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yulesmistress · 4 months

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My first story I’m finally publishing, hope you lot enjoy it lolz.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: This is SMUT.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/369395515?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=yulesmistress

There I sat..in a studio, with the bass guitar that had lingered and taunted my dreams since I was a young lassie. God, it was beyond ethereal...the way the polished wooden neck felt upon my honored left hand, the girthy twang of the strings ringing as my rough fingers plucked and strummed them. Now before this, I would've thought,

"Shit, this is THE dream, my dream...it couldn't possibly get any better than this."

I can't even begin to fathom that fucking stupendous thought.

Why, you might ask..?

A sweet, sing-songy voice suddenly strokes my eardrums, contrasting with the low, gravely sound of my bass. Mmm, how could I possibly ignore this painfully familiar voice, the voice in subject that I had studied for many, many hours. The person to which the voice belonged to I had also, madly, studied. His low eyelids slowly unveiled his tantalizing globes, just like how the sun peeks over a horizon, as his eyes greet mine in his usual stern manner.

Geeeeooorrggee Harrison.

He crept me a shy smile, appreciating me only from the corner of his eye before continuing to rehearse Old Brown Shoe with the lads. I bit my lip, hoping to sustain the violent quivering that activated as soon as his gaze shone on me.

I still cannot believe I am in a studio...with the Beatles...playing with George Harrison and the bassman himself Paul McCartney. I questioned my worth as I sat so feebly in that room full of musical geniuses. I wasn't sure how to contain myself—how to manner myself. But, obviously, I had no other choice but to conceal these brash admiral feelings...as they all felt I was a pretty impressive artist. After all, they had invited me to jam with them, and I wasn't going to fuck it up by revealing the fact I was somewhat of a fangirl. I couldn't.

bannerrrrr

After a few eventful hours of mindlessly jamming and productive writing, lunchtime came around. With Paul, John, and Richie's temporary absence, George and I were abandoned in the studio with only the suffocating tension of one another. I resumed on my bass quietly, slouched on an uncomfortable chair as I faced the ceiling. However, the subtle sound of George stumbling over some thick wires had deflated the dome I was in.

"Fucking hell.", he cussed sharply under his breath.

My slightly tired eyes shifted to the cigarette that was once in his mouth, noticing it was now lying on the ground. He was still venting the smoke through his lips from the previous puff he had taken, which I had found oddly attractive.

"Tragic."

I shot him a fake-sympathy frown, which earned a low chuckle from him.

"You don't 'appen to have a Marlboro on you, do you, Madame?"

George's words interrogated me slowly and smoothly, his thick accent tickling the tip of my tongue as I pulled out the precious pack of cigarettes I luckily had. A wide grin magically appeared on his cheeky face, causing me to chortle at his reaction as his hand began to eagerly reach for a ciggie.

"Ah-uh."

I cooed, averting the pack of cigarettes from his grasp as I swayed them tauntingly in his face. George shot me a befuddled look, his propped up eyebrow leaving that hint of playfulness in his expression that his face so beautifully displayed.

"My, where are your manners Mr. Harrison..?"

I noticed a cherry hue that enriched his cheeks as I teased him. Did he enjoy this?

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, me gracious queen.", he sarcastically remarked.

With a swift movement of his long fingers, he managed to snatch a ciggie and prop it in between his glistening lips, then without warning, approached my face daringly close to slowly ignite his cigarette with my own. My eyes shifted down at the touching tips of our cigarettes...steadily watching as a familiar ember glow emerged from the toxic paper. George then clasped the smoke with two of his slender digits once it was properly lit, and exhaled a cloud of toxicity right in my face. I noticed his bashed expression and prominent features through the sheet of smoke that was now flowing between both of our faces.

Why was that hot? I panicked internally.

This was only one of the subtle, steamy moments I had encountered with George.I had noticed it, and I knew I wasn't going fucking crazy.

He had to be into me.

The shameless flirting that painfully teased me, oddly leaving me wanting more. The sheepish glares he would sneak my way from across the studio, followed by the rather riskier glares that would trail from my operating fingers...up to my lips...down to my tempting cleavage which—of course—I had left there on purpose. The way he'd somehow always seemed to find an opportunity to interact with me in any way. The stone ball of tension that would clump up in my chest everytime his presence neared me. His peculiar shyness and tint in his cheeks when I would catch him staring particularly hard. His admiration of my musical abilities that he was never afraid to express; How my skills were a sort that he has "never seen before and should be more recognized." George saw me...saw me as a woman with "crazy good taste", with personality, not as the stereotypical 60's birdie who would try her hardest to be the perfect girl for her man. Who would make sure to shut up and stay to the side, only arising when a man needed her for sex, children, food, marriage, comfort...for anything he wished for. Because that was all women could be according to society. However I refused to stay within these ridiculous boundaries society had set up for me, and actually be a woman who was aware of her own wants and feelings in life, and wasn't afraid to express these things in any way she pleased.

I mean shit, it wasn't illegal was it?

George saw a true character in me, and so I did him. Although he had usually been the discarded one during band sessions, his lack of brashness only melted me into him even more. I knew he was a genius. After all, the ones with the finest ideas are forced to keep quiet, so the egotistical ones can propose as they please. George had this perplexing detail about him...about his aura...about those eyes that had grabbed me by my heart and reeled me in shamelessly. I wanted to know all of him—not just what the papers had claimed.

Shifting back to the present moment from my short tunnel of thought, I quickly noticed the blinding gray haze had already slipped away, leaving George's gradually red face and mine only mere inches away. My eyes widened for a split second and an alarmed cough heaved from the edge of my throat, as I attempted a fake smile.

He definitely noticed.

And it definitely turned me on.

"Hey-uhm..I was actually working on some stuff last night for..."

I didn't finish my sentence, for the reason that when I stood up and positioned my hands to prepare to strum a new bassline, George had halted my fingers with his own, turning my beloved bass in a different direction.

My heart did not jump.

No—it damn near performed backflips at his sudden taking of action. I swallowed quietly as that overwhelming feeling overcame me; y'know, that suffocating warmth where you're sweating but you're not really sweating..? He had noticed my use of gimmicks to attempt to change the subject, but he didn't want to change the subject. Nor did I, at least not anymore after weeks of this anticipation-filled taunting of ours. I shifted my attention up to his eyes and they were already fixated on me, just as I expected them to be as I felt his gaze sifting through the tender grooves of my ego when I was looking down at my instrument earlier. He sent me a look that I can only decipher as need.

"Y/n"-

His yet to be gathered words are quickly cut off before he can even finish my first name. That look was all George needed to do to send me over the edge. I dropped my bass (which pained me to a great extent, but at that moment I couldn't care less) in order to grasp his face with both hands and pull his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I felt his body jerk the slightest bit, in reaction to the sudden feeling of my lips daringly welcoming his. Both of George's eyebrows shot up, eyelashes fluttering shut as he proceeded to kiss me back in a slow, painfully sweet manner.

I am literally kissing George Harrison right now.

It was incredulous. The sentiment of his lips were incredulous. With each rhythmic pucker in which his mouth morphed into mine, a fluid saccharine dispersed through my veins. After 5 incredibly steady seconds, our lips parted with only the sound of a wet smack followed by synchronized panting. I inhale shakily, parting my swollen lips in awe as I peer up at his flustered face. Something was suddenly...different about George's demeanor. From his taunting frame displayed an aura that was 10 times more powerful than it was five seconds ago, that had me questioning whether I should be scared—or excited—or both.

"George..."

My words trailed off into a cry as George longingly pressed my figure against his, demolishing any space between us that could interfere with the intertwining of our rutty bodies. With one of his hands applying pressure to my lower back forcing my crotch to bump against his, and the other holding the back of my neck to ensure I was strictly only inhaling the air that left his mouth which still had a smoggy hint to it, he kissed me once again deeper than before.

We were in a rut, like caged fucking animals who haven't been able to interact for years. The slow, sentimental kissing we had partaken in just seconds ago had quickly turned into a hot, sloppy make-out, as several chairs, guitars, and drinks had been repeatedly knocked over consequently from our passionate fondling. Oh, how passionate it was. The harmonic "huffs" and "puffs" reverberated off the studio walls, blending with the sound of George's groans, which I earned from from occasionally tugging at his silky brown locks I cherished so much. He had then slipped his eager tongue past my inviting lips, as it explored every empty space inside of my mouth and occasionally swiveled its wetness around mine. After traversing around the room in a lustful tango for what seemed like forever, I eventually felt a cold collision between my back and the wall behind me.

"Shit, Harri...", I wept to his right ear, the grip I had on his shirt growing even tighter from the shifting levels of our hot clothed sex down below. Our bodies were inseparable at that point, being so close that I could sense the heat that radiated from George. Suddenly I felt the corners of his moist lips expand into a smile against mine.

"What 'appened to 'Mr. Harrison?'"

The pitch of his voice steeped lower than usual, however he still had that undertone of mockery that rang through my ears and shot signals down to my aroused areas. Huffing a light chuckle through his nose, he urged to continue his hand's exploration of my vulnerable body...however I had interrupted his hungry gestures.

"You're gonna have to prove yourself for such a title...", I whispered as I took both of his veiny hands within my grasp and started to slither them down over my chest, then eventually to my stomach...then lastly I guided him to where it ached for his infectious contact the most. When I shifted my attention back to his face, his peering velvet pools indicated he had took me on to this "challenge".

George had surely understood the assignment.

We both heaved out a sigh as his yearning fingers started to slide under the waistline of my jeans, and very slowlyyyy dipped into my sopping panties. I bit my lip as my eyebrows caved in, anticipating the electric touch of his fingertips. He tapped the slick residue from my aching heat, almost as if he was testing the waters, jaw clenched tight from the wet abundance that coated his fingers. I could tell it was turning him on like crazy. While humming blissfully through pursed lips, George gently pushed his independent digit inside of me making sure to curve it at that perfect angle which ever so slightly hit my sweet spot, before drawing his drenched finger back out. A whine escapes my mouth at the emptiness of my needy muff.

"Fuck, I can't", he exhales while looking at my squeamish body.

"What do you mean"-

"I can't wait any longer, I want to taste you."

Leaving a beam of excitement shooting through my core, he lifted me up with both hands supporting my ass, and lied me on the piano. As the shock of the cold surface raised my restricted nipples almost immediately, George skimmed his hands down my body, then slid down my pants so only my lacy underwear remained. The corner of his lips formed a coy smile when he noticed the decently sized dark spot that lingered on the fabric of my crotch. Then as he licked his lips once more, he pulled my panties aside with a singular finger, exposing my—

"Pretty cunt", he buzzed while he admired the not-so-still picture that was now displayed for him. His word choice seemed brash, but the way it slurred of his tongue was so gentle...in a way that made him seem strangely humble.

He's unreal, I thought as a wave of shyness came over my body in reaction to the sight of him observing my sacred parts, urging me to quickly close my legs. However before the skin of my thighs could smack together, George pulled them back apart, revealing his cheeky smile.

"Ah-uh."

A tingling pink hue scattered through my face when I realized that he was mocking me from our little Marlboro situation. The sass of that man.

George didn't waste a second re-entering his finger into my seeping twat, following that slow, steady rhythm he had performed just seconds ago. He knew exactly where to hit. Every dip and protrusion of his experienced feeler that rubbed against my sensitive walls shot pulsing signals through my body— and catapulted me into a fucking orbit. My stomach caved in as I tensely watched his finger disappear in and out of my pussy, each time coming out shinier than before. My front teeth sank into my bottom lip in attempt to hide restrained whimpers that escaped my mouth...until he snuck in a second finger (it wasn't sneaky at all) with a wet kiss to my clit. Unable to bear the dilated size and girth of his two fingers alone pumping into me so sweetly, my head flew back and I started let every gasp and moan he triggered spill shamelessly from my lips. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to beg for mercy...or serve me by satisfying any desires and fantasies that I wished. George was so alluring...so complex. I loved it.

"Yes...thats it, love, don't hold back. Am I makin' you feel good?"

He knew what he was doing. He was fully aware of the dramatic effects he had on my body, but he just wanted to partake in toying with me further. George's thick accent that bled through his vocabulary only turned me on so much more with each syllable rattling my core—making it so much more harder to choke out words, therefore I only nodded my head obnoxiously to satisfy his question.

"Mm-mm, I need to hear you. Let me hear how good my fingers make you feel. C'mon...", he encouraged as his tall frame draped over mine; long strands of chocolate hair gracefully tickling my hot cheeks. As he serenaded my soul with his words, his fingers were gradually fucking my insides faster and faster, each stroke producing a raunchy squelch that became more and more audible. Torpedos of pleasure repeatedly shot through my body with each time George flawlessly curved against my G-spot, never missing a beat. Finally, I folded my neck to desperately look at his eyes which were keenly observing every facial and bodily reaction that was fingered out of me. His staggering orbs then peered into mine, hassling me to give him that audible closure he yearned for, as his locks shuddered from his jerky movements. I managed to to cry out one more shaky moan before panting out,

"Yes Mr. Harrison, it feels so good. I want you so bad...I want to come all over your fingers. Please."

George plastered an appreciative smile on his face in attempt to mask the fact my pleading and name-calling had drove him fucking feral; the suffocating protrusion in his pants making it evident already. His right hand crept down to the band of my undies, retracting it so it would audibly slap against my skin. His eyes shot up to mine.

"May I?", he questioned as he continued the fiddling of my intimates.

I bobbed my head once and with that, he hooked his fingers under the east and west ends of my panties and sluggishly pulled them down to my ankles, slick rubbing off on my thighs on the way down. George took his time enjoying every twitch and squirm of anticipation that ran through my legs, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his lips several times before I was finally free of any restraints. His attention shifted to the wall clock for a brief second before returning back to the helpless—dressless—woman that was now naked and ready for him.

"Sorry, love. Im going to have to make this quick", he says before flashing a smirk.

Why?, I thought as I turned my head around to try and look at the clock, however my thought was mercilessly pushed away by George's wetness invading my eagerly displayed pearl. My teeth almost immediately captured my bottom lip at the surging pleasure that quickly dispersed through every nerve that claimed my system.

Boy, did he have some magical tongue.

George steadied himself by setting his hands on my jerking hips as his tongue flicked heavy stripes and circles around my clit—every motion erupting huffs, moans, groans, and squeals from my core to the edge of my lips. And with every lewd sound and dirty prompt that shamelessly spewed from my mouth, a groan, hum, or chuckle from him followed...each one a wet vibration to my clit. His encapsulating eyes flicked up second after second to capture every reaction that was sucked so graciously out of me. Every once in a short while my eyes would meet his, and I could tell this man was enjoying every jerk and squirm my body made, every cave and expansion of my stomach, every pant I heaved like a dog in heat, every direction my eyes would turn whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot....he made sure to absorb everything. While my hands were desperately trying to grab something for support, they just so happened to meet George's messy mop, tugging tightly until it urged a groan from his lips—and an addition of two fingers inside of me.

"Oh god..." , I whimpered as the mixed sensations of Georges gentle kisses and licks to my jewel and his skilled digits rhythmically pumping inside my heated walls pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I watched tentatively, noticing how between kisses his gaze would shift constantly between the hot sloppy juices that exited my body and coated his fingers, and the priceless facial expressions that morphed my face...almost like he struggled deciding which view was better.

"Right there..?, he cooed with his mouth hung open, being entranced by the image before him and wanting more of it. I helplessly nodded my head as he continued to course his curious muscle around my clit, pleasantly tossing it around and sucking it occasionally with his pillowy kisser. With a few more bumps his fingers had flawlessly pressed to my G-spot, that all-too familiar sensation started creeping up from the depths of my core like a volcano, as I felt the earth-shattering eruption overwhelm my body.

"George..!", I cried, squeezing his left hand that still rested on my waist—which was now elevated a few inches off the piano—I experienced a high I've never done before. Patches of color and patterns masked my vision in a striking haze as I bared the painfully-sweet orgasm that possessed my body.

Damn, all he did was eat me out.

Once I recovered, I fluttered my eyes open to see George below me—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and...wet clothes? I quickly scanned the area and noticed the piano speckled in a water-like fluid, along with my own clothes.

Oh.

Once I realized what George had evoked out of me, I shot upwards and closed my legs shut, hands flying to my mouth in embarrassment.

"My, where are your manners?", he mocked once again with a stupid smile tweaked in his lips, standing up straight to uncover my bashed face with his hands.

"Don't act so posh now, you devil."

He mumbled something sultry under his musky breath before dipping his head in for another kiss, however before the edges of our lips could meet, a parking vehicle catches our attention from outside the window. Our heads turn simultaneously as our eyes slowly track a familiar figure strut out of the car and closer to the studio building.

It was Ringo.

#george harrison #george harrison smut #the beatles #the beatles smut #60s

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namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou · 2 years

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There Are Many Benefits To Being A Matelot

Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate fic for @cryptidvoidwritings >:) First time writing the Raffish crew! At first I wanted to think up different names for them, but I thought it would be a little confusing and you did ask for Tuggerstrap in particular, so the Raffish crew happens to share the names of the cats who portray them during the musical. I hope you enjoy! :) Quick warning: alcohol and sex are discussed, but neither consumed or performed. Love to everyone who reads, likes or reblogs! ♥♥♥

The screams of the seagulls almost tuned out the other racket going on above them, therefore, Tugger was as relaxed as one could be.

Although…

He stretched and threw his left leg over Munkustrap’s right.

Now he was relaxed.

Munkustrap commented this with little more than a soft huff of breath, eyelids heavy and ears flicking ever so often in half-asleep, drunken stupor.

Tugger turned his head to admire his companion for a moment, from the tips of his black ears to the equally black, folded paws that were resting on his stomach, down to his worn-out leather boots with the small lopsided heart carved into the left heel, courtesy of Tugger himself.

“Why not your initials?” Grumbuskin had asked while observing the shoe-carving almost a year ago.

“He can’t read,” Tugger had answered. Munkustrap had just sat there and giggled.

Well, maybe they just all drank too much too often. But then again, who would withhold this one last source of pleasure from them?

Or rather second to last source. One source was currently lying right next to Tugger.

Said source was also humming and somehow swaying even though he was laying down, so maybe they should really give the drinking problem a little more thought. Later, though. When they weren’t so drunk.

Growltiger and Griddlebone’s duet reached a new level of volume on the deck above them, and Tugger crossed his arms behind his head and wondered what it must be like to have a paramour.

Might be nice to have someone waiting for you at the shore. But then again, wasn’t it much nicer to have them right with you on the ship, at all times? Maybe he preferred having a matelot instead of a lover.

Tugger grabbed Munkustrap’s tail, who stopped humming for just a second to quietly huff again, then resumed humming.

Yeah, matelotage was much better. More benefits to it, too. Griddlebone probably wouldn’t inherit any property if Growltiger decided to kick the bucket.

(Not that Tugger was very eager to inherit anything soon. He had his own pair of worn-out boots, thank you.)

He petted the soft striped tail in his hands, smoothing down the fur and watching the tip twitch lazily.

“Don’t pull,” Munkustrap said without moving his lips, blinking excruciatingly slow.

“Would never think of it,” Tugger answered and pulled a little.

“Mmph.”

Tugger hid a grin in his shirt collar and turned his head to where Mistoffelees and Mungojerrie had long become an unorganized cluster of limbs. Skimble sat at the bulkhead and stared at the ceiling, fully immersed in the passionate singing that went on up there.

“You’re pining.”

Skimble startled and shot Tugger an offended glare. “Yes. And what about it?”

Tugger shrugged. “As long as Growltiger’s still alive…”

“Well, maybe we should wish upon a star, all of us together. Our contracts are far from over.”

That was true.

Piracy was great, all in all: sailing was fun and there was always enough to eat (and too much to drink), it was nice to fall asleep to the sound and movement of the waves, they had health insurance and what was matelotage if not the greatest invention ever? (Poor Skimble. Maybe they would have to consider polygamy, he seemed so dreadfully lonely sometimes.)

The only disadvantage was… well. They had a boss. And said boss was, frankly said, an asshole.

There was a reason why the crew only consisted of five cats. They were the toughest and most steadfast, and they survived getting bullied, shoved, kicked and punched just because Growltiger felt like it without much of a complaint. At least in Growltiger’s vicinity.

Tugger spent many hours of his day wishing for the Navy to catch up to them and simultaneously fearing what would happen to the crew if they did so.

“Kind of hard to wish upon a star when we’re down here, though.”

Skimble scratched his chin. Then he stared at the ceiling again. Tugger did the same.

Truth to be told, everyone was pining a little for Griddlebone; it was almost impossible not to. She was one of the most beautiful living creatures wandering on this green earth, that much was certain. Her voice was hypnotic and her sense of humour even more so, and she could drink tea in the most fanciest manner Tugger had ever seen, and he and the rest of the crew thought that to be highly impressive, not to say attractive.

If Growltiger did kick the bucket and Griddlebone was willing to go for a bit of mattress sport, Tugger wouldn’t think twice before accepting. He’d probably bring Munkustrap, though, just to have something familiar to fall back on should something not go according to plan.

…Yes, matelotage was much better than just having a lover.

“I made the right decision,” Tugger told Munkustrap, pulling a little on his tail.

“Ah,” Munkustrap said.

Then: “That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“Concerning you, I mean.”

“Oh.”

And then Munkustrap smiled, and smiled and smiled and smiled and Tugger pulled a little on his tail again because he could barely stand it. He would surely burst if he looked at the smile for even one second longer, so he continued with staring holes into the ceiling.

From the corner of his eyes, Tugger could see Munkustrap’s paws unfolding themselves, and the right one reached, grasped Tugger’s, held on and pulled back to refold with his left.

Tugger let go of Munkustrap’s abused tail and rested his remaining paw on his chest, absentmindedly playing with the loose buttons of his linen shirt.

“I’m glad you made the decision.”

Tugger silently noted that he said ‘decision’, not ‘right decision’ and squeezed his paw.

Munkustrap squeezed back.

“Me too.”

For a while, nothing was heard but the two lovers’ voices hitting new record heights, the seagulls and Skimble scratching his chin from time to time.

“What do you think of polygamy?”

Munkustrap’s eyes opened a little wider; he almost looked awake now. “Probably a lot of effort to manage so that nobody is jealous of someone else. Why do you ask?”

Tugger was about to lift his paw off his chest to point at the lone tomcat sitting at the bulkhead, when suddenly all hatches slammed shut at the same time with a BANG.

The tangle of limbs and fur that was Mungojerrie and Mistoffelees flinched and untangled at a breathtaking speed. At least that’s what Tugger assumed was happening, because with the closing of the hatches their only source of light had been decimated.

To be precise: it was pitch black, with only slivers of light poking through the ceiling beams.

Munkustrap’s wide yellow eyes stared back at him when Tugger turned his head back around, apparently very suddenly very sober.

A loud, wailing shriek rang out and made the Raffish crew’s ears press to their skulls. Then the ship vibrated with a lot of cats stomping about, a lot of screaming and several swords clashing, interspersed with a splash of someone falling into the water here and there.

“The Navy!” Mungojerrie breathed, at the same time as Mistoffelees whispered “It’s Gilbert!”

The noise kept up for several more long minutes, then there was a very big splash, and loud cheers of “Huzzah!” relieved the crew’s accumulated tension.

Growltiger had been defeated.

As their crewmates whooped and hollered, Tugger and Munkustrap looked at each other without a word. The hatches were closed; there had been no way for them to enter the fight and help, but they hadn’t really felt like it anyway. They could reach the gun deck easily, however, and the gun ports were most probably still open. A successful escape was more than likely.

Maybe they’d even come across Griddlebone, swimming around in the Thames somewhere.

Tugger squeezed Munkustrap’s paw, and Munkustrap squeezed back.

Matelotage was great.

Poor Griddlebone hadn’t gotten anything out of being Growltiger’s lover other than wet fur and a head cold, if she was truly unlucky. But at the moment, she wasn’t their problem, and they all enjoyed their sudden unemployment very much.

“Now, tell me, Skimble,” Mungojerrie grinned as the five of them climbed out of the gun ports into blessed freedom, whiskers blowing in the wind and sharp teeth bared to laugh at the moon, “how did that star you wished upon get below deck?”

All pirates are bisexual, I don’t make the rules. This was utterly and completely inspired by the time I saw Cats in Vienna; Everlasting Cat bless Dominik Hees’ pirate Tugger and his unstoppable urge to cuddle with Alexander Auler’s giggly drunk pirate Munk. ♥ Originally this thing was almost four times as long, but it got a little long-winded and world-building-y so I had to reduce it quite drastically XD It’s very probable that I’ll come back to it at some point, because I love pirates. You love pirates. Everyone loves pirates. Thank you for reading! ♥ Also:

#cats the musical #rum tum tugger #munkustrap #tuggerstrap #namethat-i writes #catsiversary: the sequel

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manikas-whims · 2 years

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Her concern; His Promise

[Read on AO3]

When Vin Jin returns from the so-called Circus of the Workers 2nd Affiliate, he is greeted by Mary Kim, who immediately decides to fix his hair. As they talk, their conversation stirs towards an argument.. just a small argument and make up moment between these two, whilst Mary cuts Vin's hair.

-> Dedicated to my friend who has somehow got me invested in this ship and requested I write a fic for them. Hope it isn't too OOC cuz I actually re-read their chapters to write them better. And hope you guys like it as much as my friend did ♥

“Sit straight!”

The command made his lips stretch into an irritating grin. Vin Jin knew how easy it was to annoy Mary Kim, especially if he was the instigator of said annoyance. He tilted his head, causing a very furious Mary to grab it and make him face the small mirror in front of him.

As soon as he had returned from his unwanted participation in Daniel Park and his friends' fight against Workers 2nd Affiliate, he was welcomed by Mary's scolding. She had practically dragged him inside their shared apartment, complaining about his month-long retreat into the mountains and how awful it had made his hair.

Now he sat in a plastic chair in the bathroom, his sunglasses discarded and left on the basin's counter. He stared at his reflection, the mismatched anomaly that was his irises as she furiously resumed combing through his thick mane, snapping a pair of scissors here and there in hopes of fashioning his hair to a reasonable length.

“Move again and I'll cut your throat with these damned scissors.” She warned.

“Wow..” he feigned a hurt expression, “I come back all bruised up and my hair is all that you care about.”

She raised a brow in disgust. “Not like you care much about me either.”

“Says who?” He asked, feeling genuine irritation prick his mind at her response.

She continued cutting his locks as if she hadn't heard a word.

“Says who?” He repeated, watching her lips press into an angry line.

“Mary Kim.”

She huffed, slamming the scissors loudly on the counter. “If you cared about me at all, you wouldn't be getting your ass into every stupid fight!”

“Well, it's just as you say! They're stupid fights! Nothing to get so heated over!”

“Those stupid fights lead to your ban from the judo team!”

“Doesn't matter. I'm gonna be a rapper, remember?”

“Then why did you go after Daniel Park!?”

“To teach that punk a lesson!”

“Well, I didn't follow you to Seoul for this!”

“I never asked you to follow me!”

The room went silent.

Gone was his burning irritation and in its place, a cold, heavy regret settled.

“Mar—”

He grimaced at the scratchy noise of his chair being forcefully turned around, a dainty palm already poised to slap him. But before her hand could strike his cheek, he effortlessly blocked the action with his own palm.

“Apologize.” She spoke softly; He felt her palm shaking against his own. “Apologize you damn thug!”

“I..” He tilted his face up to look at her, black and gray irises meeting her dark blue pools.

Being the kind of person he was, it was hard for him to apologize. Yet he uttered the words anyway. “I'm sorry, okay?”

She scoffed bitterly.

Then he added the words she needed to hear the most. The words he truly meant. “I won't say that ever again.”

She averted her eyes, retreating her hand back to her side, and picked up the scissors from where she had left them. “Of course you won't.”

He gritted his teeth. She had gone back to trimming his hair, skillfully avoiding looking directly into his eyes. He knew his dislike for Daniel Park or Vasco or anyone at J High was the least of her concerns. He knew his fights against the Four Major Crews weren't the reason behind her anger. Fighting had nothing to do with their current argument at all. It was fear. Fear of seeing him getting too carried away during a fight. Fear of him losing himself in it. Fear of him committing another grave, irrevocable mistake.

He sat patiently, waiting for her to be done with the task at hand and also to allow her a few moments with herself. To let her calm down and collect her head.

When she was finally done, she took his face between her palms and turned his face this way and that, quietly examining the results of her hour-long struggle. Yet never once did her eyes fall upon his own. Sighing, he grabbed hold of her wrists and pulled them down gently, clasping their palms together instead.

“It won't happen ever again.” He promised. I won't kill anyone ever again.

When she didn't respond, he joked, “Don't you trust me?”

She yanked her wrists from his grasp and punched his chest. Once. Twice. Five more times to let her frustrations out. Her face was lowered so as to obscure her expression but Vin was sure of the small smile lighting her lips. She did. She trusted him enough to accompany him to Seoul. She chose to stick by his side, just like he did for her.

“Idiot.” She mumbled at last. “I do trust you. You just make it so hard.”

He couldn't help himself from smiling back, relieved and thankful to have someone as concerned and kind in his life.

“Ohho!? Am I dreaming or has Mary Kim actually forgiven me?” He jokingly put a hand over his heart, hoping to liven up the mood a little.

“Not so fast!” She crossed her arms and spoke. “You're treating us to dinner tonight.”

She fixed a Chanel bandana in her wavy blond hair and left the washroom, expecting him to follow. He grinned before picking up his sunglasses from the counter and running after her.

“Okay but first let's go to the arcade.”

#lookism #vin jin #mary kim #진호빈 #김 미루 #외모지상주의 #vin jin x mary kim #lookism webtoon #jin hobin #kim miru #vinmary #this took me 3-5 hours honestly #cuz i kept revising to make it sound better #anyways my first ever lookism fanfic #lookism fanfic #vin jin fanfic #mary kim fanfic #vin jin x mary kim fanfic

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yandere-sins · 2 years

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honestly MOOD! i write readers with ambiguous genitals sometimes, or at least i try to, and i think it comes out okay, but it's not super easy when you want to write about the reader's sensations in a ton of detail.

it's like. it can be done, it can be done enjoyably, but being explicit about what the reader has downstairs allows you to really write about how it feels, what they're experiencing, etc. like I JUST WANNA GO HAM HERE I WANNA BE FULL HORNY and i can't say "clit" bc not everyone has that so where does that leave us huh???

and... man daskhlfkh your anons. genitalia =/= gender,,, i understand afab has the "f" in it but it's just shorthand so ppl dont have to say "tits/vagina" in the tags dsgjklhg

you are 100% right that it is free food and i am happily, gleefully waiting in life for the buffet to open back up <3

Yeah, exactly, it comes out okay and it works but it's like an itch on your back that you can't reach because it's in a very awkward spot. Like I said, if you are not into mostly writing butt stuff, I'd say it's tough luck to really unleash the full potential of the sex scenes. No matter what you write (even if you'd go out of your way to write intersex bodies) someone will be upset who doesn't agree, so in the end, better just to stick to whatever you want to do. ^^

Thanks ♥ Stories will resume soon!

@fluffydregprince

If I can't serve anyone, imma serve myself I guess lol. Thanks, with mutuals like you @elsecrytt I know I am surrounded by the right people for my personal decision and it's always good to hear ♥

Yeah :/ Hottake but from now on, when nb people take off their clothes there's just a galaxy underneath.

Jokes aside, the anon was probably just against the use of female bodies or nonbinary pronouns. We'll never know which...

Thanks for your interest! I do ^^

Yay! :D You're valid anon :3

Nope! Don't know about that, please reference my fandom list in the future! ♥

#Admin

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kazumaple · 3 years

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Hi! Thank you for opening requests! Can I get a fluff scenario with tbz hyunjae where he was so apologetic because he accidentally lost a ring you gifted to him but you totally understand and didn't mind at all and surprised him with a new one? Tysm!

bling bling ♥ lee hyunjae

here you go! i hope you enjoy, thanks for requesting.

summary: having a sweet boyfriend has its pros and cons. mainly pros. but what happens when he messes up? he never stops apologizing. which has proven to be quite annoying, especially since you needed to work. but, what better way is there to shut someone up than to give them a gift?

details: established relationship!au, journalist!reader. word count: 757

this was requested. click here to request something. link to masterlist.

"hey." he uttered as he leant on the dark-wooden doorframe of your bedroom.

"hey." you whispered back, as you sensed him approach you and put a hand on the small of your back.

"what are you working on?" he asks, looking down at your laptop screen, attempting to make sense of the notes that you had taken.

currently, you were trying your best to form points that you could use in your next article. you were a journalist, and had wanted to be since you were young. something about being able to look things from different perspectives and manipulate others' perspectives through your writing exhilarated you. it was sort of like a debate, just written down.

sighing, you leaned back in your chair. it had been a rough day at work, with your boss issuing you a project that would consume the weekend. originally, you had wanted to spend the weekend with your boyfriend, hyunjae, but your plans had been obstructed by your newly busy working schedule.

"just a new project issued by my boss," you replied, a hint of sorrow tainting your usually chipper tone, "i don't think we'll be able to go to that restaurant anymore, jae."

grabbing your hands, he reassured with a small smile, "don't worry about it. i know work is hard for you right now."

thanking him and pressing a tender kiss onto his palm, you tried to turn back to your laptop, only to be interrupted once more.

"i actually have some bad news too," hyunjae confessed.

"what is it?"

"i- i accidentally lost the ring you have me on our first anniversary," he admitted, sorrow leaking from him, "i'm so sorry, i don't know what i did with it, it was just gone-"

"hey, hey, hey," you interrupted him, "don't worry about it, jae, it happens."

looking up at him, you smiled, "it's just a ring, it's not that important."

"yeah but you-"

"bup, bup bup!" you interjected, playfully this time, "it's alright."

"okay." he frowned with a sigh.

"how about we reschedule our dinner, then?" you suggest, trying to lighten his mood, "we can do next tuesday! i'll work extra hard to finish this by then."

nodding excitedly, he agreed.

plopping a kiss on your forehead, he left you to your own devices and decided to watch some tv. feeling a newfound motivation, you resumed your work, somehow consumed by ideas and eloquence. each word you typed, it seemed that you were somehow somewhere else, as you drifted into a whole new world of hyper focus.

i know how i'm going to cheer him up.

---

and soon the dinner came. since then, you had finished your project, which was a relief, you weren’t sure how you would have managed if you didn’t and successfully prepared your surprise.

you weren’t sure if this was a good choice, economically or socially, but it was the one you’d made, and you couldn’t back out now, especially since the surprise was in your clutches right now.

putting your utensils down as a signifier that you’d finished your meal. you looked at hyunjae in the eyes.

he didn’t try hard to look good today. he just wore a simple dress shirt and pants. but, somehow he still did. the light somehow shone onto the best parts of his face, casting shadows on his jaw and illuminating his eyes.

“hm?” he asked, his mouth still full.

“i have something for you,” you chuckled, “are you finished eating?”

nodding eagerly, he too, put down his utensils.

“what it is it?” he inquired, food fully chewed this time.

“well, i know you were really sad about how you lost the other one so i-”

“no you didn’t.” he shook his head in awe.

“i did.” you smirked slightly, as you pulled the black velvet box out of your bag and opened it gingerly, revealing the stunning piece of jewellery that lay inside.

it was a simple band, made out of silver, with delicately carved ridges, made to imitate wood. it was sleek and sharp, yet still somehow classy.

“our 5th anniversary is coming up, and i know we aren’t married, but wood is the traditional 5th wedding anniversary gift, it’s supposed to symbolize strength and longevity in a relationship, and i liked the symbolism.”

“you didn’t have to-”

“i know, i know,” you said, “i just wanted to surprise you. do you like it?”

he put the ring on his finger and held his hand out to you, displaying it proudly.

“i love it,” he begun, “and i love you.”

“i love you too.”

#the boyz scenarios #the boyz #hyunjae #tbz hyunjae #tbz #tbz imagines #hyunjae imagines #established relationship #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #hyunjae scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbz scenarios

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sheepiling · 2 years

Note

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10 simblrs whose sims you adore ♥♥♥

Thank you for sending this! I love these little games for our sims, they're fun! 💖

My #1 favorite (that's my own sim and not a premade) is Apple! My immortal matriarch~♡ So I'll list 5 facts about her!!!

🍎 Apple Berry 🍎

1. In her soul, she is a bear! It was not just a phase, it's who she is. However, she now saves the bear suit for more socially appropriate times to wear it instead of suiting up all the time. 🐼🧸

2. Her favorite holidays are Yule/Winterfest and New Year's Eve!! And her most favorite music station is Winter Holiday!!! ❄️

3. While I keep forgetting to have Apple do this in-game often enough, her favorite hobbies are writing in her diary and writing to pen-pals (i had meant to do the post card collection with her and just plum forgot, i should really get back to that soon)

4. My goal is to make her similar to Barbie. Every time she maxes out a career, she'll quit and start a new one. Never aging, never dying, and always adding more to her resume! 🩺

5. Even though she resembles her mother the most, she's technically half-Indian. Her father was the Hermit (my game spawned an adult one instead of an elder and my founder snatched him up), and my game spawned a sim for that "NPC" role with an Indian name that actually looked ethnically Indian imo (City Living really started throwing asian names on all sorts of sims that were obviously not asian lol).

Anywho, with her father being a hermit and living alone in the woods, and then just moving into my founder's Willow Creek shack in the middle of nowhere, Apple didn't really grow up with his culture at all. But if EA ever makes a pack set in India (or fantasy-middle-east) I'd love to have Apple go visit!

#asks #tags #5 facts #sims 4 #ts4 #berry legacy #gen 5 #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #simblr #flowerhoneysims #apple berry

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 2 years

Text

Updates & Announcements

Just to make it so that I'm not continuously answering questions when things are being posted/updated, here's a brief overview:

(If you don’t want to read this, most of the answers are Yes, No, I have no idea when that will be posted and You’ll just have to wait and see.)

All series will resume posting in August. When in August? I have no idea and I doubt I will have an idea until we are a few days away, if anything is ready to be shared by that time.

I'm debating on a weekly or biweekly posting schedule for one shots, etc. While it looks great on paper, actually applying it is gonna be the real test and I’m gonna attempt to not set myself up for failure by giving a posting schedule and not sticking to it.

HOWEVER, I do know for a fact I want to alternate what I’m posting weekly. Excluding series because of the sole reason that if I create a posting schedule for those series, it wont match up weekly for what I am thinking. But each week of the month corresponding with angst, fluff, drabbles only, and prompt inspiration, with the occasional mixed content for those weeks where I somehow hyperfixate on a specific theme and need to purge my drafts. Again, looks amazing on paper, but the reality of it is I may not do this. It’s a guessing game at this point.

Will there be more fics with _(Insert Character Name)_?

Yes, No, Maybe. I’m currently rewatching TVD and my partial drafts have been Damon centric. (I’ve been neglecting Damon and damn it, I needed to fix that.) However there are quite a few others that are within my drafts and a nice list is growing of the characters I would like to eventually get things out for. I just don’t know when it will happen.

Have you thought about writing for _(Insert Character Name/Fandom)_?

Probably! Chances are that I have thought about it, it was probably requested at some point before I purged the requests, or there is a partial draft somewhere with that character or fandom that I just haven’t gotten around to finishing. Will I get to them? Maybe.

Will you be taking requests any time soon?

Most likely no. And as much as I hate to do it, I’m not going to be answering any messages about requests. It will probably sit there until I’m no longer lazy to delete them, or on the off chance of: HEY! THAT ACTUALLY SPARKED SOMETHING!, I’ll save it and use the request. But the point of purging the long to do list was not to fall into a rabbit hole of things that I can’t finish.

Will there be previews of what is to come?

As much as hyping you guys up about what was coming was something I normally did. This time around, probably not. While I know I’ll be posting the things for myself, I know y’all will act so excited for the previews but not show up for the actual fic. So why not just wait for the fic itself and just read it and hype it up that way?

What happened to _(insert fic name)_?

Oh you missed that post. However you can find it here and it give quite the bit of information as well!

Thats it for now. if your questions don’t fall under any of these, feel free to send it in. I promise I’ll answer them.

ALSOOOOOOOO!!!!

I am probably going to be raido silent starting Next Wednesday until the 11th of July. I’M MEETING FAMILY THAT I FOUND ON ANCESTRY!♥

Thanks for reading! ♥

#dom rambles #dom's updates and annoucements #updates and announcements #Hopefully that helps!

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darkcolinodonorgasm · 4 years

Text

Made of Stars (11/?)

Summary: When Emma is bought and sent off to Drogheda, she expects to be the wife of a disgusting man. What she doesn't expect is that her husband is Killian Jones, renowned artist. Trying to be the perfect wife Madame Mills had taught her to be, Emma will soon discover Killian's secret agenda as well as feelings she had never felt before, feeling that she can't understand. All her life she'd been told what a good wife should do, how she should be, but how can she do that when she doesn't know who she is if not an empty shell? And why does she feel this pull towards Killian? She shouldn't. She doesn't know how to love, and her husband surely doesn't love her.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!

A/N: Whew, long time no see, uh? I have, well, I have a reason why I had to take a break from this fic. Some of you asked, and I already answered, but it doesn't cost me anything to tell you why: after I posted the last chapter, I had a bad exchange with someone about this fic. I wasn't in a good place of work at the time, stressed as fuck and not at ease at all with my boss. That stress, added to that exchange, well, it didn't end well. Even though I had a plan for this fic, I couldn't find it in myself to go on, to write more of Emma and Killian in this story because part of me feared more backlash and more insults thrown my way.

Thanks to many amazing people, though, I've slowly crawled back to the file and opened it. I edited a bit of what I had and then went on with my plan. The more I wrote, the more I envisioned how it would go, better than my original plan, but still sticking to what I wanted to write and to happen in the first place. Maybe this year long break was good, maybe not, and I might wake up tomorrow to more insults and critiques - which I hope won't happen, but this is fandom life, isn't it? - but I hope, this time, I will be stronger and punch back, just like Emma Swan teaches.

I want to thank all of those who will still follow this fic, mostly of course for your patience. I couldn't have done it without @carpedzem and the people who supported me at the time and throughout the writing process of this last chapter. You know who you are, you are all precious to me ♥

Finally, I have no idea when I'll update next, I have so much to write and I wanted to finish some of my shortest fics before focusing on my multichapters, but this was long overdue. This said, I hope, of course, that it won't take me another year.

Thank you, and please, enjoy ♥

Chapter: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

(ao3)

March was chaotic to say the least, the days leading to Saint Patrick’s Day a whirlwind of activities: wherever she went, Emma found herself surrounded by even more green than usual and, if possible, by even more tourists, too.

She was making pancakes, wrapped a black robe and her hair mussed by sleep, when she felt two arms circling her waist.

«Something smells delicious,» Killian purred in her hear, and slipping his fingers just beneath her robe, grazing beneath her breasts. Emma couldn’t suppress a moan, especially not when his nose brushed strands of hair from her neck, only to be replaced by his warm lips.

As soon as she could find her voice yet again – a tremendous effort – she retorted: «And they won’t smell so good if they’re burned.»

She could feel his smirk widen against the soft skin below her ear. «I wasn’t talking about the pancakes.»

«Of course you weren’t,» Emma snorted, turning off the stove and turning around to wrap her arms around Killian’s neck. «But I’m famished, and if you dare keep me away from these pancakes I don’t know if I’ll be responsible for my actions.»

His eyebrows shot up and Emma had to bite the inside of her cheek to restrain herself from laughing. Before he could say something that would surely leave the pancakes there to cool until they weren’t edible anymore, she turned around, resuming her task.

With a last peck on her cheek, Killian stepped away and set the kitchen island. He busied himself preparing enough coffee to give them both a boost. Emma felt inwardly grateful for that: although she didn’t love coffee, she still needed caffeine to function. That is, unless she woke up on her own after enough hours of sleep.

After pouring herself so much sugar she doubted it could actually dissolve in her coffee, Emma filled her plate with a stack of pancakes, drowning them in chocolate sauce under Killian’s amused gaze. She raised an eyebrow in challenge at him, at which he shrugged and poured himself a good amount of chocolate sauce too.

Hiding her satisfied smile behind her mug, Emma enjoyed her breakfast, that quiet, domestic moment she never thought she would experience.

«I was thinking,» Killian began, «why don’t we go to Dublin and stay there for St. Patrick’s? We can enjoy the festivities and then go house scouting.»

«You want us to what?»

Truth to be told, Emma would never have reacted that way, not when she was trained to obey whatever order Killian gave her but, after Valentine’s Day, things had started to change. Things were still changing, the slight shift deep inside Emma, a change she didn’t want to admit or didn’t even realize was happening still in the first phases.

Killian shrugged, a bashful smile on his face that made him look like a child. «St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin. You just can’t miss it.» The cute expression he had on his face suddenly turned sinful as he smirked. «They say you’ll never forget your first.»

Jaw dropped somewhere on the floor – or even on the other side of the planet – Emma gaped at him. Oh, he was bad. Unable to come up with an answer, Emma shoved a forkful of pancakes in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as her cheeks kept burning at his words.

It shouldn’t surprise her, not at all, that Killian wasn’t forcing her to go to Dublin, asking her if she wanted to, instead.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to go. In fact, she was quite thrilled to see how Dublin looked like during its most important festivity.

She looked back at him, finding Killian with his eyes still on her. «Fine,» Emma conceded, wiggling the fork in front of her, «but we need to find a dog-friendly accommodation.»

Emma wasn’t sure he’d ever smiled as brightly as he did in that moment.

-/-

To say Dublin was beautiful was an understatement, but Dublin decorated for St. Patrick’s Day? It was just magnificent.

Emma and Killian had been in the city for two days already, scouring the city and doing all the major touristic stuff for Emma’s sake. Killian was an acceptable guide, but not even he had ever had the possibility to show a girl around the city.

Nothing felt awkward, quite the contrary: Killian had never once looked this happy before, like a child in front of gifts on Christmas morning. He was just so giddy he even started talking about architecture.

At one point, Emma couldn’t contain her laughter anymore, not to ridicule him, but because Killian just was so excited he even stumbled over his own words. That day, the tips of his ears never returned quite flesh-coloured, keeping that deep red shade instead.

Not having an actual apartment with a yard to leave Shamrock at, their good boy was always with them, and neither Emma or Killian regretted bringing him with them even if he may prevent them to visit galleries or some stores. They were bonding, the three of them, visiting every angle and nook of Dublin could wait.

The only day they decided to send Shamrock to a dog day-care was St. Patrick’s, not just because they wanted the night for themselves, but also because they didn’t want to leave him alone in their hotel room when outside fireworks went off.

It was almost painful for Emma to leave him, even though it was only for less than twenty-four hours and he’d already made friends. Leaving and being left by people seemed to become a pattern, one she wanted to put an end to. It took Killian reassuring her they would be back first thing in the morning, promising that they would, before she agreed to leave, but not before peppering her puppy’s face with kisses, getting so many in return.

As some kind of silent promise, they didn’t visit any kind of exhibit Shamrock prevented them to, only a few shops, just like the lingerie one Emma had sneaked in the day before to grab a nice pair of deep green satin and lace underwear she was wearing right now as she sat in a noisy pub, some folk band playing as alcohol and laughter filled bellies and ears.

Her pint of Guinness was almost empty, as was the bowl of fries they weren’t absolutely sharing. The cheeseburger was delicious, but perhaps it was her sudden and increasing addiction to junk food talking. The alcohol had brought a red blush on her cheeks, blush deepened by the laughter bubbling from her chest.

Killian had spent the whole evening telling her more stories about his so-called adventures. At some point, they’d switched to another game in which they made up stories based on the strangers entering the bar, creating scenarios of their past lives and how they would conclude the evening, where and with whom.

While Killian may have been better at this game than she was, Emma wasn’t so bad herself: she was letting her imagination run free when it’d been cooped up for so long.

As she fingered the slightly itchy lace turtleneck collar of the dress, Emma’s breath caught in her throat when she noticed Killian’s eyes drop to the black lace that covered her chest, the see-through fabric putting her emerald bra on display.

Cheeks pink with excitement and arousal, Emma licked her lips.

Once upon a time, Emma would’ve never deemed herself as an exhibitionist, but she had to admit, there was a thrill to what she was doing, teasing her man in public, making him go crazy because he knew many other people were ogling her: even if Killian knew she was his in every way, that didn’t stop him from wanting to state his claim on her, the wedding ring catching the dim lights of the pub be damned.

With extreme nonchalance, she crossed her legs, smiling smugly when she saw Killian’s eyes dart downwards and his Adam’s apple bob in his throat when he caught the thin green fabric sliding down and expose more skin of her thigh. If she didn’t like barstools before, now she was sold.

Taking a sip of her beer, Emma kept her eyes focused on the folk band playing on the other end of the pub, not that the blood rushing to her ears as adrenaline ignited her from inside out allowed her to hear much of the music.

Killian’s low hiss when the tip of her pumps brushed again his ankle, however, that she heard crystal clear. Her thighs clenched as desire pooled hot in her belly. She would’ve loved to just get the hell out of it, but at the same time she wanted to tease him as much as he’d allow it.

Her foot slowly slid upwards, the thin lace her heels were made of allowing her to sense the fabric of Killian’s jeans and his rigid leg. Goosebumps covered her flesh, and if someone looked closer, they’d see a thin veil of perspiration shining right at the base of her hairline.

With the pretence of stealing a fry from her plate, Killian bent forward, his breath scorching hot against her heated flesh. Still, Emma shivered.

«Careful, love,» he whispered in her ear, his nose so close she could sense it brush against her cheek.

Gulping, Emma turned her head toward him so, so slowly she even caught his hand twitch, probably wanting to reach out and touch her so she would face him faster.

When she turned completely, their noses almost brushed together, and even if she feigned complete innocence, Emma knew the expression in her eyes mirrored Killian’s with pupils blown out in arousal.

«Why?»

Killian’s tongue, still sinful as the first day she caught sight of it – or the first time he ever used it to bring her to ecstasy, swept across his bottom lip. «Because public decency is probably the only thing that’s stopping me from bending you over this stool and fucking you six ways from Sunday.»

If possible, Emma’s eyes widened even more, her jaw dropping. She knew Killian was a passionate man, she’d experienced it firsthand, but she would’ve never thought that he’d be into exhibitionism. Would he really-?

«And what if that is what I’d love you to do?»

Earth to Emma, Earth to Emma!

Good god, what was she even thinking? This was her nymphomaniac alter ego speaking, there was no other explanation for the sudden craving she had for Killian. Or was that how sex was supposed to be between a normal couple, you couldn’t just have enough of one another? Sure she’d heard about public sex, and sex in cars, and sex in public restrooms, sex at work… All kind of sex, really, Emma had an extensive knowledge, but still, she’d always thought most of that only happened as a set up for a porn video or in books and movies, not in reality. Truthfully, with the extreme low expectations she’d had about her future husband, she’d thought she would just be treated very poorly when it came to sex. Killian, instead, treated her with respect and always made sure she enjoyed herself. And oh, Emma did enjoy herself. Every. Damn. Time.

«Let’s get out of here.»

The words were out of her mouth before she could realize it. Not that would’ve probably stopped her from whispering them in Killian’s ear.

A groan was ripped from his throat, a guttural sound that shot right through her to her sex. Her walls clenched, and she just knew her panties were wet if not drenched already.

Killian threw a couple of bills on the table and slid off his stool, albeit a bit stiffly. Emma bit her lip, barely keeping herself from squealing when he reached for her and lifted her up by her hips.

She barely had the time to slip on her coat and grab her purse before Killian dragged her outside where people almost crowded the entrance, clouds of smoke climbing high in the night sky.

Despite all her practice, Emma was so giddy and moved so fast to keep up with Killian that she stumbled a little, sending the two of them right against a wall with Killian cushioning the impact.

Humming, she leaned into him, breathing in his scent and soaking in his warmth as she would a hot bath.

But moving further into him meant having her tempting body flush against the hard planes of his chest and the other very much stiff part of him.

Her cheeks colored at the feeling of his erection pressed against her lower abdomen, only to become even more red when some of the patrons whistled their appreciation at the sensual display she and Killian were putting on.

And we’re not even kissing, Emma thought, resting her forehead against Killian’s shoulder as a light chuckle erupted from her lips. Killian was laughing as well, his mood light, she could feel the rumble of his laughter through his chest, the sound right at her ear going straight to her core.

She let out a “umpf” the moment he took off once again, nudging past the crowd towards the barely lit alleys away from the loud singing and the smell of weed and beer.

Despite her head starting to get dizzy, Emma didn’t stop Killian, trusting him to lead her anywhere.

A woman like her, one that should’ve been a trophy wife, shouldn’t have developed such deep trust like the one she felt for Killian, especially not in such a short time. Hell, a woman like her should’ve never been treated like Killian was treating her at all: everything Emma believed was right had been proved to be wrong and it was as if she was just now learning how to live her life.

But Emma hadn’t lived years away from the world without knowing how her life after leaving Madame’s could have been hadn’t Killian been the one to buy her. To say she’d been lucky was a euphemism: every girl would rather go home with men like her husband instead of the ones they knew were Madame’s habitual clients.

And if she was completely honest with herself, a huge part of her, a part that she’d buried deep within herself, was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. A man like Killian, as amazing as he was, wouldn’t stay with someone like her forever. It just was impossible.

So immersed in her thoughts, Emma had not noticed that they’d stopped in a much darker alley than the others, the music only background noise that didn’t even manage to cover the more audible murmur of the water streaming nearby.

Killian turned around and drew Emma closer, making her step backwards until she was flush between the building and his hard chest.

And just like that, with a gentle brush of his soft lips against her own, Emma felt the tension dissipate, her thoughts solely on Killian and how his tongue was asking permission to enter her mouth.

Always asking permission, Emma sighed to herself, feeling her heart constrict in her chest.

Her body jolted at the feeling of his big, warm hand tugging at the hem of her dress, knuckles brushing the heated skin above her knee and then up, up until he was kneading her bottom, the gesture recalling the hunger with which he was kissing her.

Emma whimpered in pleasure when Killian’s teeth grazed her upper lip, one arm wrapping around his shoulders while she tugged at his ruffled tresses with the other hand, not caring much that her nails were digging crescent moon marks into his scalp.

If anything, her passion was spurring him on, hips thrusting against her, his hard cock rubbing her deliciously.

More noises tumbled from her lips the closer Killian’s hand drew to her aching sex, fingers teasing her, going back when she wanted them to go forward, making her restless.

Killian bit her lower lip with more force than ever before and Emma felt her knees go weak, pure pleasure pumping through her veins. At that point, the risk of being caught was just an added turn on, both their minds already too far too gone to just stop.

Before he could pull away, even just half an inch to ask her, plead her to let him have her in that precise moment, Emma grabbed his face and pulled his mouth back on hers, kiss-swollen lips swallowing his groan of pleasure.

The next moment, both Killian’s hands found her drenched panties, ripping them off of her in the literal sense of the word. Despite the lack of any form of light, Emma felt Killian pocketing her underwear, which had Emma’s thighs clench in pleasure, her sex pulsing with renewed need.

How could he manage to make her lose her mind with such small acts? Heavens, even just a heated stare from his part was enough to ignite a fire within her. It didn’t matter: she didn’t need an answer to her questions, especially not right now, not when Killian’s fingers parted her folds and plunged inside her without much of a warning.

Her walls tightened around his pointer and middle fingers, and she captured the hiss Killian let out, a strangely animalistic growl coming up from her throat.

«So wet,» Killian groaned, the dress not allowing him to kiss her throat the way Emma knew he loved, stopping him from exposing her breasts as well. There would be time for that later.

«Only for you,» Emma vowed, head tilted back to allow him to nip at the curve of her jaw. She moaned, hips grinding against Killian’s. The need to feel him inside her was threatening to make the thin ribbon that tied her sanity together snap.

Killian growled, his teeth digging slightly into her skin as his fingers plunged deep inside her and searched for that spot that made her see far beyond the stars. As his rhythm increased, Emma knew he was resolute in bringing her to a climax using his fingers alone.

Always the gentleman, Emma thought with a sigh, her hot breath caressing Killian’s ear. The shudder that ran through his body at the sensation making her tremble as well.

With his other hand, Killian reached up to her cup one of her breasts, her hard nipples straining the fabric of her dress. To her surprise and delight, Killian pinched the one he’d been torturing with lazy circles of his thumb, and he pinched hard. Pleasure unfurled inside Emma, who had to bite down onto Killian’s lip to stop herself from screaming. The last thing she wanted was for this to end too soon.

Killian’s fingers kept pushing in and out of her while Emma climbed higher and higher, helped by his ministrations over her breasts, neither left unattended because that was Killian, giving all of himself to pleasure her, never just taking, always, always giving.

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, but she fought them back, thankful for Killian’s thumb circling her clit.

That was the last straw.

Emma came with a muffled cry against Killian’s mouth, her slick walls tightening around his fingers but needing more, so much more.

She didn’t wait for her labored breath to calm down, nor for her knees to stop trembling, no, Emma wriggled around, turning in his embrace, her palms flat against the rough texture of the wall.

«Fuck me,» she pleaded with a broken voice, hips pushing back on their own accord. At the feeling of Killian’s hard cock pressing against her buttocks, Emma couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped her lips. She wanted, craved him so much she was willing to have sex with him in a dark alley where anyone could see them if they came too close. Above their heads were windows, and anyone could be hearing, seeing or, fuck, even filming them, for all they knew. But Emma couldn’t care less, so high on pleasure as she was, the thrill of what they were doing adding to the adrenaline that now controlled her body, crushing any rational thought.

«Fuck, love.»

Emma giggled, a breathy, raspy sound. «That’s the intention, darling,» she shot back, swaying her hips left and right to rub against the bulge in his pants.

A loud smack echoed in the night, and Emma gasped in surprise before the slight pain from the spank turned into pleasure. Her toes curled in her shoes and she felt herself get even more wet than she already was, the cool air of March drying her wetness where it’d slid down her thighs.

Wanting him to spank her again, Emma wriggled her bottom again, biting down on her lower lip. She’d never thought sex could be so liberating, a balance of power between two people. Well, she knew it usually was like that, because, thankfully, the world wasn’t made of people like Madame and her clients, with people conducting a normal life and having healthy relationships. Yet, Emma had never thought she would experience it herself.

«Where did you go, Emma?» Killian murmured in her ear, capturing a strand of hair between his fingers to place it safely behind her ear, his caress there making her shiver.

Blinking, she turned her head even if he couldn’t see her, needing him to hear her. «With you, always with you.»

The honesty in her own voice caught Emma off guard, but it didn’t mean her words were false: if she had to choose, she would undoubtedly, always choose Killian.

His lips found hers once again, and Emma couldn’t help but pour everything she was feeling in that kiss: the hunger for him, the fear that what was between them was threatening to become more than a physical relationship, the affection she’d developed for him, and the hope that he would always choose her in return.

For tonight, she would let herself hope that he would.

Killian kicked her feet apart, mindful of her heels, hands fumbling with his belt. Despite the roughness he might use when touching her at times during sex, he still was respectful of her, so much Emma could weep.

Shaking her head, Emma banished those unwelcome thoughts, focusing on Killian’s warm hands scrunching up the skirt of the dress instead.

A moaning sigh escaped her when Killian’s fingers brushed ever so lightly over the back of her thighs. One hand squeezed her cheek, making her stifle a cry.

Killian’s hard chest pressed against her back, the growl clear in his voice. «Will you let me spank you when we’re home? I’m dying to see this perfect little arse turn pink beneath my hand.»

Emma moaned at his words, a new wave of pleasure coiling in her belly. It was so much she couldn’t handle any more and yet still craved more. «Anything, please.»

He chuckled, the hand on her ass letting go of her flesh to venture between her thighs. The groan Killian let out reverberated through all her body, even so deep into her bones Emma thought she would shatter by the intensity of it.

«I love it when you beg.»

Oh my god, Emma thought, her breathing quickening to the point she was panting.

«Please,» she cried, his fingers only teasing her entrance, never going too deep, making her slowly losing her mind. «Please, Killian.»

Her voice broke pronouncing his name and Killian smiled against her cheek. Yet, he didn’t move to enter her, or even to free his erection.

Emma gulped, sweat beading her forehead now as she strained against him. She knew a word from her would stop it if she thought it was becoming too much, Emma trusted Killian to stop, and every part of her was sure he would, because that was Killian.

But she didn’t want him to stop. At all.

«Please, fuck me, Killian. Fuck me now.»

Killian didn’t wait a second longer before plunging deep inside of her, kissing her with all his might to swallow her scream. Her walls fluttered against him, whether aftershocks of her previous orgasm or a brand new one, Emma didn’t know, too lost in the bliss spreading all through her body and clouding her mind.

Her tongue tangled with Killian’s, the kiss turning animalistic as he slowly pulled out of her so slowly Emma thought she was going insane, barely leaving the fat head of his cock inside before snapping his hips forward again until he bottomed out.

Nails scratching the wall in front of her, Emma reached one hand behind her to tangle with Killian’s hair, fingers curling and pulling at the dark strands in rhythm with his thrusts. Her whole body was so sensitive she could feel the coarse hairs of Killian’s stomach scratching slightly against her bum every time he pushed forward, grinding his hips against her cheeks to prolong their pleasure.

To taunt him, Emma clenched her muscles around him, earning herself another spanking, this time a bit rougher than the previous ones, but she didn’t complain, not when it made her desire spike.

One of Killian’s hand wandered over her hip beneath the dress, fingers spreading over her lower stomach. Then, right when he thrusted back inside her, Killian pressed his hand against her flesh.

Her eyes shot open, a loud gasp filled the air when she understood why he’d done so, the pressure of his hand allowing her to feel him where he was buried deep inside of her, almost too deep.

Emma had to bite her own lip to stop herself from screaming as Killian repeated the gesture, her hips pushing back towards him, wanting, needing more.

This man was driving her insane and all she wanted to do was fall prey of that madness even more than she already was.

As if he’d read her thoughts, Killian moved the hand he had on her hips in front of her, fingers toying with her clit, rubbing it lazily at first before increasing their speed to match the rhythm of his thrusts, knocking her breath out every time he moved forward.

Killian was close, Emma could feel it, his cock throbbing inside of her.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Emma felt the pressure build inside her, the pleasure too much to bear; every touch of Killian’s fingertips against her swollen, sensitive nub making her shiver, chest heaving and tongue succumbing to Killian’s hunger.

It was too much, too much-

She came with a scream her ears didn’t hear, swallowed by Killian’s mouth crushed against hers as she, too, muffled his groans.

Scorching heat spread through her as Killian came, hips flush against hers and his seed spilling deep inside her.

Aftershocks of her climax had her clench repeatedly round him, milking him of all he had. It marveled her how the sensation of his cum filling her up didn’t make her feel revulsion, feeding her hunger instead. She made a mental note to speak with Killian about it, or Ruby, maybe, but she soon was distracted by Killian’s tender kisses on her cheek, his breath labored as he tried to calm himself.

Still in the haze of their lovemaking, they started to giggle like teenagers, as though the world they lived in was as perfect as the synchronized rhythm of their hearts beating against one another.

Above their heads, green, white and orange fireworks danced in the sky, just like magic.

-/-

Walking Shamrock around Dublin was a good distraction.

After going back to the hotel, they’d had sex again, and this time Killian had taken good care of her neglected breasts. Plus, he’d left a love mark at the curve of her neck, which was why she was now wearing a scarf. Well, mostly because of that: the weather wasn’t exactly tropical, and the chilly winds of March weren’t merciful either.

That morning, they’d managed to have a nice breakfast in bed before heading out to pick Shamrock up and wander around town until the early afternoon, but Killian had an appointment with the Provost of Trinity College and so they’d split up, agreeing to meet for dinner.

Thank god for Google Maps, Emma thought again, blushing furiously at how she’d basically lost her way, wandering.

In her defense, she’d never actually explored a new city, not before coming here, and knowing it was because Killian had bought her brought lengthened the list of questions she couldn’t help but asking herself.

How was it possible that she was so happy when she should’ve been terrified instead? How could she trust Killian not to send her back once he got bored? And, well, how could she trust Killian at all?

As irrational as it was, Emma knew that she just did: she trusted Killian, and while yes, she feared that one day he’d let her go, because this arrangement couldn’t possibly forever, she also knew he wouldn’t send her back to Madame.

It was illogical, it fought against all she knew, but Emma was realistic, and unless Killian was a good actor, way better than she was, everything he’d told her was true. His own actions showed the good man in him, the way he treated her, with the utmost respect, always asking for her opinion or permission… it was undoubtedly overwhelming for Emma, so unused to be part of a decision, always following orders instead. It made her feel like she truly was a human being and not an object. Killian had done that, not an uncaring husband who only wanted her for one thing and one thing alone.

No, even if their relationship ended, Killian would make sure she had everything she needed to start a brand new life. Thing was, Emma didn’t want a life without Killian.

It was stupid, but she’d developed a deep, incalculable affection for her husband, one she couldn’t express for fear that he didn’t feel the same and because, well, she didn’t exactly know what she felt herself.

Although their physical relationship was nothing short of amazing, their actual relationship was slowly sailing forward, each of them discovering the other’s habits and opinions, debating over anything, from politics to the most stupid of things.

If that was normalcy looked like, Emma didn’t want to let it go.

It still surprised her how attached to everything and everyone she’d become in so little time. Was it a consequence of years spent not trusting people, fearing for the worst? Or was she reacting like this because, unlike the other girls, she’d found someone to love in Ruby, and that had helped her feelings survive?

Was it even lo-

«Careful, Miss!»

Of course the voice reached her the same moment the ball hit her hip.

Emma yelped more in surprise that pain, the football bouncing back without causing any damage.

However, her lack of attention allowed Shamrock’s leash to slip from her wrist. The puppy started to bark with his high-pitched voice, elated to be free to run after the ball.

A choir of laughs stopped her from panicking as she watched her dog race through what appeared to be a playground of sorts. Uh, she must have strayed quite a bit from the most trafficked path. Again.

As one would expect, the playground pullulated with kids of various ages, from toddlers to teens, the oldest, bored, watching over the younger ones.

Emma’s brows crinkled. Although homey, the playground was far from the better equipped and cleaner ones she’d seen in the lush parks around Dublin. Sure, she knew poverty was a factor, just as she knew she was not in a poor neighborhood.

The giggles of the kids didn’t stop as Shamrock, adorable, uncoordinated Shamrock kept running after the ball, kicking it away with his front paws. Before his leash could get stuck somewhere, Emma called him, earning a sad groan from the kids.

«Aw, come on, Miss, he’s having fun!» a redhead boy protested, and soon his companions echoed their agreement.

Emma arched an eyebrow, looking down at Shamrock, who was looking back at her, expectantly, his tail thumping on the ground. With a sigh, she kneeled next to the pup, only to look up, eyes locking with those of one of the teens, a girl with long honey-brown hair.

«Is it alright? It won’t get you in trouble with your parents, will it?»

She knew that was the wrong question to ask when silence fell upon them, and all the smiles disappeared from the young faces.

Fuck. She should have known. It was just too obvious that there was something wrong with so many kids playing around without an adult to look over them, only more kids. Emma’s stomach churned at her own idiocy.

The girl Emma had spoken to shrugged, but it was clear that she was resentful, her anger aimed at whoever had left her. «Social services do their best.»

They do their best, but budget is tight.

They do their best, but nobody actually cares.

They do their best, but we are still here, aren’t we?

Emma knew all too well that life, the life of an orphan. She might have been raised to be a trophy wife, but her childhood had been spent waiting for a couple to show up and whisk her away to take her to her new home, a home where she would be loved and where she wouldn’t be a mean to get money from the government.

Fighting back her memories, Emma looked at the kids, feeling some sort of subtle connection with them. For a moment, she wondered if they could tell she’d been in the foster system as well, abandoned like they’d been. She couldn’t fool herself, nor would she: they might have been children, but they knew better than most that the world they lived in was a cruel one.

Still, Emma was an adult, and there were – or should have been – more adults taking care of them.

«You can play with Shamrock as long as you want, but only if who’s looking after you won’t chase me away brandishing a stick or something,» Emma tried to joke, noticing with a fluttering of her heart that some of the younger children smiled at the thought.

The girl, probably the oldest of the group, seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying: «There won’t be a problem. They let us out of here every afternoon until dinner is ready.»

Emma gulped, realization dawning on her: nobody was making them feel loved, nobody sacrificing their time to just be there for them.

Even if it too close to home, or probably because of that, Emma slipped a cheerful mask on her face, her smile not entirely a lie. «That’s good, then, this little boy has never played soccer. Er, football. Sorry.»

A chuckle spread through the kids, the teenagers scoffing instead, but there were small, amused smiles curving their lips. Emma counted them as a win.

«Well, go have fun, then.» Shamrock didn’t need the little nudge she gave him, starting after the ball as soon as the young girl that was holding it tossed it with a powerful kick towards the net.

Emma stood there for a while, arms crossed and a genuine smile on her face as she watched boys and girls fall in love with her dog. It was a sight to behold, and she wished she could snap a photo.

That was how foster kids should be treated, with respect to their intelligence and kindness: leaving them alone was a mistake, they needed to be surrounded by love, to know they had someone to rely on, someone they could be free to love because they loved them back.

Out of the corner of her eye, a few feet from her, she noticed a brown-haired boy, no older than ten, sitting alone on a bench, head bowed and nose buried in a comic book. The comic – Thor, the kid had good taste – was an old, battered copy, but he was devouring it with what Emma could only define rapt attention.

Casting a glance to where Shamrock was barking at the ball stuck under a bench, Emma inched closer to the boy.

«May I sit down, please?»

The boy looked up at her with hazel eyes, lips slightly parted in surprise. But he wasn’t surprised that she’d addressed him, or because he’d not realized she was there, no, it was because Emma had not decided to invade his personal space without asking him first.

She watched, almost holding her breath, as he nodded slowly. Chocolate hair fell over his forehead, and Emma felt the sudden urge to brush it away from his eyes, knowing all too well it would fall back into place as if she’d not moved at all.

Before she lost his attention, Emma stuck her hand out, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. «I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Emma.»

If he found strange she’d not added her surname, he didn’t show, looking thoughtfully at her hand instead.

Emma knew what happened whenever a foster kid saw an adult be friendly with them, she had, after all, experienced it on her own skin: they started to hope. It would have been only too cruel of her to say she was Emma Jones, wife of one of the richest people in Ireland, which was why she just acted like herself, like an orphan capable of understanding what was left unsaid.

Like a normal person, a voice inside of her whispered, but Emma ignored it in favor of studying the kid next to her. He wasn’t alone, mostly, he was lonely, Emma knew that feeling well, she remembered being that girl, never fitting in, ultimately giving up. It was a path she wished no one would walk.

«Henry,» he said in the end, politely shaking her hand.

Just like her, Henry didn’t give her a last name, but it was okay, she was sure most of these kids didn’t have one at all, not one that they felt theirs, at least.

Uncapable of stopping herself, knowing it would only lead to a heartbreak when she left and never came back, Emma scooted closer, only slightly, like she would a scared animal.

«So, Thor, uh? Do you think he’s the stronger Avenger?»

Henry squinted at her, but a smile ticked his lips upwards. «Totally, but Iron Man, he’s the cool one.»

Emma grinned, nodding her head, listening carefully to Henry’s words, wondering how someone could ever abandon such a great, brilliant kid.

As the sun started to set, Emma knew her time with the kids, too, was coming to an end. It pained her to leave them, to walk away from them like every other adult had. Rationally, it was for the best, a one-time-thing: after today, she would never see them again.

But you could once you and Killian move to the capital.

No, no, she couldn’t, she was a fraud and those kids didn’t deserve someone lying to them, not another treason from someone they trusted.

None of the kids hugged her goodbye, they, too, knowing not to get too attached. The brave expressions on their faces as they said their goodbyes breaking Emma heart: beneath those masks she could feel their pain in front of the fact that they would never see her or Shamrock again.

Henry was the last one to say goodbye, looking up at her with a smile that could light up the whole world even if she knew it was a defeated one. «Thank you.»

At his words, Emma frowned. «Why?»

He shrugged, cheeks tinging a light pink. «I enjoy playing football, but…»

«But books are better, gotcha,» she finished for him, adding a wink for good measure.

Why was it so easy to talk with Henry? Was it because she, too, had been emarginated and lonely even when surrounded by other kids?

«There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Henry. To each their own: nobody decides what you love but you. If you rather spend your free time reading instead of playing video games, that’s up to you, and no one should judge you for that.»

She almost stumbled backwards with the force of the impact as Henry launched at her, hugging her tightly around the waist. Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill as she wrapped her own arms around him, fingers brushing his soft brown hair.

«Thank you,» Henry repeated into her stomach, the muffle sound going straight to her heart and filling it to the brim with an overwhelming sensation.

It might have taken him minutes to let go, and even though she didn’t want to, Emma stepped back, needing to do that before she did something crazy.

These kids, as much as she wanted to see them smile all the time, didn’t need someone like her, someone who was too broken to be fixed.

As she left the orphanage behind, Emma was resolute in never forgetting a single one of those children, even if they might forget her.

An idea bloomed in her mind; even if she would never see them again, she still had the means to make their lives easier. She would have to think about it very carefully, but suddenly, the rose gold sky above her had never appeared brighter.

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