just rest,” Levi says. He gets up to fetch his grandfather water, pouring some into a glass on the nearby nightstand. Gently, he brings the glass to his grandfather’s lips and tips it for the old man to drink. It saddens him that his grandfather can’t even drink without help. With a careful hand, he wipes at his grandfather’s mouth with a handkerchief.

“Thank … you …,” Levi’s grandfather manages to say before closing his eyes once more. His breathing slows, his breaths so shallow that Levi can hardly tell his grandfather is breathing at all. If it weren’t for the heart monitor beeping in the background, it would look like his grandfather had already passed on. Levi thinks his grandfather has fallen asleep, but the old man’s eyes flutter open again and he looks at his grandson with a displeased frown. “Levi …”

“Yes?” Levi says, quickly sitting up and grasping his grandfather’s hand with both hands. He glances at the button on the side of the hospital bed, wondering if he should press it and alert the nurse. “What’s wrong? Should I call the nurse?”

His grandfather shakes his head, the movement so slight that Levi would have missed it had he blinked. “I want to … apologize,” his grandfather says. His breathing deepens, chest heaving like it’s taking everything he has just to speak these few words.

“Apologize? What for?” Levi asks with a furrowed brow. He shakes his head and on the edge of his seat if only to be a little closer to his grandfather. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Once more, Levi’s grandfather shakes his head. “I’ve been … so hard on you … all your life,” the old man pants. His hand trembles even as Levi holds it. “Sometimes I wonder … if you’re ever truly happy.”

Levi isn’t sure how to react. He’s not sure what brought about this line of thought from his grandfather.

“All your life … I’ve made you do everything I wanted,” his grandfather continues, his voice growing weaker and weaker. He no longer looks at Levi as he rambles on, his eyes wandering all about the hospital room as if he’s speaking to the air. “To make you into the perfect heir … you’ve had to sacrifice so much, haven’t you?”

Again, Levi doesn’t answer. Nothing his grandfather is saying is false. At first, Levi had thought it a burden following every one of his grandfather’s desires for him. As he grew older, he came to not mind them. He just went through with his tasks mindlessly and didn’t complain. Perhaps he hasn’t been able to do everything he wanted, but he has learned not to want things for himself as the years have gone by. Maybe he isn’t happy, but he can’t say he’s unhappy either. He is ... comfortable with his position in life and wouldn’t complain about it, especially not to his grandfather.

“I don’t … mind it,” Levi says reluctantly.

His grandfather gives him a pitying smile. He reaches out to touch his grandson with a withered hand. “I was so hard on you … because I wanted you to be happy. Reflecting on it now … I know that I have been selfish, never asking you what you wanted,” his grandfather murmurs. He’s lying back again, his eyes closed as if he’s about to fall asleep. “Before I pass … I want to see you truly happy …”

I am happy, Levi is about to insist, but his grandfather opens his mouth once more.

“Oh, to see you wed, happy with someone by your side,” his grandfather breathes. His eyes are open again. They sparkle with tears that are beginning to spill over and run down his cheeks. “Then, I think, I can truly die without any regrets.”

Levi is silent for a moment. Then he speaks. “You mean marry?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” his grandfather says with a sad smile. “I’m afraid … that by pushing you to inherit the family business … you’ll be too busy to find love and happiness with another. If I were to see you marry before I passed … I think I could rest well.”

“I see …” Levi’s voice trails. He doesn’t say anything more, just gives his grandfather’s hand a few comforting pats. In a few moments, he hears his grandfather’s breathing slow again and gentle snoring. It makes him feel slightly better.

With a sigh, Levi gets up from where he’s seated and steps out of the room. He sends a small update about his grandfather’s condition to his mother before tucking his phone in his pocket. For a while, he wanders around the hospital and eventually finds his way to the lobby where he slumps down tiredly in one of the benches with his face in his hands.

Levi knows he should just accept the fact that his grandfather will die without having his last wish fulfilled. After all, not all grandparents live to see their grandchildren marry, but he can’t shake the sense of guilt that rests so heavily on his shoulders after hearing his grandfather’s last wish. The more he thinks about it, the worse it makes him feel. Compared to everything else he’s done for his grandfather — graduating at the top of his class, getting a Master’s degree in business, inheriting the family business — getting married seems so much easier. Isn’t it just meeting someone you’re compatible with and signing a document saying that you’re legally bound together? It’s so simple that Levi feels pathetic for not reaching that milestone, especially now that his grandfather is lying on his deathbed.

But what if …?

The color ginger flashes through his mind for a brief second. Levi quickly shakes his head before the rest of the woman can conjure up his mind, but it’s too late. It reminds him of the card that still sits in his wallet.

He shouldn’t think about fishing the card out of his wallet, shouldn’t wonder about calling the number on the card, shouldn’t imagine asking for a Miss Petra Ral when the person on the other side of the phone picks up, but he finds himself sitting on the hospital bench with the card in his hands. It’s a little less crisp after sitting in his wallet for a few days and the printed words are already a little faded, but he can still read the number on the card.

Levi has to wonder if this is his last option. Is he really this desperate? Surely, there’s a friend he can recruit to get engaged to. He tries to think of one friend or even an acquaintance that would agree to such an arrangement. Unfortunately, Levi realizes, his list of friends is quite short. The only people he can think of that might even entertain the thought of getting engaged to him are Hanji and Isabel, but both are impossible options. Nobody would ever believe it. Everyone knows he shares a strictly platonic relationship with Hanji and that he and Isabel are like siblings.

Then maybe, he thinks, he could hire an escort. The problem with this is that quite a few people in his distant social circle use escort services and they usually hire people as more than just companions for social events. It would be a problem if, by some slim chance, word came out about his engagement and he knows that it won’t be long before people stick their noses where they shouldn’t be and find out how he met his contract-fiancée.

No, Levi grimaces, if he’s getting engaged, he needs to get engaged to someone that nobody knows, someone that can slip in and out of a wedding without anybody knowing their name even after running away with the groom.

Levi looks at the card again, holding it between his two fingers. He stares at it for another second, two, and then pulls out his phone and dials the number on the card. Holding his phone up, he listens as it rings. It takes a few seconds for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” It’s a woman’s voice but not one Levi recognizes.

“Is this … As You Wish?” Levi asks hesitantly. He feels a little nervous now, although he doesn’t know why. After all, this is exactly the kind of business this company deals with.

“Yes,” the woman replies. “How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could speak with one of your employees,” Levi says. He can’t believe he’s really doing this. A part of him wants to hang up and forget he ever called, but he’s already made it this far. He might as well just go through with it. “Would it be possible for me to speak with a Miss Petra Ral?”

“Petra?” the woman repeats. There’s a pause on the other end and he can hear muffled voices on the other end. After a moment, the woman returns. “Yes, she’s available. Please wait right one second.”

“Thank you,” Levi says.

As he waits for Petra to pick up the phone, he realizes that this might not be a good idea. They hadn’t left on the best of terms the other day. He had looked down on her job, calling it degrading and humiliating, while she made it clear that she thought him a privileged and spoiled brat. He’s almost certain that she’ll turn him down as soon as he says his name. Levi is about to hang up when he hears Petra’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Petra pauses for a moment, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn’t, she says, “This is Petra from As You Wish. I was told you asked specifically for me.”

“I … did,” Levi admits reluctantly. He clears his throat awkwardly, swallows, and then proceeds. If he’s going to get rejected, he should get it done as soon as possible. “It’s Levi. Levi Ackerman.”

“Levi …?” The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell because Petra’s voice trails off until it finally disappears. She doesn’t say anything else and Levi wonders if it’s because she truly doesn’t remember him or if it’s because she’s pretending just to spite him.

“From the restaurant when …” He stops himself there. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and he’s not sure she’d want to be reminded about any of it — the woman with the fur coat screaming at her and creating a scene in the middle of the restaurant, getting a glass of wine thrown at her, and having Levi speak so disdainfully about her lifestyle. He purses his lips and tries again. “The wedding. I sat next to you.”

“Levi Ackerman … restaurant … wedding,” Petra murmurs. There’s a few sharp sounds on the other end, the sounds of someone snapping their fingers, and Petra says, “Ah, from the wedding. We saw each other at the restaurant the other day, didn’t we?”

He’s about to answer but Petra speaks again.

“But why are you calling me? I thought you made it clear that you thought my line of work was revolting.”

Levi sighs. He shouldn’t have said any of it. Even if he had thought it at the time, it’s not his place to tell her how to live her life. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. He’s not sure if he should spit out an apology. He doesn’t know how to give one without sounding like a sniveling idiot. “I’m actually … calling because I need your help.”

There’s silence at the other end and then a snicker. “Hypocrite,” Petra says, and the tips of Levi’s ears sting. He thinks she’s about to tell him to get lost or that she has no interest in helping him but to his surprise Petra asks, “What do you need help with?”

Levi blinks. Once. Twice. He didn’t think he would get this far. Now that he’s here, he’s not quite sure what to do. “I need …” He stops. It’s not a real engagement, so it doesn’t need a real proposal. Still, he should at least ask her for her hand civilly. After thinking for a moment, Levi asks, “I was wondering … if you have the time, would you like to marry me?”

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #my girl au #my strange hero au #almtd #a love more than diamonds series #certainbonksaladranch #snk

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