#Red Filter Gallery

[homeofhousechickens]

Worlds wettest salami. They accidently broke an egg and were covered in the evidence of their crime and poopies so they got a bath.

Nugget also got a bath and got his collar washed. Even while soaking wet he is still a very shiny boy. I'm sure he will wake me up with a full volume holler in the morning 🌄

[ginnsbaker]

In Silent Screams (2/3)

Several weeks into her affair with Vision, the voice inside Wanda's head urging her to end things diminishes to faint murmurs, eventually fading away entirely.

Chapter word count: 8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision Warnings: Smut (F/M), Cheating, Angst, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Toxic Relationships

Notes: M rating this time. It gets spicier because what's between them is just pure lust. There will be a full smut scene that is a bit triggering given the context of how it happens, why it happens. I will mark it in red so you can skip it. Again, you will probably hate Wanda here more than the previous part, be warned.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

Part II

Comfort starts to creep in, wrapping around Wanda like a cozy blanket.

Several weeks into her affair with Vision, the voice inside Wanda's head urging her to end things diminishes to faint murmurs, eventually fading away entirely. And as she allows herself to indulge in the newness of his body and all the ways he is different and not what she’s used to, it becomes even more pleasurable (and addicting) for her when they come together. 

Wanda starts to think that maybe being with Vision like this doesn't take away from the love she has for you. It's almost as if she's compartmentalized herself—her relationship with you remains sacred, undisturbed by the dalliances that occupy her days. Vision has become a separate chapter, a deviation from the norm, but he's not taking the place of what she's built with you over time. Every night, regardless of how late it gets or how entangled she becomes in her meetings with Vision, she finds herself retracing her steps back to you. Her days begin with your face, and they end with your arms around her. There's a routine in that, a certainty she clings to.

Being with Vision helps her forget she's even in Westview. She's less haunted by the child she couldn't have with you, by the job she left behind for your sake. She dwells less on missing you, on feeling like she's become a secondary character in your life as you work tirelessly to provide for her. And isn't that what marriage truly is? More than the vows and the rings, it's about choosing the same person every day. It's about finding ways not to hold grudges, to keep the bond strong, to maintain a balance, right?

Her friendship with Vision, devoid of the usual societal filters, feels pure. They share, they debate, they laugh. But as the sun sets, Wanda always knows where she belongs. 

To you. 

-

“You’re kidding.”

Vision glances back at her over his shoulder, flashing a playful grin. They're in a park just outside of town, a result of those spontaneous drives they occasionally take. They've found a quiet corner, a place where they can be with each other, away from the rules of their complicated lives. Him being her student makes everything that much more delicate.

“Why would I joke about something like that?” he says, looking pleased with himself.

Wanda puts down the essay she’s reviewing and leans back on the picnic blanket, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You seriously want to buy art from the gallery?”

He shrugs, “I like what they showcase. Plus, I thought... well, it might be a good opportunity for you to earn a commission.”

It’s a weak argument and they both know it. She smirks, “Trying to impress someone?”

Vision pauses, taking a deep breath, serious as he says, “Maybe.”

Wanda sighs, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. “Vision, we need to be careful.”

“Careful? Wanda, we're miles away from Westview. I'd say we're being pretty meticulous about this.” He smirks, pointing to the tall trees that shield them from any possible onlookers. “With all these trees and not a bird in sight, we could even fuck right here in the open if we wanted to.”

Wanda fixes him with a sharp gaze, one that immediately conveys her disapproval. Immediately, the smirk fades from his lips, replaced by  a realization that he might have gone too far with his teasing. He reads the message in her eyes loud and clear. Not only is his suggestion off the table, but he also senses that he may have jeopardized his luck in the coming days.

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmurs, going back to his sketchpad. They don’t speak to each other for a while. Wanda is deeply engrossed in the essays she has to review, already behind the deadline she set for herself, while Vision gives her space to cool down from his mistake. Their arguments are always brief but intense, and lately, they haven't been leading to sex as often as Vision would prefer.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Vision starts, “How is it, being with Y/N? Being married, I mean.”

Wanda stiffens at the mention of your name. She's never discussed you with Vision, and a surge of panic begins to rise within her. She hides her reaction by neatly rearranging the papers alphabetically in front of her. 

“I told you she’s off limits,” she answers a moment later.

Vision feigns surprise, tilting his head slightly. “Ah, my apologies. I meant no disrespect,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

Wanda purses her lips, her posture tensing further. “Just... let's not go there.”

Vision nods, though he can't help but steal a quick glance at the wedding ring on her finger. It taunts him everytime he sees it, reminding him of the life she shares with someone else—a life he often finds himself yearning to be a part of. He's been daydreaming about a different reality, where Wanda is by his side not on borrowed time, where he is the one she turns to at the end of a long day.

He's persuaded her to share her thoughts with him, to spread her legs for him; how much more challenging could it be to win her heart next? He'll take it one day at a time if he has to. Patience is something he doesn't mind exercising.

Cleverly masking his intentions behind a facade of casual curiosity, Vision continues, “Hypothetically speaking, if you were to give insights on marriage, just in general...What are your thoughts?” He leans back, making the conversation seem casual, though every word is carefully calculated.

She glances at him, slightly suspicious but not fully alarmed. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Oh, you know," Vision waves his hand dismissively. “It's just something that's been on my mind lately. As a concept, I mean.”

Wanda narrows her eyes slightly, studying him. She knows Vision well enough to understand that behind his seemingly innocent inquiries, there's often an ulterior motive. But she also knows that he's persistent, and sometimes, the best way to deal with him is to play along, to a point.

“It’s…” Wanda finds herself grappling for an answer. She hadn’t expected that the answer would be much more complex now given recent events. She used to look at it in an idealized way, where marriage is what happens at the end of an epic love story, the banner over the path that the two main characters continue their journey on; the natural conclusion when people say 'happily ever after'.

Perhaps she's been wrong to view it that way all along. Perhaps marriage is just a tool to peel back the facade meticulously crafted during dating, for nothing remains hidden in marriage. To enforce a commitment that's always existed. To harness the rights it bestows between two individuals. To—

Wanda can list countless facets of marriage, and yet it wouldn’t change the way she feels about you, with or without it. She can change—she has, and marriage can vanish from the world, her love for you would persist unscathed. While every fiber of her being might be judged for her actions, she believes her love can’t be tainted. She’s sure of it. And so, essentially, marriage is—

“...it’s an indemnity.”

It’s not at all what he assumed she’d say. “An indemnity? That's an... interesting choice of word.”

Wanda nods, pushing a stray hair behind her ear with a thoughtful look. “Right. It's like our safety net, not just from what's out there but from our own doubts too. It's us saying to ourselves—and to anyone watching—that no matter how tough things get, we're in it together.  It's a promise that even in the darkest times, we'll stand by each other.”

Vision absorbs her words, trying to see the cracks, the spaces where he could insert doubt or lay the groundwork for his plans. “But don’t you think,” he ventures cautiously, “that sometimes, that very protection, that indemnity, becomes the chain that binds? Don’t you ever feel... trapped?”

Wanda takes a deep breath, sensing the subtext of his question. He has a knack for drawing out the very things she's trying so hard to keep from him. In the end, she still ends up talking about you. If he's truly eager to hear what she has to say about you, then Wanda doesn’t care if he won’t like what he hears.

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” Wanda says with a wry smile. “To assume she's the one trapping me would be a gross misunderstanding.”

He laughs for a long moment. It's loud and over the top, and somewhere in the midst of it, it begins to feel like an insult. Wanda lifts her chin, unfazed by his antics.

After a few moments, Vision's laughter subsides, replaced by a somber look. “I apologize,” he says, even as Wanda goes back to her readings. “I didn’t mean to make light of your feelings. It's just... sometimes I feel like you're still lying to yourself, Wanda.”

Wanda's eyes narrow, her stance firm, but she doesn't rise to the bait immediately.  “How am I lying?”

There it is—his opening.

“Yes. Sometimes, I wonder if you're using these philosophical explanations as a way to protect yourself from confronting something deeper. Something you might not want to face,” he says.

She chuckles, but it's devoid of any real amusement. “And what might that be?”

“That maybe,” Vision says, crawling closer to her until they're just a breath away. “Maybe being with her isn't everything you once believed it to be.”

A retort forms on Wanda's lips, ready to be unleashed. But as she looks into Vision's eyes, she notices something genuine and disarming in them. 

“All I’m saying is that you don’t need to defend yourself around me,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, fingers lightly grazing her cheek. “You don't need to explain yourself. Not about this, not about anything.”

His lips find the curve of her neck, placing a chaste kiss there, sending a shiver down her spine, making her sigh softly. 

“You can enjoy that,” he whispers against her skin, voice husky. His lips move upward, caressing her cheek before they meet hers. His hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer, until she’s on his lap, straddling him. Her skirt rides up her thighs, allowing him easy access to her dampening underwear.

Wanda shifts nervously. “Vision, we're in public,” she whispers sharply, but doesn’t make any move to get away from him.

His lips twitch into a confident smirk. “I know.” His fingers daringly slide beneath the hem of her skirt, edging towards her panties. “Don't worry,” he assures her, “I just wanted to see if your body tells the truth, even if your words might not.”

Her breath catches as his fingers find the growing wetness there. “See?” he murmurs, his mouth twisting into a boyish grin. “Your body doesn't lie.”

She enjoys it. To be brutally honest, without the haunting thought of your reaction if you were to find out, she concedes she savors their meetings. She’s attracted to him and it’s consuming her every thought. 

Wanda blushes furiously, coupled with the fear of being discovered like this, she’s surrendered to this wicked game. He doesn’t worship her like you do. He doesn’t try to make her feel like nothing is her fault the way you do. Why weren’t you disappointed that she couldn’t get pregnant? Couldn’t contribute to your household like equals? Why didn’t you agonize over the financial repercussions of her relentless quest to start a family with you?

Why won’t you ever, ever hate her?

It's twisted that she even thinks of you as she tilts her hips upwards, urging Vision to touch her just right.

Without warning, Vision plunges his long middle finger inside her, causing Wanda to gasp and grip onto him. The intimate intrusion is brief, and she barely has time to process the sensation when he withdraws, pushing her off his lap and onto the soft grass beside him. He holds his glistening finger up to the light, then brings it to his lips, never breaking eye contact with her. She watches, entranced, as he deliberately savors her taste.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls rapidly, every nerve in her body alive and buzzing. She feels exposed, laid bare both by his actions and by the force of her own arousal. There's a delicious humiliation in it, a thrill of being seen and wanted so openly.

But before she can get a chance to speak, Vision reaches into his pocket, producing an envelope thick with cash and hands it to her. She doesn't need to count it to know it's a significant amount.

“What the fuck is this?” Wanda asks, looking down at the cash in her hands.

He laughs again. He enjoys riling her up. Makes this all the more charged and exciting.

“It's for the painting from your old gallery,” Vision explains calmly. “Going back to that, yes, I want to purchase it. And that’s just 50% of my intended offer.”

Wanda reflects on all the support you've offered her, the financial aid you generously extended without ever demanding explanations. A portion of the money in the envelope—her future commission— could be a start, a way to repay some of the debts she owes you, even if it doesn't cover everything.

Not that you’ve ever asked her to pay you back. You’ve never once hinted at any imbalance in financial obligations in your relationship.

“I shouldn't take this,” she mumbles, yet her fingers clutch the envelope a little tighter.

“I want to,” he insists. “Although, I want a special request.”

Wanda's eyebrow arches in skepticism. “Which is?”

“A handwritten dedication from you, when the painting is delivered,” he replies.

She averts her gaze. “I’ll think about it.”

Vision nods. “Keep the money while you do.”

-

Wanda starts leaving the house early too, going to her lover’s apartment before they go to the university together.

Vision sits comfortably on the plush couch, engrossed in his video game, his fingers swiftly moving over the controller. Wanda enters, shrugging off her light jacket, her simple, functional underwear visible from the thin material of her dress.

“You know, Wanda,” he begins casually, “Have you ever considered just... being in your natural state here?”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, helping herself to some tea.

“Your body is a work of art,” he replies, pausing the game now and turning to face her fully. “And as someone who appreciates art...” His gaze travels to her current choice of undergarments and back up to her eyes, leaving his sentence hanging.

“Are you suggesting I walk around here naked?”

He grins cheekily. “The thought did cross my mind.”

Wanda's cheeks flush. “That’s not happening.”

“Alright, maybe not that,” he relents with a mock sigh. “But perhaps wear something more... refined? Exquisite?” His emphasis on 'exquisite' draws a clear line between what she currently wears and what he's suggesting. 

She's always prided herself on being confident, knowing her worth. But Vision’s playful, yet sharp suggestion chips away at her armor just a bit. For a split second, she wonders if this is how he truly sees her. If her choice of underwear, something so personal and intimate, is a reflection of her self-worth in his eyes. It's crazy to let his comment get to her; she's aware of that. But she can't help but think of you, of the intimate times you both share, the mornings she finds herself waking up beside you, and the nights you take off her clothes.

Do you notice? She wonders. Do you think the same?

It's all these tiny moments, insignificant on their own, but together they build a narrative in her mind. A story where maybe you don't desire her as you once did. That thought affects her more than Vision's words. The insecurity, an old nemesis she thought she had left far behind, resurfaces.

Wanda forces a nonchalant smile. “Why don't you mind your own business, and focus on your own wardrobe choices?” she retorts, but there's a lack of her usual sharpness in her tone.

He snickers, going back to his game. She hopes you don't see her the way he does. 

-

She buys a new set of lingerie—for you.

-

Wanda decides she’ll do it by the end of the week. Determined to finalize the sale, she picks up the phone while dinner simmers on the stove. With you still out, Sparky remains her only companion, and a pang of guilt strikes her for having neglected him lately.

She dials the gallery. After a few rings, the familiar voice perkily answers. “Hello?”

“Agatha, it's Wanda,” she says. “About the painting I texted you earlier. My buyer is all in.”

“There's already a bid on it,” Agatha interrupts, “with a deposit ready to go. But if you can secure the painting by tomorrow at the latest, it’s yours to sell.”

“Thanks. I'll make it happen.”

Only after hanging up does she understand that she'll need your help to ensure everything goes smoothly. The next morning, she broaches the subject, and, thankfully, doesn’t have to jump through many hoops to convince you. She loathes bending the truth about the gallery's closing hours, but she's pressed to secure the painting promptly.

Of course, you're there for her again. You even go as far as to offer her lunch, but she has to decline; she genuinely has an appointment with the dean. She reluctantly agrees to dinner, already having said yes to Vision to visit the Museum of Modern Art, where he's also set to give her the remaining 50% for the painting.

“We can have dinner,” Wanda proposes tentatively. “Maybe drive to the city for some steaks and a dive bar after?” It’s tiring to drive back and forth like Manhattan isn’t at least one and a half hours away without traffic, but she wants to spend time with you, and thank you for your effort.

“I'll pick you up at seven,” you say. “It's a date.”

She's excited, but deep down she's aware of the tight schedule. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Vision gets her back to Westview on time.

-

Wanda cancels dinner at the last minute. She's relieved that you're amenable and just texts to ask her what time she’ll be home.

-

When she gets her hands on the painting, it takes her a long time to think of a dedication message. Truthfully, writing heartfelt letters has never been her strong suit; she struggles to articulate her feelings. But as she contemplates her feelings for Vision, she draws a blank.  She considers simply thanking him for engaging her in conversations she hasn't had with anyone in so long, conveniently omitting their other indulgences. At the same time, she doesn’t want to leave a piece of herself behind, not even something as trivial as a personal dedication.

So she settles on a quote:

‘To Vision, the only secret people keep is immortality.’  - W

On a particular plane, it speaks to her. It's a phrase that mirrors the fundamental human longing for significance and a sense of purpose—something she has unknowingly let slip along the way.

-

Surprisingly, Vision appears content with the note. Wanda doesn't bother to inquire about his thoughts on it. He doesn't make a spectacle of his appreciation for the painting either, and it becomes apparent that he's indulging in a fantasy from some porno, where an older woman brings him something before he takes her to bed.

The sex is always intoxicating in its own messy way, now that she’s ready to admit she’s not after perfection whenever she comes to him. She doesn’t go to him because there’s something wrong with you. It might be because something is wrong with her, but there isn’t really any room to psychoanalyze her own mental state when she’s being taken from behind, facing a full length mirror. As pleasure builds, her eyes roll back, she briefly toys with the idea that she might be harboring deeper feelings for him. 

Then, out of the blue, a red flash catches her eye, but with two quick blinks, it vanishes.

“What’s that?” Wanda whispers, momentarily distracted before a moan escapes her lips.

“What?” he mutters distractedly, pulling her hair, when her head starts to droop. 

But before Wanda can form a coherent thought, he adjusts, lifting one of her legs and shifting his angle. With a few deliberate thrusts, she's spiraling into an overwhelming climax. And as pleasure washes over her, any lingering thoughts of deeper feelings for him evaporates along with the haze of lust.

Later, she would brush aside the memory of that brief red flash as she stealthily slipped into your shared home, careful not to disturb Sparky, who slept soundly. With a day off scheduled for tomorrow, she had completely lost track of time, fooling around a couple more times with a college kid.

-

“D-Did I hurt you?”

Right this second, Wanda feels like she'd welcome the ground opening up to take her or a random bullet finding its mark in her heart. Anything, if it would end her anguish. 

She watches your face crumple with guilt and hurt, and she can't believe she's caused you to feel this way when you’re just aching for her. 

Without missing a beat, Wanda draws you into an embrace, feeling your heart race against her chest. “No, you didn’t. I shouldn’t have made you feel that way,” she whispers. The mere thought of you second-guessing your intentions with her shatters her heart.

You lean into her completely, feeling like a child in her arms. “I’ve been missing you so much lately, and I thought... I thought we were on the same page.”

Wanda insists it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. She desires closeness with you, but she hadn't expected it to make her feel so uneasy beneath her skin, especially considering she had been touched by another less than 24 hours ago. She has to remind herself that you aren't aware. But she knows, and it plagues her mind, why you’d want to touch her.

Your reply, soaked in typical selflessness, is, “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Your apology, the earnestness in your tone is starting to make her feel dizzy. The fact that you feel this way, that she has led you to question your privilege—something she has always granted you—to touch her, is agonizing.

“Stop saying you're sorry,” Wanda snaps, her words sharper than she intends, fervently hoping that you understand her outburst isn't aimed at you. “You do everything right. It's me. I've missed you too, more than you can possibly imagine.”

When you softly say, “I love you,” it's filled with so much emotion that it brings tears to Wanda's eyes. It takes her too long to respond with an “I love you, too,” because there’s many more she wants to say. And she can’t say it without revealing the one thing that she fears will drive you away. 

She can only hope that you believe her because she means it more than anything.

-

Wanda can't pinpoint exactly when she developed the habit of locking the bathroom door. It likely started around the time Vision would text her, innocently asking about her lectures. Then, one day, she received a short video clip of him pleasuring himself and moaning her name. She promptly deleted the clip, but from that point on, she learned to check her messages at home only when she was about to step into the shower.

-

Natasha visits and something inside Wanda unfurls itself. She becomes hyper-aware of her activities with Vision, how she conducts them and where. Before relocating to New Jersey, you mentioned that Natasha had taken an open-ended break from her job, suggesting she might be ready to leave her old life behind. Still, she’s uneasy when she learns about it too late, and Natasha’s already outside, waiting to be let into the house.

You're still in your office attire, donning a pristine suit that would have captured her attention for the entire evening, if not for the fact that she's on the verge of breaking down at the mere thought of you discovering her affair with Vision.

“Why didn't you tell me she was coming?” she snaps, gesturing at the dinner table set for two and the disorderly state of their living room. Her eyes dart to a stack of her students' reaction papers lying exposed on the coffee table, and the unkempt pillows. To you, it might seem trivial, but to Wanda, every small detail could give away something she'd rather keep private.

“You could've at least warned me,” she continues, her tone reflecting more than just her concerns about dinner and the state of the living room, but you fail to catch it. You try to help, reaching out to straighten the living room, but she's too frazzled. Seeing the frustrated look on your face, she can't help but feel cornered. She hastily scatters the pillows about, her movement nothing short of hysterical. 

Sensing that things might take a worse turn than they should, you make the decision to be the one to step back.

“If it's too much trouble for you, we can just grab dinner elsewhere,” you suggest, struggling not to lose your own patience. 

She can't help but throw you a sharp look, feeling as though your words only made things worse. The mere idea of you and Natasha, alone, maybe sharing stories or opinions about her, feels threatening. But there’s nothing she can do but hope you will veer away from talking about her, that you won’t confide in Natasha how you haven’t had sex in months.

“Fine,” she snaps and quickly retreats up the stairs. “Send my regards to Natasha,” she throws over her shoulder, the guest bedroom door shutting loudly behind her.

She sighs heavily, pressing her back to the door, heart racing. From the window, she sees you walk back to the car, your frustration evident in every step. Natasha looks at you with that questioning glance Wanda knows all too well. She watches as you speak before handing Natasha the car keys.

She gazes up at the ceiling, determined to hold back the tears that are on the verge of spilling. She doesn't want to push you away, but her fear of Natasha, and what might be revealed, leaves her feeling trapped.

-

Out of frustration, she calls Vision, and they meet in his car, about two blocks from their house.

In the cramped confines of the backseat, Vision is quick to slide into her, the condom barely in place before he's thrusting with a fervor.

She peaks once, but not from him being inside her. She's too tense, too tightly wound for that. So Vision, realizing this, drops to his knees to truly bring her over the edge.

-

Later, Wanda lies on her side, every muscle tense, acutely aware of the presence beside her, all the while pretending to be deep in sleep.

“She used to crash at our place almost every week,” you murmur into the stillness.

A hint of irritation passes through Wanda, though she can't really tell why. “What?” she asks, her voice low and weary.

“Natasha,” you specify. “I didn't think to mention it because it was just our norm. She'd drop by unannounced all the time.”

You want to have a conversation about it, to work through this issue. She knows how you’ve been trying to give her space, thinking she hasn’t adjusted yet to life in Westview. You’re always thinking about her. Always putting her needs first above yours.

And Wanda can see how it’s worn you down, how you're starting to doubt your own logical reasoning, and how you're piecing together facts to present your case, hoping for her to be more receptive and listen. She despises the fact that she's putting you through all of this, merely because she's determined to prevent her different worlds from colliding.

She can sense you searching her face, looking for answers, trying to understand the wall she’s erected between you too. It’s so tall now, casting a shadow over both of you. 

“Wands?”

“Baby?” you try again. It seems like it's all you ever do these days. “Please?” 

Wanda resists the urge to turn toward you and pull you into her arms. She knows that if she does, the tears will flow uncontrollably, and she understands that you won't let her keep her troubles to herself. She composes herself, letting out a shuddering sigh.

“We're fine, Y/N. Let's just go to sleep.”

You give into her wishes, because you will always give her what she wants.  She extends her hand, delicately interlocking your fingers with hers. It's the smallest gesture she can manage. She pretends not to hear you, feel you shake, as you cry on your own.

-

She'd planned to watch the movie alone, in the middle of the day. So, when Vision discreetly takes the seat next to her, Wanda stiffens. A few others are scattered in the front rows of the dark theater, chatting softly as they munch on popcorn.

Without turning to face him, she whispers accusingly, “Are you stalking me?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd catch a movie. Pure coincidence.”

“You hate cinemas,” she counters.

He chuckles softly. “Maybe I'm learning to appreciate them.”

​​She’s about to retort when she feels a gentle touch on her hip. Wanda's muscles tense under his soft fingers as they start tracing the curve of her waist, moving slowly downwards, caressing her thigh. Her breath hitches, and she turns sharply to face him.

“What are you doing?”

Vision just smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Thought you might want to spice up the afternoon.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “I'm not in the mood, Vision. Hands off.”

His laugh is a bit too loud, drawing “shhhs” and glares from the front row. Seeing him unmoved by the stares, Wanda huffs and stands up, making it clear she's moving seats. As she shimmies past him, Vision's hand snakes out, gripping her wrist. “Stay,” he murmurs, eyes serious. “I promise to behave.”

She hesitates, looking at him skeptically. Finally, with a sigh, she slides back into her seat. For the most part, Vision keeps his promise. They sit in silence, engrossed in the movie, but Wanda can't help but notice Vision's restlessness. Twice, he excuses himself, claiming he needs the restroom. She can't help but wonder what he's really up to, but she refrains from asking. Whatever it is, she's not sure she wants to know.

Later, when they step out of the theater, they're greeted by the aftermath of a rainstorm. Puddles dot the pavement, making it tricky for Wanda in her heels. Vision holds out his hand, and she takes it, especially when she almost trips trying to leap over a particularly large puddle. 

For some reason, she suddenly feels like she's being watched. From the corner of her eye, she spots the black SUV, parked in the same spot as when she arrived at the cinema. But before she can give it more thought, Vision pulls her towards a bookstore, quickly diverting her attention. She brushes off the odd sensation, attributing it to anxiety since the theater she picked is quite far from town.

-

Wanda stares, open mouthed and shocked, as Vision shows her his final project for her course.

It's a charcoal drawing on canvas featuring a nude woman, with only her mouth visible, reclining on a bench. Wanda doesn't need a second glance to realize that the woman in the painting is her. From the curve of her jaw to the birthmark on her left hip and down to the fold of her knees, the resemblance is remarkable. 

There's no way she can allow him to submit this.

His audacity to draw her in such an intimate manner without her consent leaves her momentarily speechless. She briefly wonders what other liberties he’s taken without her permission.

“What the hell is this?” Wanda questions in barely contained rage.

Vision smirks, arrogance dripping from every word. “It's you, obviously. Pretty accurate, don't you think?”

She clenches her fists, anger rising. “You had absolutely no right. This is beyond inappropriate. What were you thinking?”

Leaning against the table, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I was thinking about how hot you were and I wanted to immortalize it.”

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively. “This was private, between us. How could you think it's okay to make it public?”

“I thought you liked when I took control,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dripping with insinuation.

Wanda feels like throwing up. “This isn't a game,” she snaps. “You can't just use our personal moments as fodder for your projects!”

“You never seemed to mind before.”

Wanda replies sharply, “There's a difference between us being together in private and you broadcasting it to the world.”

He squares his shoulders, firming up his stance. “Maybe I wanted them to see.”

“To see what exactly?” Wanda yells, but the fear in her voice is unmistakable. 

“How good we are together,” he says. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding, Wanda. Ever thought of that?”

Wanda's mind races, a thousand thoughts crashing into one another. She's always been able to control the narrative, always had the situation in her grip. But now, Vision's defiance, his blatant challenge, terrifies her. The realization that Vision could, and possibly would, spill their secret terrifies her more than she thought possible. For the first time, she's faced with the real possibility of losing everything she holds dear. Of losing you.

“So, what's it going to be, Professor?” Vision challenges, towering over her in a display of intimidation. “Should I submit this, or maybe...” his voice drops to a whisper, “show it to your wife?”

She grits her teeth, trying to gain some semblance of control. “Destroy it. Now.”

Vision grins, leaning in closer until their faces are inches apart. “Make me.”

“Vis—”

Vision's lips crush down on hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. His hand clamps around the back of her neck, holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. It’s fervent, consuming, and fueled by a hunger she hasn't felt from him before. Her brain screams at her to resist, to push him away, to regain control of this spiraling situation. She shoves at his chest, her nails digging in, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he deepens the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, which she denies him.

In her mounting frustration, she raises her hand and slaps him hard across the face. Vision barely flinches, his gaze never leaving hers. His determination only fans the flames of her anger further, but beneath it all simmers an irrefutable want. Without a word, Vision's hands descend to her waist, deftly unbuttoning and pushing down her pants and off her legs. She makes quick work of his belt, discarding them recklessly to the side.

As he inches closer, his breath hot on her ear, Vision murmurs, “Say it, Wanda… say 'I want you to fuck me’.”

She can feel the solid length of him pressing against her, and despite her anger, the way he slowly gyrates his hips makes her weak. She draws a shaky breath, the words stuck in her throat. It’s wrong, and he shouldn’t have this much power on her. 

He moves in, his lips trailing down her neck, as his hands find their way around her waist, pulling her in even closer. “Say it,” he murmurs again.

“I want you to... fuck me,” she finally breathes out, her voice breaking into a whiny plea that she would never have believed she could utter, especially under these circumstances. 

His response is immediate. Before she can fully register what's happening, he has her lifted, her back pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. With a sharp thrust, he's inside her, filling her completely. While Vision usually found his release before she did, this time was different. She notices he's holding back, which confuses her. Why would he? Especially now. Wanda, lost in the sensation of him inside her, is curious but also a little apprehensive. 

She soon realizes why. His fingers find her clit, rubbing it in a rough, almost painful manner that sends shockwaves of pleasure through her. “Come on,” he urges, almost impatiently, his voice strained.

She feels herself spiraling, the coil inside her tightening. His cock angles and adjusts, targeting her sweet spot, making her clench around him. The slickness between them grows, and his fingers work in tandem with his thrusts, pressing, rubbing, coaxing her closer and closer.

“I'm gonna... I'm coming,” she warns, feeling the walls of her pussy fluttering.

And then she feels it—the unmistakable warmth, the pulsing. Her eyes widen in realization as Vision buries himself deeper, releasing inside her. 

“No!” Wanda screams silently, the sounds failing to escape her throat as the knowledge that he's come unprotected pushes her further into her own climax. Her instinct is to flee, to pull away from him, but Vision's grip is ironclad. He feels her panic and responds with more pressure on her clit, manipulating the nub with determined fingers. Each stroke sends her further into ecstasy, locking her in place as his other arm wraps around her waist, preventing any escape.

“Stay,” he murmurs into her ear, his voice filled with a possessiveness that she's never heard before. As he continues to spurt inside her, their hips still weakly grinding against one another, the reality of the situation dawns on her. He didn't use protection. He could—he could get her—

Terror claws at Wanda's insides. Was this all premeditated? Had he planned to trap her like this? She struggles to pull away, but Vision holds her even tighter, keeping her pressed against him as the last of his release fills her. He languidly rests his forehead against Wanda's shoulder, taking a moment to revel in the afterglow. When he finally dares to look at her, he expects to see anger or fury or maybe even forgiveness. Instead, he's met with wide, bloodshot eyes swimming with tears that violently spill over, tracing the contours of her cheeks.

His smugness dissipates and his brow furrows in confusion. “Wanda?”

She chokes on her tears, desperately trying to speak. “Did you—did you do this on purpose?” Using every ounce of strength she can summon, she pushes him away, stumbling slightly as her legs threaten to give out. Hastily, she starts grabbing her clothes.

Vision, looking lost for once, reaches out, but she recoils away from his touch.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

“Wanda, please. Let's talk about this.”

As Wanda attempts to regain her balance, she can feel the telltale wetness slide down her inner thighs. The physical evidence of their tryst, the proof of Vision's seed making its way out of her, sends a sharp pang of revulsion through her. Her hand moves instinctively, trying to wipe away the residue, a feeble attempt to erase the aftermath—or perhaps the entirety of their history. Her vision blurs as tears continue to stream down her face, her breathing jagged. Vision, looking both remorseful and lost, reaches out in an attempt to console her, but she flinches at the barest contact of his fingertips.

“Please, at least let me drive you to—”

“To where?” she spits out, her voice mocking. “Home? To my...? I can't—not now.”

Vision's eyes widen, and suddenly he looks much younger.

“Wanda,” he starts, voice shaky and eyes beginning to tear up, “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't think… I-It’ll never happen again.”

But the pitiable sight of him, looking scared and unsure, only adds fuel to the fire. “You think a simple 'sorry' is enough?”

The door is her escape, and she's quick to reach it. As she’s about to leave, he whimpers, almost begging, “Please don't go. I... I'm sorry.”

But she's done. With one final, withering glance, she exits, leaving the door to swing shut behind her. 

-

While Wanda waits for her period to come, she can't focus on anything else. She feels disoriented during the day, and it keeps her awake at night. 

In her world, everything's spiraling into a fragmented mess, like a vintage vinyl record that's been smashed to bits. 

She tosses out reading assignments like candy at a twisted parade, tells the kids to scribble down essays. For them, it's almost like a holiday. For Wanda, it's a desperate lifeline. By the window, she stands. Watching. Waiting. But not really seeing anything. Vision's eyes, burning into her, but she never meets his gaze. She hasn't been responding to his texts or calls, discarding them immediately without even opening them. The classroom exit strategy is always the same: blend in with the herd, avoid the predator. She doesn't give him even the slightest opportunity to get her alone.

Home should be her fortress. Instead, it's like quicksand. Sparky, always eager for her attention, brings toys to her feet, his tail wagging in hopeful anticipation. But her patience is thin, and she finds herself shooing him outside, much to the dog's confusion. She's been bringing home takeout repeatedly, and the repetition isn't lost on you. While you never openly complain, she notices when you start to take the reins, cooking dinner, a quiet acknowledgment of her current state.

She waits and waits—a ghost haunting a lover, a home, a school, a town, waiting for salvation.

-

She’s more than a week late for her period when she (terrifyingly) decides to buy a pregnancy test kit. Wanda clutches her coat tighter around herself, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open. Inside, she avoids making eye contact, moving purposefully towards the aisle she's dreading. As her fingers wrap around a pregnancy test kit, her heart hammers in her chest. With the box safely tucked inside her bag, she hurries back home, sneaking glances over her shoulder, feeling as though the world knows her secret.

When she arrives home, she pretends as if she had simply stopped by the grocery store. She musters a smile as she begins to prepare dinner, maintaining a light and cheerful conversation with you. You savor her food as if it were your last meal, showering her with compliments like a discerning food critic, which brings a slight chuckle from Wanda. You peck her lips when you’re finished, thanking her for it. For a while, it seems like everything is back to normal, and that nothing will shatter the illusion that she’s still living her happily-ever-after with you.

She waits, counting the minutes, ensuring you're deep in sleep before she tiptoes into the bathroom. She reads the instructions multiple times, her eyes scanning over each word as if hoping they'd change. It's as though she hasn’t been through this ritual numerous times before, back when her deepest desire was to bear your child. The irony isn't lost on her: in just a few months, she's transitioned from yearning for a baby to fervently hoping she isn't pregnant.

Finally gathering enough courage, she rips the packaging. Just get it over with, Wanda muses. The minutes that follow feel like hours. The silence is suffocating, the potential consequences bearing down on her. She jumps at the slightest noise, every creak of the floorboards or rustle of sheets convincing her that you've woken up.

The alarm on her phone finally goes off, signaling that it's time. With bated breath, she looks down at the test, her world teetering on the brink of change.

-

She’s hidden the pregnancy test deep in the trash bin, concealed under tissues and other refuse. It’s the middle of the night, and she ensured it is further out of sight by taking the trash outside.

As the initial relief floods through her, it is swiftly replaced by a profound sense of shame. She sits curled up on the couch, hugging her knees, desperately wishing to escape from herself and her crimes. She realizes, with a piercing clarity, that she can't compartmentalize or keep secrets when it comes to you, because you're not just a part of her life—you are her life. The mere thought of you finding out fills her with a terror so profound, she's left gasping for breath. She'd rather face any consequence, even death, than watch the love fade from your eyes, replaced by hurt, anger, and betrayal.

She loves you, but Wanda doesn’t—she doesn’t know what to do, how to move forward. 

But in the midst of her life falling apart, an unexpected sentiment finds its way to the forefront: hope. 

A fragile, quivering kind of hope. Wanda's lips twitch, trembling as they pull into a weak smile. Maybe the universe is giving her a second chance. Maybe her not being pregnant is a sign, a way out. It's as if fate is holding out a lifeline, imploring her to take it and mend the fractures in her life. With renewed determination, she silently promises herself that she'll devote every bit of her being to you. She knows she can't change the past, but she believes, fervently, in the possibility of a future where she remains true, where she will never stray again.

Still, the weight of her deeds anchors her to the couch, each sob a violent reminder that she's the villain in her own story. And that’s how you find her, in the dark living room, crying and blaming a nonexistent movie for being in such a mess.

“Wanda?”

She looks up and every cell in her body threatens to crumble. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing away the tears.

“Have you been crying?”

“Just a movie,” she lies still, “You know how emotional they make me.”

You smile, your eyes full of that nurturing love. “My big crybaby.” Wanda can't believe a pregnancy scare was what it took to finally wake her up.

Looking into your eyes, a surge of need overtakes her. She longs to claim you, to solidify her stake, and leave no doubt in your mind about where her heart truly lies. She wants to show you just how much she loves you, to make up for all the times she has strayed. 

She doesn't hesitate. Before she fully processes her actions, she's on top of you, her weight pinning you down, her eyes blazing with an intensity that threatens to consume. “Take off your shorts,” her voice trembles. Your obedient response sends a thrill through her, but she's barely registered the progress you've made before she's swiping a teasing finger, tasting the essence that's uniquely yours. She watches, entranced, as a shiver runs through you, your voice shaky with desire. 

“Patience, baby.” 

She barely shakes her head, lips parted. ���Don't have any.”

And then she's tasting you, each slow, deliberate stroke of her tongue designed to drive both of you mad. Your body responds fervently, and she can sense your need building, mirroring her own desperate longing. “Please, Wanda, more…” Your whisper is a plea she can't resist. Her lips part to take in more of you, savoring the intoxicating flavor that she had missed so much. 

“I've missed you so much, Y/N,” she says, deliriously lost in your pleasure. “I've missed making you feel good. Missed feeling this way with you…” She doesn't quite realize the hints she's dropping, but she doesn't care. This moment is real, and she wants it to be as honest as it can be.

Lifting your legs, Wanda applies gentle pressure, pushing them back until they're almost touching the couch cushions on either side of your head. The sight of you, so openly displayed for Wanda, sends a rush of heat and desire through her core. She can feel the power she has, not just from the position but from the trust placed in her to have you in such a vulnerable state. It feels so good, being this close to you. How could she have ever desired anything else when she had this all along?

Wanda pauses for a moment, mouth watering, her eyes hungrily tracing the sight before her. She senses a slight shift, seeing your eyes flit away, perhaps overwhelmed. But Wanda can't allow that retreat. Gently cradling your face, she guides those eyes she loves back, sealing their return home to her with a tender, grounding kiss.

“I love you,” she breathes against your lips.

You smile up at her. “I love you. More than you could ever know.”

Wanda shuts her eyes, letting your reassurance wash over her. Nothing lasts forever, but perhaps this could be an exception.

[publicenemy212]

Part 1 of Love Potion (dom!Velvette x f!sub!reader)

There's two parts to this story since it's porn with plot (yeah yeah no one reads smut for the plot I know) and Part 1 is gonna be pretty SFW other than some cursing. Part 2's (the actual smut) in the works and will be out in about two days!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Word count: 1,199 words

Summary:

You're a well-known Sinstagram influencer with hundreds of thousands of loyal followers. Yet, each time you post, you're only really looking for the attention of one person: Velvette, Hell's high-end fashion designer and fellow influencer. After posting several pictures taken during a night out with friends at Klub Kaiju, you wake up to a much-wanted message that you formerly could only dream of.

“Alright, stay safe! Thanks for the ride,” you called out to the designated driver for the night. As the car sped off, you sighed and walked to the entrance of your apartment building, wincing with each step. Your feet screamed in pain from being in heels all night long—you couldn’t wait to just fall down into your comfy bed.

The bedframe squeaked as you practically threw your battered frame onto the mattress. You groaned with relief as you loosened the corset and kicked off the heels. Though your eyes threatened to glue themselves shut with each blink, you forced yourself to stay awake. There was no chance you’d fall asleep before posting the new flicks from your night out. Such were the responsibilities of an influencer like yourself.

You dug through your purse, praying your phone didn’t somehow fall out while you were on the dance floor. Thankfully, it didn’t, and you promptly opened the Sinstagram app to create a new post.

Scrolling through your gallery, you chose a few pictures of different angles to best showcase your outfit and, of course, your body. You weren’t only posting for the measly 400,000 nobodies who would scarf up any and all crumbs you’d throw to them, no; you had somebody to impress. A very powerful somebody, whose opinion could make or break your career. Velvette. Arguably the most well-known and respected fashion designer in all of Hell.

You chose three of the best contenders and minimally filtered out any slight imperfections, be it an unsavory onlooker in the background or the club or a speck of dust in the camera lens. Any filtering beyond that was unnecessary and would probably only decrease the quality of your pictures.

Satisfied with the pictures, you began laying out a caption and all the usual hashtags to increase your reach.

When the night calls

#pentagramcity #pridering #klubkaiju #model #VVVmodels #VelvetteScouting

The last two tags were the most important. Everything else was almost trivial at this point—you had amassed enough followers to gain a steady stream of likes, comments, and shares. All you needed was to catch Velvette’s eye to reach the next step to power and success.

After you gave your post a final once-over, you tapped “Post.” As usual, the notifications started flooding in almost immediately. You glanced at the top of your Vphone to check the time—4:52 AM—and rolled your eyes. Just how pathetic were these sinners that you could post at the buttcrack of dawn and thousands would still flock to your post nearly instantaneously? 

You closed the app and your Vphone, determined to get some well-deserved shut-eye. You had never been so grateful it was a Friday night and not a weekday night. Though you didn’t get hangovers often, you absolutely despised not being able to get all eight of your beauty sleep hours.

Sleep quickly enveloped your tired body like a warm blanket.

The next day, the sound of screaming outside the window roused you from your hibernation. Perhaps once it was the sound of birds chirping that would wake you up, but such days were long gone ever since you found yourself amidst dirty streets and red skies. Not that you cared much, anyway. Your past life was a speck compared to the time you’ve now spent in Hell. 

You blinked slowly and turned over to reach for your phone. Obviously, notifications were off, so you manually opened Sinstagram to check if any of your friends had messaged you through the night and morning.

You scrolled through your list of unread DMs to check how many people you needed to respond to. This was all muscle memory for you and your eyes almost glazed over with boredom until an unfamiliar profile picture flashed by. You frowned in confusion. Did one of your friends change their profile picture? You were certain you set your settings to only allow people you followed and were followed back by into your primary messages channel.

You scrolled back up to investigate this unfamiliar face.

Your heartbeat froze.

Velvette (✔)

Hey darling! I saw your re… · 2h

There’s no way. Surely this had to be a prank?

You carefully tapped on the profile just to make sure it was really Velvette, being mindful to avoid prematurely opening the message in case it truly was her. Could it be somebody impersonating her? No, that couldn’t be, no lowly fan account could obtain a verification mark. Maybe one of your celebrity friends was pulling your leg? That couldn’t possibly be either. Impersonating an overlord was equivalent to poking the bear and asking for death. Not to mention the fact that it would ruin their own online persona and brand if they randomly changed their account so drastically.

Your heart had seemingly defrosted while thoughts and questions ran through your brain. It was now pounding with the ferocity of a thrashing, turbulent river. Could it really be…? 

The account was real. Velvette messaging you was real.

All your hard work had paid off, and you were on your way to being part of the Vees.

You swiped back to the messages screen and stared at the unread message from the fashion icon. What should you say to her? What if she would notice the second you opened her message? Oh god, what if she was judging you for taking so long to respond to her this very minute?

Breathing deep to calm yourself, you tapped on her message.

Hey darling! I saw your recent post. You’re quite lucky to get a DM from me directly, just so you know. I have my assistants reach out to most people who’re trying to get scouted via Sinstagram. What do you say to coming in for an interview tonight? x

Blood pounded in your ears. You tapped out a quick reply.

Hi Velvette! Thank you so much for your consideration! I’d love to join you for an interview tonight. Just to be clear, is there anything I should bring?

You nearly jolted out of your own skin when Velvette read your message barely a minute after you sent it.

Just yourself. No makeup, the stylists will take care of that when you arrive x

You double tapped her message to like it before shooting a final confirmation and thank you message and your phone promptly flew across the bedroom and thwacked against the wall. Shoving your face into the pillows, you rolled around back and forth and kicked your legs madly. Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit. You finally did it.

You screamed into the pillow before lifting your head up and gasping for air. Giggles bubbled up your chest and erupted out of your mouth until it turned into full-on laughter.

As the initial high of being noticed by the fashion overlord subsided, doubts crept up into your mind once more. You weren’t one of her models just yet. There was still an interview to pass before you truly worked under Velvette. You groaned in displeasure at the idea of not quite reaching your goal just yet.

Sitting up from your bed, you decided to get ready for the day and night ahead of you.

-

Part 2 is out! <3

[tetragonia]

Masters of the Air characters as aesthetics

John 'Bucky' Egan

Bucky was a golden hour, warm hues of gold and amber casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything. Giggles and banters over a sip of liquor. He was a low hum in a pub, filled with chatter and joy. Bucky was a worn sheepskin jacket, familiar and comforting. Waves crash against rugged cliffs, vivid colors pop against a backdrop of blue skiess. He was gentle and dominating, yet he asked to be taken care of behind closed doors. Back arching high against the bed sheet, hands pinned and left marks everywhere. He was a smoky jazz club alive with the sound of saxophones and clinking glasses, the sound of people laughing so loud until the stomach hurts. Grass stained knees. Running through the rain without an umbrella. He was classical music blasting from a cheap speaker. He was Apollo playing his instruments.

Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Buck was a calm before a storm. A misty forest enveloped in fog, with towering trees draped in moss and winding paths leading to hidden glens and secret clearings. He was both silent movies and thunderstorms that you'd feel inside your chest. Raised eyebrows and cold hands, pinching the bridge of your nose. Watching a painting a bit too long before the gallery was closed. Long walks to the library. Winter winds and freezing hands, subtle glances across the room. He was soft murmur of reassurance and a gentle touch behind the doors. Consensual and always asked if it's okay. Dark red lipstick, chilled red wine. A quaint cottage nestled in the countryside with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, surrounded by a garden bursting with fragrant herbs and vibrant flowers. He was Hestia tending the sacred flames.

Harry 'Croz' Crosby

Harry was the swirling feelings in your stomach night before a trip. A vintage typewriter sitting on a weathered wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of yellowing paper and antique books. The soft autumn sun. He was handwritten letters and cracked statues. Silver waves lapping at the shore and seashells scattered across the sand like scattered jewels. The rattling of rain against the window, messy and needed direction. He was scribbles and ink stains, messy notebooks, and the tea kettle whistling in the silent morning. He was urgent and hurry, but comforting afterwards. He was everything about pleasure behind closed doors. A disheveled bedroom with rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor, with posters peeling off the walls and sunlight filtering through grimy windows. He was Poseidon guarding with his trident.

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie was a vintage record player spinning vinyl records, filling the room with the warm crackle of music. He was sweet smiles and clear eyes. Paper planes. Overgrown rose bushes. That one song you always skipped but ended up loving it. He was tweed jackets and loose blouses. A field of wildflowers stretching out as far as the eye can see, with colorful blooms dancing in the breeze and the scent of earth and pollen filling the air. Gentle and nurturing, caring and soft behind the doors. He was a giver and always maintained satisfaction. He was pink-tinted blush. A pair of combat boots scuffed from countless adventures. Smiling at strangers on the street. He was all kind and modesty, but also Athena leading battles.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Chapter 5 - Clandestine Meetings

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

Previous l Next

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Every interaction has finally led you to this moment, straight into the arms of the man you love.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Smut and Mature themes)

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Infidelity (reader is married). Dirty talk. Smut! Oral (Female receiving). Fingering. Big Dick!Steve. Protected P in V. Hint of a breeding kink (for both reader and Steve).

WC: 8.4K

The hours ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace while sitting in your room waiting for the first trace of light to filter through the curtains so you could sneak back out. You sat alternating between chewing your nails and ringing your hands.

Your only consuming thought was getting back to the office to gain access to your phone and warn Steve.

At least waiting for morning didn't make it quite as suspicious. It would be under the guise that you needed to make sure the space was properly cleaned and organized for business as usual come Monday.

It wasn't unusual. Nik knew you were meticulous, if not a little OCD regarding the gallery. He wouldn't bat an eye your way. At least you hoped so, after what you had overheard on your way in, you had to be extra vigilant.

When those first beams of light finally trickled in, you were off, not bothering to alert your driver or anyone else in the house, grabbing the keys to your cherry red convertible that Nik had purchased for you when you'd returned from your honeymoon.

It was one present you were now thankful for, the only vehicle in the house you had exclusive access to.

You quickly went to the garage and got behind the wheel, starting the engine and initiating the automatic garage door.

Nik watched you from his second-floor window with disdain and contempt, immediately phoning one of his many goons to make sure they followed you. Lucky for you they would have nothing useful to report back to him today.

You raced across town feeling as though you were against some sort of impending countdown.

It was early but you hoped Steve was already up as you sent your text.

6:20 AM: Please call me.

Simple. Effective. The phone rang within 30 seconds.

“What's wrong?” He asked before you had the chance to speak, sounding a little winded. “I'll be there in 10 minutes.”

“No, no. Steve. I'm fine.” You assured him, an audible sigh of relief was heard on the other end of the line. “It's you I'm worried about. When I came home last night, Nik was speaking with the boogeyman. Have you heard of him?”

There was a pause, his mind silently letting it register who you were referring to while choosing his next words carefully to not alarm you in any sort of way.

“I have. What did you hear?”

“Nik said he wanted to have him on standby. It doesn't sound like he's planning anything right away, but it's Nik. Any little thing could set him off.” You felt yourself getting worked up as you took a ragged breath. “Steve, I— I can't—”

“Dove, listen to my voice. Take a deep breath for me, tesoro. It's just you and me right now.”

You focused solely on his calm demeanor, yet commanding tone as you inhaled and then let out a deep exhale like he asked.

“Better?” He questioned.

“Better.” You parroted, a small smile finally gracing your features.

“Good, now let's avoid trying to give me a heart attack first thing in the morning, yeah?” You could hear the relief in his voice as he spoke. He was ready to leave the house at a moment's notice for you. He'd been prepared for all kinds of scenarios, hoping for best but always prepared for the worst.

“I can't promise, but I'll try to save the dramatics for a more reasonable hour.” You laughed, as the rest of your trepidation further slipped away. He had a way of doing that. Making you feel completely calm and safe.

“I'll come by tomorrow, if that's alright.” He took a seat at his desk and leaned back in his plush leather chair with another sigh.

“Of course, but I'm fine. Truly. I just needed to let you know.” I needed to hear your voice.

“I know, Dove. I just want to come by to see my girl.” The words came out so easily, he didn't even notice when they slipped out. In his mind, you were always his.

“Your girl, huh?” You grinned to yourself.

“Always, tesoro mio. Stay safe and say hello to your father for me.”

“My father?”

“It's Sunday, no? That was always a tradition in your house. Don't tell me you don't do that anymore.” Something Steve had always longed for. A family that actually cared enough for one another to have dinner once a week. He craved that kind of closeness with his own family some day.

“Of course, it's just— nothing, it doesn't matter. I'll see you tomorrow, amore mio.”

Amore mio. Your parting words had him over the moon. You were still his, in every way. He had a few more surprises for you in the days to come and he couldn't wait to share them with you.

He suddenly felt like a teenager again. Sneaking around so his father wouldn't find you together, except this time the stakes were much higher. He knew the dangers, but you were more than worth it.

-

The truth you didn't want to tell Steve was that you hadn't made lunch plans with your father. Not since the day he shed light on everything that he knew.

You had been keeping him at an arm's length. Texting him instead of calling him. Avoiding any face-to-face interactions if at all possible. It wouldn't last forever but right now it's what you needed.

He respected your decision, but he was hurting too. His only child going from devoted daughter to almost completely ignoring him gave him immediate whiplash, but deep down he knew he deserved it. After that day, he vowed to make everything right.

He was prepared to follow through, whatever the cost. He wasn't about to lose the only light he had left in his miserable life.

The day was open to possibilities, rarely staying at home anymore unless some sort of “wifely” duty was called for, but even that was becoming less frequent. You suspected Nik wanted nothing to do with you at this point.

It did worry you, but at the same time there was a huge sense of relief.

It was a beautiful, sunshine filled day. A walk around the park to clear your head and get some fresh air was high on the agenda.

You found an empty park bench close to the playground to read for a while.

The breeze was warm, spring would soon usher in summer, as children laughed and carried on around you. The book you tried to read, long forgotten sitting closed beside you.

You let yourself imagine for a moment what it would be like to be nothing more than a woman sitting at a bench who was free to do as she pleased, not chained to a life she was born into but one that was all her own.

Given the chance, you could walk away but the man you loved could never have that luxury. Deep down you know that he would have tried to make your life as normal as possible because it's what you had always wanted.

A simple dream of being a wife and someday a mother almost seemed too out of reach but when you looked at him you could still picture it all perfectly. You were both like minded, sharing the same dreams and goals. It has always been that way.

A child screamed in the distance, knocking you from your daydream. It was getting late in the afternoon as you packed your things and headed back home for the day.

You'd been expecting him all morning.

“Excuse me, miss?” He asked toward you and your assistant, Abigail turned as you bit your lip, hiding the smile that threatened to give you away all too easily.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Harrington. How can…” Your assistant began, but you quickly cut it, relieved to see him again.

“That's okay, Abigail. I'll see this gentleman.” She nodded and quickly dashed away.

He had turned back to a sculpture that had just made it to the floor, hands clasped behind his back seemingly studying it as you walked up standing beside him.

“Quite exquisite, no?” You asked.

“It's well, it's…” he tilts his head, eyes roving down and back up your body instead. “I would say breathtaking.”

“Is that so, Mr. Harrington?” You finally meet his gaze, soft hazel eyes focused solely on you as he studies your face.

You didn't want to break the trance, but it was beginning to feel suffocating being in this close proximity to him.

You swallowed thickly before looking away from him, cheeks flushing pink. You'd hope he hadn't noticed.

“So, does anything catch your eye?” Simply referring to the art.

“Absolutely. But what I want is sadly unavailable.” He whispered; you hadn't noticed when he'd inched closer; his woodsy scented cologne suddenly surrounding you.

You met his eyes, as he tucked his bottom lip briefly between his teeth drawing your attention back to his pouty lips.

“I would love nothing more than to take her home. Show her all the ways I've missed her, wishing I could take it all back.” Your body felt like it was being pulled toward him, as his eyes drifted to your lips.

“Steve, I—” It came out almost pained, as you released a breath you'd been holding.

“I told you once if this is too much, I'll stop. Just tell me what YOU need.”

Need. Not want. As if he already knew.

“I need room to breathe. I need the love and affection I so desperately crave. I need freedom.” Your eyes checked the room before stepping closer and whispering to him. “And most of all, I need you.”

“I'm working on that.” He replied, a small twinkle in his eye. He was up to something.

“I trust you are, but right now, Mr. Harrington, I need to get back to work.”

“Of course, I'll leave you to it.” He reached for you, fingertips grazing lightly across your skin before pulling your hand up tenderly to his lips placing a small kiss to the back of your hand; squeezing lightly before letting it rest back at your side.

The moment his lips touched your skin your mind went blank. You stare at him unblinking for a moment more before he smiles.

“Arrivederci, my dove.” He turned, leaving you to trail after him.

Steve would stop at nothing to keep you safe and make you his once more. He was ready to play the long game and he knew he'd win; family or husbands be damned. He knows who your heart truly belongs to just as he knows his has always belonged to you.

You had a habit of leaving your burner out in the afternoon while you finished working.

Sometimes he would text or call, knowing you were still at the office. You checked it after taking a small break.

921-987-5555 5:38PM: Tesoro, I left a few things unsaid this afternoon. Are you free to talk?

Sent 6:09 PM: Of course.

The phone began to buzz a few moments later.

“Mr. Harrington?” You asked.

“Ms. Alexander, it would be a pleasure to have you accompany me for dinner tomorrow evening.” He stated.

“Ste—” releasing a heavy sigh, as he interrupted.

“Ah, ah I know what you're going to say, but just listen. I have a place just around the corner from your gallery. It'll just be you and I, away from prying eyes.” Pausing a moment to light a cigarette between his lips letting what he had just said sink in for a moment. The two of you. Alone.

“What do you say? I'll show you those cooking skills and make us a nice dinner.” Taking a large drag, giving you the moment to speak.

“I— I'll think about it. It's—”

“Hey, don't worry about those goons or the goddamn Boogeyman. You deserve a night without worries. I want to give you that at least. Just think about it. Please?” He chimed in, as your mind began to drift with the possibilities.

“Okay.” You replied softly. “I'll think about it.”

“Good girl.” He purred, leaning back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. If his father could see him now, he'd likely kill him. “Take the night, Dove. Think it over.”

And you had been thinking it over. The last four hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling. It all felt like a fever dream. It was happening so fast yet taking its time.

You began to relive that moment from the gala over and over, always wishing and hoping for more. This was your chance.

You suddenly began aching with need at the thought of finally being alone with him, imagining his large hands roaming your body. His lips trailing soft kisses. His mouth, exploring and tasting you.

Your fingertips slipped past the waistband of your satin sleep shorts until they swirled along your clit, dipping further to your entrance as images of the two of you tangled together danced behind your eyelids. It didn't take very long for your orgasm to build at the thought of him filling you completely, remembering vividly what his cock looked and felt like.

He was bigger than anyone you'd been with since, not only long but thick with a prominent vein that ran down the underside almost from base to tip. You could picture the way he stretched you open with just his head, working you down his length little by little while whispering sweet praises in your ear.

“Steve.” You whispered out, breathy and high, working yourself as your fingers tried to reach that sweet spongy spot inside you. Your clit was throbbing, your cunt tightening around your fingers as you came harder than you had in a long time, picturing him telling you what a good job you'd done.

You slept easy that night.

It was never a choice. Your mind has been made up since the first time you had laid eyes on him again. It was time to take a leap.

Once you'd reached the office, you sent him a simple text stating, “when and where?”

It was followed quickly with an answer. His driver would be parked around back at 7 PM.

Your nerves were high, and your heart was pounding, excitement more than anything fueling your body.

When you locked up the driver was already outside waiting for you just as Steve had instructed, opening the door for you.

“For you miss.” Announcing when you got closer, handing you a small manila envelope. You hold it close as you sit down. “We don't have far to go, but do you need anything?”

“No, thank you.” Replying as he nodded and closed the door. No doubt under Steve's explicit instructions to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

The envelope has a little weight to it, you noted while opening it. No letter, you flipped it over as a brass key fell into your hand with a small slip of paper.

Top floor. Apartment 3.

Take the elevator, it's the last door on the left.

This was it. It felt like everything had been leading up to this moment and your life was about to change. If only you knew how true that would be after tonight.

The driver stopped about a block away at a smaller, but well-maintained apartment complex. Very low key. Your head swiveled, eyes looking over your shoulder for any hint of being followed.

“That key will open the main door; the apartment should be unlocked.” Tipping his hat as you exited the vehicle and walked the couple of stairs up to the front.

The interior was nice, recently updated with fresh paint and new flooring. The elevator was adjacent to the door, you entered and pressed 5 as it began to ascend.

You shifted, tapping your foot in time with each beat of your heart for the short ride up, as the door slid open revealing an equally empty hallway.

You took a deep breath, stepping out, immediately noticing a large, very intimidating gentleman posted by the stairwell. He spoke into an earpiece as you walked past him, otherwise ignoring your presence.

Steve has enough security stationed at various strategic points that no one could get within a fifty-foot radius of the two of you tonight.

Face to face with the cream-colored door adorned with the brass 3, you wondered if you should knock but dismissed the silly notion because he was expecting you, after all.

You slowly turned the matching brass knob, letting the door swing open slightly.

The intoxicating aroma of rosemary and garlic wafted through the air to meet you, pushing the door open so you could slip in.

It was a smaller apartment, the entrance situated inside the kitchen. His back was turned, humming to himself, as he chopped some fresh herbs.

His black dress shirt sleeves were rolled up his forearms, with a towel slung over his shoulder, still dressed in his expensive trousers and Italian loafers. He almost seemed completely out of place but at the same time, exactly where he should be.

Closing the door softly, you lean against the wall taking in the sight. He looks completely domesticated and it immediately feels like home.

For a few moments, you can imagine that this is your life. The life you were meant to have. Coming home to him each night. A loving, and caring man that had only had your best interests at heart. You craved these kinds of intimate moments.

He finished chopping and tossed the leafy greens into a pot of simmering sauce on top of the stove.

“There's a bottle of wine and a glass for you on the table.” He spoke, taking a spoon to stir in his newly added ingredients. “I know merlot isn't your favorite, but it pairs well with the meal.”

“Merlot is fine Steve. You'll find my tastes have changed somewhat.” Tossing your purse to the open counter beside you.

“Is that so?” He raised a brow toward you, looking over his shoulder before turning his attention back to his spoon raising it to his lips to have a small taste.

“That is so, Mr. Harrington.” You grinned, pouring your wine as you looked over the label, but it was from an Italian vineyard you hadn't heard of.

“Need any help with that?” Asking as you stepped closer to him.

“Now, what kind of host would I be if I let you lift a finger? Hmmm?” Pulling the towel from his shoulder, wiping his hands and tossing it to the counter before turning his attention fully to you. He found his own glass, eyeing you appreciatively over the rim as he took a sip.

“You look nice today.” Saying as an almost afterthought, eyes trailing down and back up. You were wearing a maroon silk button up, paired with a simple black skirt, sheer black hosiery and matching heels. Normal work attire.

“As opposed to any other day?” You giggled, sipping on the rich wine, noting hints of blackberry and subtle dark chocolate when the liquid splashed along your tastebuds.

“Tesoro,” he states, setting his wine down and taking a few steps to close the gap between you as you follow his lead, setting your own glass down. His hands come to rest on either side of your hips, your own landing on his chest, as you look up at him with bemused curiosity.

“You look beautiful, EVERY day.” He was crowding your space, invading your senses. A tingling, buzzing feeling began to hum beneath your skin. He was so close when he spoke his warm breath fanned across your cheek.

“You don't see me everyday.” You remarked, eyes trained on his, subtly shifting to his lips and back up.

“Don't remind me.” He huffed, his hold drifting to your lower back, pressing you closer still.

You were suddenly hungry for something other than food, as you bit your lower lip, looking up at him as if he'd hung the moon with stars in your eyes. You could feel the heat of his body radiating between the thin layers of fabric separating you, your own heat just beginning to pool between your thighs.

“Oh, wait.” Remembering what you had bought earlier in the day, reluctantly pulling from his grasp.

You reached your purse, noticing the rings still adorning your left hand. Pausing a moment, you pulled them off, slipping them into a side compartment. You weren't a Petrov tonight, pushing all thoughts of Nik aside.

It was just you and Steve.

“Here!” You pulled a box out, tossing it toward his chest. He caught it easily, looking down with a puzzled look.

“Condoms?” He quirked his brow up at you.

“Uh, we can't be too careful right now. As much as I would love for you to— um” you giggled, turning away from him briefly, suddenly feeling shy under his questioning gaze.

“Fuck you raw?” He finished with a salacious grin that had you blushing like a schoolgirl. “Like we haven't done that before?” He huffed an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, well, Nonna Vittoria made sure we were covered back then, Steve. I haven't taken birth control since I got married.” You sucked in your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes. “If I remember correctly, your pullout game was terrible.”

His mouth fell open slightly, with a small gasp that had you laughing out. Nerves slowly melting away with the lighthearted banter.

“That isn't my fault. IF I remember correctly, you were the one always begging for it.” His hands drifted to his hips as he shot you a playful glare.

“Steven! I did not! We have to be careful until…” You looked away again, suddenly feeling shy once more. A silly notion.

“Until?” He questions further, taking a step into your space.

“Just until, well— we're together.”

“Are we not together?” His hand cups the nape of your neck, as the other drifts to your hip pulling you into him. You toy with his collar before looking into his honey hued irises that seemed to draw you in.

“You know what I mean, Steve. I can't exactly be fucking you without some sort of plan.”

“Wait, is that why you're here?” He looks around the room, as if confused. “I thought I was just making us a nice dinner.”

“Stop!” You whine out, slapping his chest, squirming slightly to step away from his grasp but he holds firm.

“Where do you think you're going, huh?” He asks, leaning in, the tip of his nose nudging yours. “I'm not letting you go.”

“Promise?” Tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

“I promise, tesoro mio.”

He leans in, his lips meeting yours with a needy and raw excitement. Intense in all the best ways but you needed more. You were hungry, licking at his mouth. Tongues meeting in a messy crescendo, tasting each other, as if it were the first time all over again, nerves suddenly giving away to butterflies dancing at your ribs.

Your hands began pawing at his chest, gripping the fabric of his starchy, black dress shirt. Fingers finding the buttons and making quick work of them.

“No interruptions this time?” You breathe out, pulling slightly away from him, pushing his shirt open, as he grips the bottom to move it free from his slacks and lets it peel away from his body leaving him in his undershirt.

“No. Fuck no. He's under strict orders not to bother us.” His lips find your jaw.

A small giggle quickly turns into a breathy moan as hot, open mouth kisses trail down your neck then to your collarbone. The fabric of your top hangs loosely around your shoulder as he starts to suck lightly, eliciting a moan from the sensation. He has to stop himself from leaving a mark, placing another kiss there instead.

He unlatches his lips momentarily to look you in the eyes, already blown full of lust.

“I thought instead of going at it on top of your desk, you deserve a proper bed. A proper fuck.”

His nimble fingers begin unbuttoning your top, moving slowly as he speaks again, savoring the way your body tenses at his movements.

“I want to take my time. Worship you, the way you deserve.” He reaches the last button, pulling it away from your skirt and lets the silk drift open, revealing a lacy black bra underneath. The cooler air hitting your skin makes you shiver slightly.

His hand comes to cradle your jaw. The affection you've come to crave, a foreign concept to you as you melt into his touch.

His thumb traces over your bottom lip, the feeling makes your eyes flutter closed. Your teeth graze his thumb pad when he pushes slightly past your lips, before your tongue darts out swirling the tip of his digit, taking him into your mouth and sucking.

He groans out, suddenly pulling away, and wrapping his arms back around you.

“Fuck. My dirty girl.” He grits out, hands reaching the fat of your ass pushing you flush to his hips, his fingers gather the fabric of your skirt in his hands with aching length pressed into your lower stomach. The anticipation was suddenly overwhelming. You needed him like you needed air to breathe.

“Steve,” you manage before he dips down and captures your lips again, as if reading your mind. His palms cup your ass and hoists you up on the counter situated behind you, making you squeak out in surprise as your heels slide from your feet with a thud onto the tile floor below.

You grip his shirt as he shifts forward, wrapping your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up when you grind your hips forward searching for any kind of friction to alleviate the prominent ache between your legs, finding his bulge with ease as you both moan out in unison.

His hands slip your shirt from your shoulders, without breaking your heated kiss, letting it drop to the floor to meet his. His palm finds your breast, kneading your warm, pliant flesh.

You suddenly grip his length through his trousers, making him release a guttural groan that has him pulling back.

“Fuck.” He hisses, forehead coming to meet yours, panting into each other's space. His pause made you momentarily question if you'd done something wrong.

“I wa— no, I need to taste you.” His voice is raspy and lust laden, taking something silver from his pocket that suddenly catches your eye.

“Are you very fond of these tights?” He asks. You realize he's holding a switchblade that pops open with a push of his thumb.

Your answer comes as you part your thighs further for him, rucking your skirt up to your waist as his eyes land on your core.

In one swift motion, he pulls them taut away from your skin and easily slices upward through the thin nylon material.

“And those?” Eyes flitting back up to you just a moment to seek your permission on the next barrier. In this moment, you didn't care if he cut every piece of clothing from your body.

You nod, sucking in a breath when his fingers delicately dip past the band, slipping the blade under and cutting both sides, as it falls away from your soaked pussy.

Closing the blade, he tosses it to the counter beside you as his hands wrap around the plush of your thighs.

“I'll buy you new ones.” He absentmindedly says, eyes glued to your glistening folds, suddenly pulling you toward the edge of the counter as he takes a knee, tossing your left leg over his shoulder.

His free hand pushes your thigh to further accommodate his frame as he finally comes to eye level with his meal, warm breath fanning your exposed core, causing you to shudder.

His name slipped past your lips in a breathy whine.

“I know, angel.” He cooed, eyes catching yours as his thumb and forefinger came to slowly spread your lips open for him. “Look at you, a mess already.”

He leaves you no time to respond, his tongue finding your entrance, the tip entering slightly before licking a broad stripe all the way up to your aching clit. Your hips jolt involuntarily at the sensation his mouth brings, as he moans into your pussy.

He unlatches himself momentarily to check your already blissed out expression. Barely holding yourself up with shaky arms, with your head thrown back.

“Angel, just lay back f’me.” He says, as you look back down toward him, slowly lowering your back to meet the counter. “That's it. We might be here a while, baby. Your arms were already getting tired.”

As soon as you get more comfortable, he pulls your other leg over his shoulder to dive back in. He began by swirling his tongue across your puffy clit, then flicking it, setting a rapid pace that already has your head spinning.

He'd grown as a man, and obviously gained some new skills along the way that suddenly made you feel a pang of jealousy.

You pushed those thoughts from your mind, instead running your fingers through his perfectly quaffed mane, tugging when his tongue slid back down to your entrance.

“O— oh, Steve.”

Darting in and out, his nose brushing your clit with every upward movement, then moving back up, sucking it a little harshly and soothing it with the fluid motion of his expert muscle.

His eyes close for brief moments but he wanted to watch you fall apart.

His lips and tongue focus on your bundle of nerves, easing his finger up to your entrance, swirling and teasing before dipping in gradually to see your reaction.

You moaned out, tugging a little more harshly on his locks.

He pushes his digit into your soaked hole, feeling it clench around him. He quickly adds a second as your back arches off the counter pushing your pussy further into his face, his fingers moving in and out of your tight channel.

He curves them up, stroking, searching for that spot that will have you screaming his name.

“Steve! Right there!” You whine out when he finds it, grinning to himself.

He doesn't stop, watching as your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back against the counter. Your hips grind into his face chasing your high.

Your mouth goes slack, each brush of his fingertips and suckle of his lips sending you closer to the edge. You'd all but forgotten pleasure that an expert lover could bestow until this very moment.

He begins to flick his tongue in time with his fingers thrusting in and out of you, first rapidly from side to side, then up and down.

He wouldn't let up until he made you come, uncaring how hard his cock was straining and aching against the confines of his trousers.

“Ah— Ste— I'm, I—” Your orgasm suddenly hit with a blinding force, unable to get out a coherent thought before your pussy clenched down around his fingers as you began to writhe and moan beneath him. He pins you to the counter with his free hand when your hips begin to rise, making you take everything he was giving you.

He moans into your cunt, your juices leaking out around his fingers, lapping up your arousal with eager need.

He works you through your release, before you have to push his face away, trying to scoot away from the sensitivity of it all.

“Steve, Steve. Stop. I—” You huff out, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.

He grins, lips and chin shining with your release, that he gladly licks away. Your legs fall from his shoulders when he eases back up from the floor draping himself over your body, brushing the hair from your face.

You slowly open your eyes to see him beaming down at you, with a bright smile and shining eyes.

“Hi.” You giggle.

“Hi, angel.” Kissing the tip of your nose, before his lips brush over yours.

You wound your arms around his neck, finding his lips, greedily licking into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

His cock stirs, pinned up against your core, alerting you to his unsatiated desire. His hand finds the back of your neck, as he guides you to sit up gripping your thighs as you wrap them around his waist, locking your ankles at the base of his spine.

He carries you down the small hall to the bedroom, his lips working against yours the entire way, finding the edge of the bed, easing you both down. When your back hits the mattress, you finally detach from him long enough to help pull his undershirt over his head and toss it somewhere across the room.

He sits back, as you unzip the side of your skirt, pushing it down your thighs and tossing it away as well.

The small lamp in the corner provides enough light for your eyes to rove the expanse of his chest and abdomen. A silver chain is nestled in his chest hair, a matching bracelet adorns his left wrist.

A bronzed backdrop for the constellations that were scattered across his body, but he’s littered with a few more scars than you remember.

Steve had never been one for tattoos, but he had one on his bicep, his family crest along with something you couldn't quite make out on the left side of his ribs.

He smiled, looking down to where your eyes had landed, as you tilted your head to gain a better look.

His finger traces the outline of a small bird. A dove, with an olive branch held between its beak.

“I always carried you with me. You're my peace, my purity and everything good in this world. We can't change what we were born into Dove, but we can choose who we love. It's always been you.” Your glossy eyes found his; heart suddenly aching with his admission.

He leans back over you, thumb brushing an errant tear that slipped from your eye.

“I love you. I never stopped loving you, tesoro mio,” He whispers, speaking from his heart.

“I love you, amore mio.” Whispering back, with a sense of relief washing over you. A secret long held, burning you from the inside out, finally speaking it out loud and back into existence once more.

He leans in, kissing you tenderly, less hurried than before, taking every precious moment with you that he can. It's a gift not to be squandered.

He wants nothing more than to take his time and reacquaint himself with your body once more.

He pulls back, as you chase his lips with a whine, but his hands quickly find his belt, unbuckling it and popping the button on his trousers before you halt his movement.

“Let me.” You move to shift to your knees, but instead of helping him from his pants you reach around to unclasp your bra first. The straps ease down your arms as your chest is revealed to him.

He groans, reaching out to close his hand around your breast. You pull your lip between your teeth when his thumb grazes your nipple, sending a spark shooting back down to your core. You lean into his touch, your own fingers finding his zipper and pulling it down.

Your hands push his pants as the pool at his knees on the bed. The tent in his boxers doing nothing to quell your desire that's slowly beginning to build back up. Licking your lips, you grow a little brazen, pushing past his waistband and taking his girthy cock into your hand.

He's hot and heavy, bigger than you remember as you squeeze slightly. He tips his head back with a wanton moan, suddenly pulling your hand away as he slides from the bed. You pout at his abruptness.

“Hang on!” He calls back as he quickly darts out the room, hanging onto his pants to keep them from sliding from his hips.

You let out a small laugh, laying back against the silk covered pillow.

He comes back into view, holding up the box of condoms long forgotten on the kitchen floor, laying them on the nightstand as he comes back over to you.

He swiftly pushes his pants and boxers past his hips, letting them pool at his feet as he steps free of them.

Your eyes drift to where his hand is already wrapped around his cock. He pumps himself a few times, finding the head and smearing his precum down his shaft with a groan.

Finally joining you back on the bed, he situates himself back between your legs. His leg pushes yours further apart as he crawls up to meet you face to face, chest pressed tightly to yours.

He's a weak man. Say the word and he would slide into your dripping cunt without another word but he sees the way your eyes cut to condoms when his dick twitches at your bare core.

Leaning over, he furiously rips the box open and takes one out. He opens the small package, looking at you one more time for confirmation.

“It's just for a little while.” You lament. He nods, rolling it down onto his shaft.

“As you wish, Dove.” Saying as he finishes with the condom, holding himself at the base as he leans back over you, guiding himself to your entrance and stopping.

“Just know this,” his lips grazing yours as he spoke. “I can't wait for the day you beg for me to fuck my cum into this tight, little pussy.”

You gasp, cunt suddenly clenching when his head catches your entrance and breaches just slightly. It takes everything in him not to bury himself completely.

Your legs tighten around his waist at the intrusion, as he slowly cants his hips forward. His thick cock presses slowly into your tight heat. You hadn't been with anyone in a few years, let alone anyone that could ever compare to Steve's size.

“How the hell did we make this work before?” You huffed out, pressing your lips tightly back together with a grimace.

“Hey, it's ok.” He leaned down on his elbow, pressing his body close to yours, trying not to laugh at your pouty expression that he found absolutely adorable.

His fingertips smooth out the lines between your brows from where they were pinched, you melted into his touch, listening to his soothing voice.

“This little pussy just needs to relax.” He said, trying to keep a straight face, as you let out a small giggle.

He felt your muscles loosen slightly, granting him further access letting him push in another inch.

“See, angel. She knows what she wants.” He lifted his torso to look between the two of you. Barely halfway in, but he was trying to restrain himself for you.

You nod, as he pulls himself out and pushes back in. In and out, in and out at a slow but steady rhythm. His cock inching along your channel a little further each time, drawing small gasps and moans from you.

“That's it.” He praises, finally pushing in to the hilt, burying his face in your neck as you wrap your arms back around him.

“Y— you feel so fuckin' good.” He breathes out, pulling almost all the way out, barely leaving his head in.

“Ahhhhhh— fuck!” You cry out when his hips snap forward, plunging back in without any warning punching the air from your lungs at the force.

“Are you okay?” He breathes out, looking down at you.

“Fi— fine. Ju—just keep—mmmm—don’t fucking stop!” You manage out between his steady thrusts.

“There's my girl,” urging your thigh higher on his hip, he grips the headboard for more leverage, suddenly pounding in and out of your tight cunt.

The mix of your moans with skin slapping skin echo around the room. The new angle has him hitting that spot within you over and over as your mind starts to go fuzzy and numb.

Your nails dig into his back, urging him on.

“Fuck, Dove. Mark me. Claim me.” His head tilts back, his silver chain dangling in your face. You grip it, catching his attention as you pull him back down toward you.

“Kiss me, Steve. Please.” Suddenly needing him closer.

He could hear the waver in your voice. There were tears spilling hot over your cheeks, as he heard another soft “please” fall from your lips.

He stills, cupping your jaw, leaning back into your space; his lips meeting yours with tender urgency as they meld together.

Your fingers still grip the chain tightly, your free hand running up the back of his neck, nails scraping at his scalp and toying with the hair there.

You needed tenderness that his lips and touch could provide. A sense of intimacy that you haven't felt with anyone in a long time, not even your own husband.

“Angel, Ca—can I move?” He mumbles breathlessly against you.

You nod, as his thick cock drags out and pushes back in. His heavy balls hitting your ass with his upward thrust.

His hand slides down between the two of you, finding your neglected clit, drawing figure 8s with precision.

“I want you to come with me.” He said, kissing the side of your neck.

“Please.” It seems that's all you could manage. The only word in the forefront of your mind. You didn't know exactly what you were asking for at this point.

“I've got you, baby.” Pecking your lips once more before angling his hips up, and hitting that spot with the head of his cock that has you crying out with reckless abandon.

“St— please, don't stop.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” He responds, keeping his pace, staving off his own release to see you fall apart one more time.

His eyes drift across your flushed face, so concentrated with pleasure and pure ecstasy, he couldn't fathom anyone ever denying you when you look like this. But he knows now you're his and no one else deserves to see you like this. No one else will EVER see you like this.

Your pussy fluttered, as your hips meet his next thrust pulling another particularly loud moan from you.

He was so lost looking at you, he momentarily forgot all about himself, solely focusing on giving you what you wanted he barely caught what you'd said before he felt his brain almost short circuit.

“We could ju— mmmmm— just pretend.” You repeated. “I want you to come in me.”

You were babbling at this point, that buzz in your abdomen was getting stronger, pulling you toward another high. Your hips were meeting his with more urgency.

“You’d like that, huh? Having another man’s cum deep inside you.”

Your pussy responded to his words, sending a shiver down your spine and straight to your core.

“Oh— St—” but he didn't let up. He could feel you getting close.

"But you're not really his, huh, Dove?” His nose nudges your cheek. “Huh, baby? Look at me.”

You slowly look up at him, his hair a wild mess from your fingers tangling in the chestnut tresses. Those hazel eyes are almost black as they bore into yours. His next words nearly send you over the edge.

“He doesn't deserve this pussy. It's mine.” He stops toying with your clit, instead grinds his hips so his pubic bone grazes it with every upstroke; taking his hand and pulling yours away from his necklace, threading his fingers through yours as they mold together so perfectly.

“Yes! God—yes! Mmph— Steve, it's all yours. I'm all yours!” Clawing at his shoulder, gripping his hand tightly.

“That’s right, angel! You're all mine.”

It felt like the world stopped, a blinding light behind your eyelids and all sound seemed to fade. A hot white heat flooded your core with the most intense orgasm you'd experienced in a long time. With a scream of his name, your back arches off the bed meeting his chest as he continues to rail you into oblivion.

“That's it, make a mess! Cum on my cock—fuck!” He couldn't finish talking you through it when your cunt clamped down around him, it was all over for him. His abdomen tightened, pushing his length as far into your cunt as he could, his head nudging your cervix as he released into the condom, wishing he was filling you full instead.

They always say sex is better with someone you love. Something about him completely surrounding and grounding you was a high, in and of itself, that you couldn't explain.

He finally stills a few moments later, head falling to your chest. You were both sweaty and spent. Your limbs felt like they were entirely boneless but you managed to wrap your arms back around him as he caged you in.

He bared his weight until you coaxed him to lay on top of you, rubbing soft patterns up and down his spine in the quiet afterglow. He snaked his arms under you, burying his head between your breasts.

“Fuck, I love you.” He finally spoke, kissing up your sternum as his eyes met yours.

He didn't want to ask, he wanted to keep you safe and wrapped up in his arms for as long as possible but he knew the inevitability of the situation.

It's as if you knew what he was thinking.

“I can't stay.” You whisper.

“I know, but just a little while longer.” He moves to get up, removing himself from you as you wince, already missing the way he could fill you completely.

“Sorry, tesoro. Stay right here. I'll be right back.” He kisses your cheek, slipping into the bathroom to dispose of the condom before returning to find his boxers and pulling them back over his ass as you gave him an appreciative once over.

“Don't move.” He reiterated, moving into the hall.

You laid there listening to the clinking of china and silverware, a few grumblings and a loud “shit,” that made you giggle and sit up in the bed.

He emerged from the hall carrying two plates loaded with the long forgotten pasta he had made for you.

“There's a robe over there in the drawer for you, in case you don't want to eat in the nude.” He grinned, as you slowly got up and pulled said robe from the dresser. You paused, noticing it was stocked with various other clothes as well.

“If you need them.” He said as you turned back around, tossing the silk over your shoulders as you slipped back in beside him. “This place is fully stocked with whatever you might need.”

“You really are too good to be true, Mr. Harrington.” Saying as he handed you a plate.

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “Eat.” Steering the conversation.

He didn't want to argue the virtue of his morality. He was an outright ruthless asshole when he was outside these walls but you could bring him to his knees with one simple smile.

There would come a time when that conversation would need to be had but he wasn't worried about it right now.

You take a bite and the rich sauce explodes on your taste buds as you hum around the fork, closing your eyes to savor it.

“Oh my God! This is so good!”

He grinned around his own mouthful, thoroughly amused with your response.

“What else is there I don't know about you? Hmmm?” You inquired.

“Oh, I think we'll have plenty of time to catch up, no?” He planted a kiss to your cheek, sitting back against the headboard enjoying the moment, while he still could.

Once you both were both stuffed, he wouldn't let you lift a finger as he took the plates back to the kitchen.

He came to lay next to you as your fingertips traced the tattoo as he fondly recalled the memory of getting it. It wasn’t long after he left, but he was waiting to surprise you. A surprise that had taken a bit longer than he had initially anticipated. He left out the part that the ink had caused numerous arguments with an ex-girlfriend when he wouldn't get it covered for her, ultimately ending the tumultuous relationship.

You had gotten quiet, getting tired as the night was drawing to an all too soon close.

“Steve?” Coming out barely above a whisper.

“Hmmm?” He hummed into the top of your hair.

“I just want you to know what you're getting into. Nik isn't going to just let me go. This— Us.” You couldn't help from tearing up at the thought of returning back to that life like this never happened.

“Dove, don't worry about that. Leave it to me. There are things that are going on that you don't know about. That I don't want you to know.” He tucked you in closer to him, kissing your temple.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” You answered, letting yourself shed a single tear. It was the truth but it still didn't quell the fear bubbling just below the surface.

He held you a little tighter, basking in the way his heart soared. Elated to have you back in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

A little while later he watched you get dressed, sans your underwear and hosiery. That little detail had him grinning again as you blushed.

He'd made a mental note to make sure you had new ones the next time you came by to replace them.

He held your hand as he walked you to the door, reluctantly releasing you after peppering you with another barrage of kisses that had you laughing out, a sound he could easily get lost in.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smiled at the rarity of your actual name gracing his lips.

You would take the impact of the moment, truly the entire day, with you until you could see him again. Hiding it away and showing it the light of day in secret but his love and affection would keep you going until you could finally show the entire world that he was yours once again.

Taglist: @teen--marvel @micheledawn1975 @thecreelhouse @girlwiththerubyslippers @bunnyhargrove @taccobelle @madaboutjoe

Want to be added? Just let me know!

[yeahspider]

BITTERSUITE 🌀

Ve's note - angsty and sexy just how i like it. im sick off my ass and eating animal crackers a s i write this but i feel like thats when i work best. hwang hyunjin x gn!reader no warnings this is pretty tame all things considered. hope you enjoy this installment in the series !! link below to read the other parts. lightly proofread (sorry not sorry give me a break I'm sick) love yall xoxo

HMHAS MASTERLIST

this wouldn’t have happened if you’d grabbed your umbrella before you left your room. now you are sitting on a bus stop bench hiding from the rain. you blamed it on him, always bringing rain and storm clouds in his wake. your phone went off- it could only be one person.

what are you doing sitting in the rain

this can't be how you spend your time now

kinda pathetic

you looked around not shocked at all that he was sitting on an identical bench on the opposite side of the road . he always had a way of finding you . it’s like there was a red string tethering you to him . his inner navigation always leading to you .

you blocked his contact . you didn’t want to deal with him. you just wanted to get home. your action just made hyunjin smile. always so cocky. always finding you amusing.

nothing was amusing about your relationship . about the way he tethered you along for months . feeding you empty lies . comforting you with open arms that wrapped around you and tied you hands behind your back . bound is what you were . to the evil that was hwang hyunjin .

you watched as a bus stopped in front of him, relief filtered through you once the bus drove off and he wasnt at the bench anymore. maybe he wasn't there at all. he had a habit if popping up at your low points. settling back in the bench youve becom e so familar with , you start browsing through your gallery . A feeble attempt at wasting time. A certain picture stopped you in your tracks. It was of you and hyunjin, from the begiining of whatever you guys were. His hand wrapped around your front gripping your throat as he kisses the lower part if your ear. A frown makes its home on your face, yiu look so happy - you were happy.

"oh, i love that pic mind sending it to me". you hear from above your shoulder. how predictable he was.

"What do you want hyunjin?" you asked in malice. you didn't want to speak to him right now. the wound he created in your heart all too fresh and steady leaking. you couldn't do this with him right now. all you had wanted was to get something from the gas station. you weren't mentally prepared to deal with him or his stupid smile.

"Now who says I want anything? Maybe I just missed you." his tone is so sickeningly sweet you almost fall for it. almost. You intend to trace your steps back to your hotel room by getting up and stepping out of the safety of the bus stop. quickening your pace to avoid whatever conversation he wanted to have. you could hear him following, his step in time with you. It wasn't like you could hide from him. The suite your staying in he paid for. His attempt at giving you the space you wanted, but within his unrelenting reach. A part of you rejoiced at his effort, his show of care, which was infrequent throughout your time together.

the chase ensued as you stepped into the hotel lobby and up the elevator. standing in front of room 320. turning quickly to face the tormentor of your dreams. you took in his appearance. Soaked from head to toe yet still undeniably beautiful drops slipping from his hair and landing at his feet. you can still see the man you fell in love with. underneath all the layers the world forced him to wear. you took a deep breath hoping you wouldn't regret your next words.

"you can come in until the rain stops...I have a set of dry clothes you can put on," you said as low as a whisper. which of course he heard. for all his shortcomings he always did hear you. That smile that causes a bittersuite taste rises in your mouth spreads across his face. you'd always let him in, your heart was his home after all.

[pixels-not-dreams]

reflection || sub!light yagami x reader

“Y/N.”

Light’s voice came crackling over the speaker. You press the microphone’s on button to reply.

“Yes?” you say, your voice clipped. Your overnight shift monitoring his cell is nearly over. You've thought of everything; you're not sure why he's contacting you at the eleventh hour after lying forlornly on his side for most of the evening.

“Y/N, I—”

“Is there an issue?” You ask curtly. You're tired, and you want to go to sleep; but his voice is thin and needy. You pull your legs up to your chest. It's starting to get a bit warm for your taste in the surveillance gallery.

“Uh,” he says. “N-not exactly.”

“Yagami-kun,” you sigh. “It’s nearly 3:00am. If the matter isn't urgent, I suggest you try going to sleep.”

He mumbles something unintelligible. The microphones affixed throughout the room are quite sensitive; he must really be trying to eat his words, you think to yourself.

You lean forward, hovering an inch away from the pop filter, and lick your lips. They're a little chapped.

“Could you repeat that?” You keep your voice cool and even. Something feels odd in your stomach; you chalk it up to exhaustion.

“Can you look away, please.” It comes out more statement than question. Light sounds exasperated.

“Yagami-kun,” you say, an edge creeping into your voice. “I don't believe you've earned the right to make such demands.”

“I–”

“If there is no issue that you can verbalize to me, I am going to take my finger off this button and end this conversation. Is that agreeable?” You press your thighs together. It's quite stuffy in the gallery, even at night; you'll have to tell Watari to call in an HVAC technician.

“Please,” he says quietly. “I know you can hear me. It's too much to be seen, too.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I'm not sure what you mean, Yagami-kun.”

You haven't been looking at the surveillance monitor. You've been listening, but your eyes have been fixed on a New York Times crossword—a Sunday puzzle. Particularly difficult. You raise your eyes to the monitor. The CCTV is sharp for security footage. In past cases, equipment captured video so unclear it may as well have been a daguerreotype. Not so with these cameras. Light’s face is captured in 4K: his cheeks are red, and his eyes look watery. His chest rises and falls with a bit more heave than usual.

“What do you mean, Yagami?” In your frustration, you drop his honorific. You don't like repeating yourself.

“Please,” he says again. “I haven't had a moment unobserved in weeks. I have—you know. Needs."

You bark out a laugh. For all his intellect and moral character, he's only human. An animal like any other. Your eyes widen and you lean towards the monitor to confirm your suspicion: his right hand is, incriminatingly, hidden up to the wrist in his black pants.

“Unbelievable,” you breathe. With a start, you realize that your finger is still on the microphone's activator. You pull it away like it's a hot stove.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly.

“You don't sound very sorry,” you scoff. “And you haven't stopped. You're not even trying.”

“You’re—you’re right. Y/N, I'm not even trying,” he says, his voice becoming more pathetic by the minute. “I couldn't stop, though, even if I wanted to.”

Your hand shoots out to unmute yourself.

“Yagami-kun,” you snap. “You have a problem.”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice has shifted from pathetic to content. It's like he's slipped into a dream.

“It's disgusting,” you say, your lip curling. “This is offensive. I'm offended.”

“Why?”

He's curling around like a cat waking up. You stuff your left hand under your leg. You'll deal with the tingling in your own nethers later.

You clear your throat. It suddenly feels as if you've swallowed a pinecone. You breathe in, out, and take a sip of the tepid water you poured yourself hours ago.

“Because,” you begin. “It's pathetic, Light. You're all alone down there. You could be bettering yourself. Learning another language. Studying discrete mathematics. And yet you have chosen to abuse your cock.”

You mute yourself to take another sip of water and fire off an email to Watari to fix the thermostat immediately; your hand shakes a little as you reach out to press the activator again.

“You're a stupid child, Light,” you say, trying not to grin. “You're a pathetic little boy who can't help but rut against his hand. What would your father say if he knew? Look at yourself.”

Light opens his eyes. He'd been sitting on his cot, back to the wall with his knees up, blocking most of your view.

“I said look at yourself,” you repeat. “There's a mirror right there.”

Shakily, he stands up, adjusting his waistband as not to humiliate himself further. He walks to the door, where a full length mirror faces one of the surveillance cameras; he faces it reluctantly and clasps his hands together like a fig leaf. He can barely look at his own reflection.

His eyes move almost imperceptibly, looking for the camera. Looking for you.

“Can I—”

“Shut up,” you bark into the microphone. “You can speak when I say so.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

You smile. Yagami-kun can be taught.

“Good boy,” you say. Light shifts nervously and looks again for the camera.

“Don't look at me.” You run your hand through your hair. It's really quite warm. You think you should maybe take your shirt off. “Look at yourself like I told you before.”

Light’s face burns, but he raises his eyes to his reflection.

“Repeat after me,” you say.

“Yes, Y/N.” His voice is weak. If you weren't so generous, you'd say he was whimpering.

“I'm a pretty boy," you prompt.

Light takes a sharp inhale. “I'm—a pretty boy.”

“I'm so pretty when I'm pulling on my cock."

“I'm s-so pretty when I'm pulling on my…my cock.”

“I heard Y/N’s voice and I couldn't help myself. ”

“I heard Y/N’s voice and I couldn't help myself.”

“Because I'm a stupid slut who loves attention."

“Be-because—oh, please, Y/N, can I?”

You sit back in your chair. You shouldn't let him. If you let him, it'll be over soon. There's no way he'll last more than a minute. You had hoped, secretly, that he would come untouched.

Light takes your silence as permission and reaches his right hand back into his pants, steadying himself with his left hand weakly on the wall. He's in the frame, still, but not directly in front of the mirror.

“You couldn't help yourself,” you murmur. When he doesn't reply, you look down to see you hadn't touched the activator. You swallow hard at the realization and press it anyway.

“You can't follow directions, can you? Your pretty head’s got no thoughts in it—just disgusting fantasies.”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Just—just disgusting fantasies.”

You're starting to lose your head. You press your thighs together. The friction feels good. But you're not a sorry little wretch like Light; you can wait.

“I bet you can't last ten more seconds,” you say. You meant it to come out derisive, but it sounded almost giddy. You press your finger to your mouth. “Light?”

“Yes? Yes, Y/N?” he gasps.

“Shoot your come onto the mirror,” you command. “I want to see yourself how I see you. Filthy.”

“O-okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

“Say ‘yes, Y/N.’ I liked that.”

“Yes, Y/N.” His eyes have begun to leak, and his hand is shaking. He's starting to come undone. You lean forward, so far that the desk bites into your belly, and you look greedily at the monitor.

Light barely lasts another moment before ropes of come paint the mirror. It's an impressive amount. He must have abstained for weeks.

He doubles over, panting as he works the last come out of himself. He pulls his waistband up and braces one hand on his knee. His breathing is labored enough to be detected by the camera mics alone.

You clear your throat and realize that you've been crushing your left hand between your legs for the last few minutes, hard enough to give yourself pins and needles. You rip your hand away and shake it.

You try to gather your thoughts, but you feel dizzy and lightheaded. There are footsteps coming down the hall—you must have lost track of time. Your shift’s ending.

You scramble to press the activator. “Goodnight, Light,” you say, trying to be authoritative, but sounding panicky instead. “Clean up, will you?” You all but smack your forehead in frustration. What were you thinking?

Hearing your reliever put his key in the door, you take a breath in, and let it out slowly. You hit one of the many switches and plunge Light's room into darkness. 

[inuhalfdemon]

Dirty Dealings (14/21)

Word Count = 7,096 Words

Rating = Mature (SMUT)

Chapter 14: The Revelation

To him. It was the purest form of entertainment. The world was a stage, after all... - Alastor

June 25th, 2001

New Orleans, Louisiana

Having just finished with the disemboweling of a large gator in the New Orleans swamp; Alastor took his time heading back to Adeline. He drifted and slithered easily through the darkness – barely more than shadow himself. It was a trip prematurely made; he really hadn’t needed the excursion quite so soon but he thought it never really hurt to “blow of some steam”. Adeline had been tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep all night; he didn’t need the rest himself but her agitation had been building in him and it began to become quite irritating. The distance from her wasn’t great; but it did help and the activities he usually partook in whilst roaming the muck and shores of the bayou never failed to lift his mood.

It was still fairly early; the sun now only just suggesting its arrival to a new day. Alastor made a mental note to initiate intercourse with Adeline this morning before things got too busy for them; it might just release some of the tension she had building between them and it might help prevent any…arousing mishaps…during this event she was so focused on them attending.  

Funny enough; he was delighted at the thought of getting to go to an art gallery with her tonight. However; the connection they shared was becoming stronger and Adeline’s feelings and emotions were coming to him – sharper and sharper – by the day. This, of course, was made worse by whatever anxiety she was holding onto with tonight. Her mood was swinging from one feeling to the next so erratically: excitement, apprehension, fulfillment, insecurity…that familiar and deepening passion…an equally deepening sense of dread, a feeling of expectation… Nervousness, hesitation, genuine fear… It was such a mess for him to receive that he was incredibly impressed with how well she was functioning. If not for their unique situation; he wasn’t certain he’d have caught very many of the signs to her internal war.

Sighing; Alastor smoothly shifted himself into his radio demon form. He was still committed to his new domesticated role and was dressed in the jeans he had fashioned to accommodate his tail and a loose black T-shirt. The T-shirt didn’t hide the crisscrossing of scars he had marking his neck and upper chest but it was comfortable enough. Waving a hand; he produced a shimmering, green portal and stepped through with swaggering strides.

He materialized in Adeline’s kitchen; finding her already awake and just in the beginnings of making her own coffee.

“Oh! You’re back already!” She greeted him, smiling. Her hair was a complete mess from her restless night and she looked exhausted.

“Just a quick trip.” He said, smiling back at her; his radio filter coating his words. He went to her; leaning over, he kissed her forehead softly.

“You in the mood for yours or mine, this morning?” He nodded to the coffee pot she had been getting ready to fill with water. 

“Yours, please.” She sighed; putting the pot back in it’s place. “I had a Hell of a night.” She groaned.

He chuckled; reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a mug for her. Snapping his fingers, he filled her cup and produced his own – the red “Oh Deer” mug she had gifted to him on a whim. It brought him great amusement and he found that he was quite fond of it.

“Refills included.” He smiled, lifting his own mug and sipping at the steaming beverage.

“Thank God.” She said, taking the cup with her to head into the bathroom and get ready for the day.

He watched her walk away; disappearing into the restroom.

Even as a hot-early-morning-mess, she was…beautiful, he admitted to himself. He felt the beginnings of a…stirring…in his jeans. Yep, he would be getting her into bed at some point this morning. He was having none of that nonsense on another Anniversary night; not if he could help it.

He rubbed his face with his hand; thinking about the fantasies. They normally weren’t common; especially if he and her kept with their regular routine they had established for themselves. Every once in a while though…one would creep up and invade his thoughts. He tried not to give them much consideration; he was sure they were…normal…in some twisted way. Recently, they were drifting into his thoughts more and more frequently; catching him even in moments they had just collapsed into that post-coital bliss. What’s more, they were becoming more vivid; more macabre. He had even had a fucking wet dream in his sleep: of him cannibalizing her. He assured himself they held no merit but…they disturbed him; and he didn’t care much for the feeling.

Coming out of the bathroom; Adeline was brushing her hair.

“So, what do you want to do this morning?” She asked him; he could feel a touch of the jitters coming from her.

“Well, I thought I might get my trip to the cemetery out of the way before –“ He began.

“Oh, shit.” She said; pulling the brush from her hair. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry…I completely forgot. I never got the sunflowers.”

He tilted his head; a long ear drawing back at her reaction.

“It’s really just fine, Adeline.” He assured her.

“I can go get some right now.” She told him. “I’ll get dressed and-“

“Adeline.” He tweaked his ear. “It’s still early…I’m fine going without them or if you’d like to join me; I’ll take you wherever it is you normally get them before we go. It doesn’t have to be right now.”

“You-“ She starred at him. “You want me to go with you?” She asked. “I mean, I know you invited me before but…” She had always meant to respect his privacy; not wanting to intrude on his personal commitments.

“It would be my pleasure.” He told her; going over to her, he touched her face, tilting it to look down at her with warm, soft eyes. He wanted to know what she was thinking…what swirling thoughts were driving her mad.

“Then, yes.” She smiled; touching her hand to his and holding it to her. “I’d like to join you – and I would very much like for us to get the flowers before we leave.” She clarified.

“Splendid.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then dropping his hand; hers falling away with his - he took it – briefly squeezing it before letting go. “Now, you finish up. I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

Adeline finished getting ready for the day. They both had breakfast; the radio playing : a series of classic rock songs - one of the few moments Alastor was choosing not to listen to jazz.

Alastor was cleaning dishes to AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds” while Adeline considered the dresses he had bought for her, years ago. He had offered for her to find and pick out whatever dress she’d like but she insisted on wearing one of the three he had sent her previously. She decided she would wear the green dress. It was formed to be less revealing than the red dress had been but like the red dress; it was trimmed in black. It hugged her body nicely and cascaded in soft, flowing ripples – the coloration of the fabric throwing varying shades of green depending on the lighting that struck it.     

Alastor was just finishing in the kitchen when Adeline came back. She was dressed to do their errands; casually – wearing jeans and a colorful T-shirt. She had a thought, entering the dining room though and sat herself onto the edge of the long table.

Alastor – drinking his next cup of coffee – sipped from his mug, watching her. “What are you doing, Adeline?” He asked her.

“Well, you did say it was early…” She told him, suggestively.

“Yes. I’d say it still is.” He allowed.

“We could find some way to pass the time.” She offered.

“On your dining room table?” He asked her, un-amusedly. His ears sweeping back at the thought.

She shrugged.

He placed his coffee down; walking over to her.

“This table is meant for eating on.” He told her, disgusted. 

She gave him a coy smile.

“No.” He told her, stopping in front of her; his arms crossed.

“I’ll make you a deal…” She teased him.

“Your terms?” He grumbled.

“You have your way with me, here.” She told him. “And, I’ll do whatever it is you would – might -  like.” She finished, hoping to encourage some new sexual fantasy he might be hiding.

“Hm…” He unfolded his arms; leaning in. “Deal.” He growled.

In one smooth motion, he stepped between her legs. She spread them readily; wrapping them around his waist as he pulled her close. She was ready for him to dip her back; when instead he hiked her higher onto his waist and pulled her from table; carrying her out of the kitchen.

“The fuck!?” She yelled at him.

“You offered very vague terms, Adeline. “Here” could mean anywhere in this apartment; I’m taking you to the bedroom.” Alastor told her. “I am not averse to taking my meals there.” He chuckled. “You’d make a very poor profession out of your deal-making, dearest Adeline.”

“You’re such a bastard.” She told him.

He carried her through the doorway, into the bedroom.

“You like it.” He growled at her; tossing her easily onto the bed.

He crawled on it with her; over her. He kissed her sweetly as he hurriedly helped her out of her clothing. Tugging at her pants; he was pulling them off her as she worked his shirt off; each of them taking turns to pause and orient themselves throughout the process to get the job done.

When they both were fully naked, Alastor stepped from off of the bed, gripped her thighs and pulled her roughly to the edge of the mattress; his claws not cutting her but leaving sharp lines in her skin. She gasped; excited by his enthusiasm.

Winding his arms around her legs; he spread them open and dived right in. Adeline’s back arched and she threw her head back; normally he was more restrained with her than this – his movements much more slow and teasing.

Freeing one arm; he firmly pushed her down onto the bed with his hand; claws spread across her abdomen; digging into – but not piercing – her skin. She shuddered; her heart rate racing. His other arm still wrapped around her leg; he tightened his hold with it and pulled her into him; enjoying his feast. He had his face buried into her; his lips, teeth, mouth and tongue all in – licking, biting, kissing, sucking… Her head was absolutely swimming at the rapidity of the amount of stimulation she was already feeling.

Kneeling how he was; she had no good access to his needs and like her; he was quickly reaching his point of climax. His antlers had branched out in twisting points; curling upwards. Desperate for relief; he pressed his hand holding her down further into her firmly, his claws creating more marks in her skin; giving her a non-verbal cue to stay…before releasing her. Finding himself with his free hand now; he palmed and pumped himself.

Adeline could feel her climax rushing in. Alastor had stopped his biting and sucking frenzy only to slide his tongue into her – deeply – before firmly curling and dragging it so that when it came out; it was licking her firmly from entrance to clit; back in again and starting all over.

A gush of her wetness filled his mouth at his next pass and he knew she was about to fall apart. Her thighs quivered and tightened around him; he bore himself deeper into her sex – his tongue twisting and writhing into her with such a penetrating force that when she came she screamed.

The sound of it sent him over the edge.

“Ah, fffffuck.” He growled; his hips jutted into the side of the bed; spraying cum onto the fabric and into the carpet.

They stayed where they were; her lying on the bed and him knelt on the floor – both trying to process what just happened in the last 180 – or so – seconds. They both were panting; shaking and sweating from the heightened urgency of the whole event.

Recovering, Alastor pulled himself up onto the bed. Angling himself so that his feet were facing opposite from hers; he laid beside her – both of them breathing heavily – shoulder to shoulder in opposing directions.

“That was….” Adeline breathed; unable to find the words.

“…hm, quite so.” He agreed; sighing. If there was anything from sex he truly enjoyed; it was this – the feeling of soaking in all the endorphins and chemicals the body released following a moment of intimacy. It wasn’t enough of a reward for him to want to continue anymore of these sorts of activities than he absolutely must; but right now – it didn’t suck.

Adeline shuddered beside him; still feeling prickling jolts of post-climaxing energy strike through her body.

“So…what do I get to do for you now? A deal’s a deal.” She asked him, nearly lost in a haze. 

“Ah, yes…” He had drifted off; remembering. “A deal is a deal.” He laughed, lightly. Breathing in deeply; Alastor sat up and turned himself so that he was leaning over Adeline; his body still facing the opposite direction from hers.

“What I want, dear Adeline…” He breathed. “Is for you to tell me what’s got you so wound up this morning.”

“What?” Adeline asked him; completely caught of guard. “That’s not a sexual favor!”

“I don’t deal in sexual favors, darling. I’ve told you before, I find them distasteful.”

Adeline groaned.

“Again; you need to work on the specificity to your contractual terms. You said, -“

“I KNOW WHAT I FUCKING SAID!” She tantrum-ed.

He watched her, waiting - amused by her moody antics.

She groaned, exasperated. "The art gallery... there's something more to it than just that. There's a reason why I want you there with me..." She said; not sure how much she wanted to tell him yet.

"Would you prefer to tell me what this reason is now; save us both this...suspense?" 

"...no." 

"Then, I will wait." He told her, kissing her. “I am quite curious…”

“I’m more afraid of-“ She bit her lip; nervous. “Of how you might react.” 

“Hm…make that incredibly curious.” His ears twitched; his interest piqued.

He could have done some digging - looking into what all this event was supposed to be but a part of him liked the idea of...delayed gratification. If anything; it brought entertainment. 

"Sorry." She said. "That wasn't a very equally rewarding deal." 

"Vague terms, vague answers." He shrugged; honestly, many deals he himself had made resulted in a similar fashion. 

"Might I offer..." She turned over so she was faced toward him now; she scooted and leaning over she trailed a hand down his back. His tail waved at her, wagging briefly before she threaded her fingers through the soft strands. "Reciprocation." 

He groaned; melting into the bed. 

"You're such a little minx..." He hissed.

"You like it." She purred back at him.

He chuckled into the covers, pleasure engulfing him as she played and teased with his tail. 

It wasn't long before he was hard again. He - reluctantly - shifted, changing positions to elevate the pressure he was placing on his erect penis. Adeline smoothly pushed him, crawling on top of him; facing away. 

This was something new. 

She slid herself over him; sinking herself low against his hips. He groaned at the sensation of finding a novel angle. His hips jerked. She arched her back, grinding into him firmly as she steadied herself by tightly gripping his thighs; sharply digging her own nails into his skin.

He gasped at the stimulation; his clawed hands finding her hips and guiding her into just the right rhythm and rotation he wanted. When she found it and maintained it for them, he slid a clawed hand across her back; the sharp points tracing stark red patterns across her delicate skin. 

How beautiful she would be...cut open and bleeding; he imagined her reaction to the shock and pain of him slashing deeply into the muscles that ran along her back - she would have a moment of panic; a moment where she'd find herself in a state of flight - adrenaline and epinephrine flooding her system. He'd hear her lovely scream again and he'd surely come into her as he proceeded to rip her apart...

He stiffened; flinching, he pulled his hand away from her back. She had felt his response; interpreting it as meaning something very different, she ground herself harder into him; lifting and kneeling herself so that she was detrimenting his entire length with her tortuous movements. 

He pushed the bloodlust aside; his fucked-up fantasy only bringing him closer to another glorious climax. He bent himself backward, pressing himself into the bed and arching his hips into her. 

His tip and length had tightened and curved, with the arching of his hips he was pushing and rubbing against her in just the right place each time she lifted and dropped herself along his shaft. He felt her tightening around him; gripping his engorged and seeping member in her walls - pushing him into coming undone at the seams beneath her - with her. 

She gripped his thigh tightly, gouging light red marks into his scarred skin. He bucked, feeling himself release; filling her with his seed. She cried out at the sharp jut; it shattering her completely. Climaxing, she shuddered; her body arching back. Her head was bent back, exposing the soft, delicate skin of her neck where it dipped to meet her shoulders to him. He imagined biting into her just there; lacerating vital vessels and tearing ligaments. 

Again; he pushed the thought away, reaching for her and pulling her to him. He slid himself out as they collapsed together back onto the bed; drifting off together into a moment of serenity. 

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

Awhile later they were leaving the apartment together. The sky was overcast, a pleasantly warm June day in New Orleans. As promised; Alastor followed Adeline to whatever floral shop she wished to visit – he was dressed in jeans and T-shirt that now suited him in human form. When Adeline stepped out from the shop, holding the bouquet of sunflowers; he took her hand and they walked to the outskirts of town.

He kept her hand - entwined in his - the entire way to the cemetery; releasing her only when they approached the gate and he swung it open for her. She was surprised to find that thirty-one years really hadn’t changed the gravesite much; many of the headstones were left forgotten and neglected even then and hadn’t seen much attention since.

The old oak tree; still standing sentinel – stretched its branches further out, its crisp green leaves fluttering softly in the early summer breeze. Alastor stopped beside the headstone; he surprised Adeline by lowering himself down into the grass beside the grave; stretching out and sitting comfortably beneath wavering shadows filtering through branches that wound overhead.

She paused; still holding the flowers. Smiling, he nodded his head to the headstone. Remembering how he had placed his rose atop the arch of the stone years before; she placed the bouquet of sunflowers there. She stepped back and he reached for her; pulling her down beside him. Taking her hand in his again; he rubbed soothing circles into her skin at the back of her hand with his thumb. Closing his eyes; he breathed in the smells of a New Orlean summer; enjoying the pleasantness of the weather and the day. He hummed softly; Adeline did not recognize the melody.

Is this what he did? Every year when he came here? He just took the time to be….here…with her – with his memory of her. She must have meant more to him than…anything. Adeline felt hot tears spilling over; suddenly realizing she was crying. He really would stop bringing her if this is what she did every time she came here.

Adeline wanted to ask him, wanted to know: not just her name but what he called her, how she died, what she was like, what his father was like – or if he even knew… All questions she knew she would never be brave enough to ask.

Alastor opened his eyes; Adeline awkwardly wiping at her face with her free hand- embarrassed and feeling guilty that she was the one who was being sentimental. Still humming; he pulled her into him. Touching her gently, he brushed the tears from her cheek. Then taking her face in both of his hands, he turned her so that he might kiss her. His lips pressed against hers so…softly; nothing in it demanding anything more from her than what she was now…there with him. Her chest clenched painfully and he froze; almost flinching from her as he broke the kiss. Adeline starred at him.

“Excuse me,” He looked away from her; clearing his throat. “That was…very out of character of me…”

“S’okay…” She said, watching him. “It was very sweet of you.”

They were both quiet for a moment; an awkward silence settling between them.

“Did you want to be…alone?” She offered after some time.

“No. That is quite alright.” He said; looking back to the headstone; a small but soft smile on his face.

“Do you think we could-“ Adeline started to say then, “I mean, I know we’ve got plans tonight and everything but would you mind if we went somewhere for lunch? There’s a courtyard bar and kitchen in town I think you might like.” She suggested.

“I would be happy to.” He told her; standing up now. Then, as if he had remembered something, “Would you mind terribly if I…well, if I got more comfortable?”

“You know, you really don’t have to ask.” She told him.

“Manners…my dear.” Alastor shifted easily back into his radio demon form; dressed now in his traditional pinstripe suit, monocle and bowtie. He produced his microphone staff for good measure. Feeling more like himself; he twirled the staff with a flourish and led Adeline away from the cemetery.

Once they had worked their way back into town, Adeline took the lead. She had decided something after that…kiss…and she was now on the look-out for any hint of an opportunity. When they were only about 10 minutes away from the courtyard; Adeline found the perfect one. A girl she had volunteered with at a few events was sitting against the trunk of a tree in one of the small downtown parks, reading a novel.

Sighing, Adeline took a deep breath in. She could do this.

“Hey-um, Luc…” She stopped. “Do you mind waiting just one moment?” She asked him.

He had stopped with her; watching her – very curiously. His long ears were perked forward. “Not at all, darling.” His voice crackling radio.

“Ok.” She breathed again. “Just-just give me one second.” Checking to see that the girl was still absorbed in her reading and not observing Adeline having a conversation with what would look like to her to be…no one…Adeline purposefully crossed into the park and approached her.

“Hey, sorry-“ Adeline caught the girl’s attention. “Uh-Venessa, right?” She greeted.

“Oh um…” The girl closed the novel she was reading; clearly caught off guard by the stranger approaching her - who somehow knew her name. “Yeah…hi. Can I help you?” She asked; nervously.

“I’m sorry; you wouldn’t remember me. I volunteer with the local organizations sometimes and you and I helped with the tree planting for the nature reserve trail south of town. That was ages ago…but I recognized you and thought I might say ‘hi’! Those volunteer groups get so muddled, it’s hard to remember everyone.” Adeline explained.

“Oh…yeah.” Venessa recalled the activity she had described. “Yeah, I’m sorry I don’t remember you…but, you’re right; there gets to be a lot of people doing those sort of things.” She said; feeling much less nervous now.

“Yes, well, I saw you – remembered you – and I remembered talking to you about a courtyard kitchen that’s not far from here that you thought you might like.”

“Really? Huh…” Venessa racked her brain; trying to find any hint of memory to this supposed conversation.

“Anyway,” Adeline continued “It’s actually not too far from here: French Quarter, next to the old market. They have a pretty amazing lunch menu.”

“I might just have to check it out.” Venessa told her, obviously interested in the idea.

“You definitely should!” Adeline drove at the idea harder. “Hey, listen- I gotta go. It was nice seeing you again, let me know what you think of the place next time I see you. I’m sure I’ll bump into you again at another event!”

“Yeah, you too.” Venessa made a face at the awkward retort. “See ya.”

Adeline walked away; heading back to where Alastor stood – unashamedly starring at the whole interaction.

“Ok.” She told him. “We can keep going.”

Tweaking one ear off to the side; Alastor watched Adeline with a simmering interest.

“Well, that was rather…odd, of you.” He commented.

“Yes, well…either it will turn into something or it won’t.” Adeline said; talking to herself as much as him as she turned and led them away.

Alastor glanced back at Venessa – who had gone back to reading her novel beneath the tree – before turning and following Adeline.

Arriving to the establishment; Alastor excused himself for a visit to the restroom while Adeline found them a place to sit. Going into a stall; he shifted smoothly back into human form. He stepped out again; straightening and swiping at this T-shirt and jeans. He felt…agitated. The kiss he had shared with Adeline earlier – the kaleidoscope of emotions she was forcing on him was really becoming too much. He felt more disturbed by what had come over him - there in the graveyard - than any morbid fucking fantasy he might have…

Convulsively, Alastor washed his hands. Spending time in his demon form – though briefly – had helped.  He felt things much more…intensely…in this form; felt much more vulnerable to Adeline’s influence. Today; he wouldn’t have much choice, but to endure the onslaught. He promised himself a good deal of hunting in the bayou – of blowing off more steam – once this evening was through.

Leaving the bathroom; Alastor found Adeline.

“I ordered you a Sazerac.” She told him, perusing her menu. “Though, I’m sure you’ll make it into whatever you’d like.”

“Actually, a Sazerac sounds just right. Not theirs, but mine, of course.” He confirmed.

Adeline looked up from her menu and her heart leapt.

Venessa was stepping into the open area of the courtyard; finding a seat to lunch alone.

It…worked.

Adeline hardly dared to believe it. She thought for sure she would have to make several attempts before something came of her efforts.

Alastor caught Adeline’s attentiveness; turning he looked and saw what held it.

…interesting.

Holding a menu, Venessa spent some time becoming acquainted with the offered choices. A waitress stopped briefly where she was sitting. Alastor’s incredible sense of hearing – even while in his human form - easily caught the conversation:

“Have you eaten here before?” The waitress asked, pleasantly.

“Actually, no. This is my first time.” Venessa told her honestly.

“Well, we’ve got-“ The waitress went on.

…very interesting.

Adeline had been watching Alastor but then she realized, sitting just tables away from them was another person she knew; another girl she knew – Jessica. Suddenly, everything fell into place.

Alastor was still watching Venessa with interest when Adeline left the table. Turning; he watched her approach another woman that was out to eat alone. Leaning back; he sipped at his Sazerac – sharply tuned in.

Adeline knew Jessica from other volunteer events they had spent time together doing. Knowing both girls; what Adeline knew collectively was this: both women were interested in pursuing careers involving work with animals. They both were in school studying Animal Sciences. Jessica was a secretary for the local club that participated in the rehabilitation of raptors - birds of prey - and she oversaw the orientation activities meant to find and recruit new members. Adeline was sure this was something Venessa would have a strong interest in.

“Hey.” Adeline gave a small wave as she approached Jessica’s table. “I’m Adeline. You probably don’t remember me…”

“Oh, hello.” Jessica said. “No, I’m sorry I don’t think so...”

“It’s ok. We’ve done some volunteer stuff…and well, you meet a lot of people at those things and it’s easy to forget names, faces.”

Jessica laughed. “Well, that’s the truth.”

“Sorry to bother you.” Adeline told her. “But, my friend over there – the girl who’s also sitting alone – I know that she’s in the same Animal Science program you mentioned at our last activity. You said something about your…raptor club. Not really my thing but I know that she’d be super interested! Her name is Venessa, if you wanted to mention something to her. I actually have to get out of here, otherwise I would introduce you but I promise; she’d love to know more about all of that.”

“Really?” Jessica asked her, glancing over to were Venessa was.

Adeline nodded. “Yeah, you should go say ‘hi’, tell her I sent you over.”

“Alright! Adeline, right? Hey, thanks!” Having not yet ordered; Jessica gathered her things and moved to head toward Venessa’s table.

Adeline turned away and worked her way back over to Alastor.

Alastor watched intently as Jessica made a purposeful approach to Venessa’s table. He expected her to stop – maybe midway – and suddenly forget what she was doing. But, Jessica walked right up to Venessa’s table.

“Hey. Sorry, you don’t know me…” Jessica faltered. “But, I think…I know you from somewhere? Are in the Animal Science program here in New Orleans?” She asked, suddenly unsure as to why she might know that.

“Hey, and yeah.” Venessa said. “Third year.” 

“Me too.” Jessica said happily. “I do volunteer work for the local birds of prey organization; we’ve got a meeting later tonight if you have any interest in that sort of thing.” Jessica shrugged; really not knowing why she thought this girl would care.

“Seriously? Yeah, I’d love to check it out-“

Adeline was studying Alastor who was studying the entire interaction. Her palms were sweaty; her chest tight. She had no idea how he might react to this…development. Everything fell into place…perfectly. She couldn’t have orchestrated anything better if she had tried. Better she find out what his response was to this before she took him with her to the art gallery tonight.

“Oh, Adeline…” He sung her name to her, darkly. “Well, that certainly was…enlightening.” He grinned wickedly at her; turning around to face her now.

He realized what she was showing to him was something truly…incredible. She had managed to do it. She had found a way to influence others; make an impression, an impact…all things he had meant to keep from her; to keep her from ever obtaining on her own. She found a way to do it…and all without being remembered.

Alastor listened to Adeline as she explained. He had known about her participation in various volunteering activities; it was something she could regularly do with others without having to maintain constant recognition and she had hoped it would bring some balance to her own personal moral-dilemma in having to steal from others in order to create a living for herself...She told him how she had only truly just discovered the possibilities of what she could do just prior to the New Year... 

"I can't influence everyone of course..." She told him. "I've definitely flubbed some interactions...but sometimes,” she glanced over to where Jessica and Venessa were now both spending their lunch together, happily chatting. "Sometimes things fall into place...and I never really know how much will result from an interaction I influence. Those two might never see each other again, they could become friends...Hell, they could become lovers, I don't know." 

"Hmmm," Alastor saw what she meant. The two women were obviously connecting on some meaningful level with each other; what they would eventually become - if anything -was anyone's guess... 

"Well, I suppose you've found yourself a cute little talent in some match-making." He commented with a smirk. 

It...stung...but Adeline was relieved to find that he was choosing to be petty about the whole thing rather than choosing to be...disruptive.

She had had absolutely no idea to what his reaction to all this might be. She felt like she knew him better now...felt like she might have a guess...but in the actual, real scheme of things: she did not know. She only knew a very small part about him, of him...she knew he was something far more, beyond this earthly realm…: knowing he possessed and commanded a fair amount of power. What she didn't know was what lengths he might go to ensure he kept the upper hand in their...deal; in ensuring he kept that power he felt was owed to him. It was made very clear to her that she was never meant to have quite this much...potential.

The companionship he had offered to her...it was nice; and it had kept her sane but she knew very well that in the end...they were where they were now because of the choices she had made that night in the swamps. She promised him her soul: in exchange he gave her more time...bound by a contract; her soul currently in his possession to take once she was ready to give it up to him fully and completely. How long was he willing to play this game with her? She had found something more to what was already an unimaginable - unattainable- opportunity. She found something she had been searching for, seeking – desperately - this whole time...and now, having found it, she wouldn't relinquish her soul...not yet...and quite possibly - not ever. Not willingly at least… 

She hadn't replied to his scathing comment; choosing to ignore it she watched the two girls - now sharing a laugh about something they were discussing - before returning her attention back to themselves and what the rest of the day may bring. 

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

Alastor had treated her to another remarkable Anniversary dinner before the event of the art gallery. Dressed in his brown pinstripe suit – in human form – he led her by the arm; her dressed in the fine green dress she had chosen earlier that day. Feeling nostalgic; he brought her back to the high-end restaurant they had spent their Anniversary the year before: dining finely and finding a chance to dance together through a few of the lively jazz numbers before it was time to attend the exhibition.

Adeline was feeling nervous again; she felt the sweat making her hands clammy, a persistent tightness in her throat. Alastor noted the spike in her anxiety as they entered the spacious setting and he remained sharply attentive to her. He guessed that there was something...more... she wanted to show him now. What that was, he hadn't the faintest idea. How irritating intriguing... 

They had only just stepped into a room holding a large part to the collection when a sharply dressed gentleman paused momentarily, staring at Adeline.

Alastor, initially- thought little of the man's response. Adeline was exquisitely adorned in the lovely green dress he had provided her. Her long, beautiful brown hair was styled in an intricate fashion, strands curling and twisting - accenting her face and all of her natural beauty. Alastor - if anything - wondered at how she didn't get more of a gawking response. If he, himself, couldn't help the thought of pulling her away into some unholy moment of privacy...heaven help the poor souls that surrounded them. 

The man, still looking at Adeline, excused himself from the group he had been conversing with and approached them, a look of....recognition...on his face. 

Alastor stiffened; every part of him at full attention now as the man politely introduced himself to he and Adeline; asking her if he by chance...if he might know her from somewhere....? Alastor felt Adeline flinch beside him, her apprehension obvious. 

"I'm sorry." She told him, "I don't believe so...but, I do have one of those faces." She laughed, lightly-shakily. 

The gentleman; having the utmost manners, discussed with them briefly regarding the art surrounding the studio; conversing with them naturally before seeing himself away and back to his original group. 

Alastor watched the man walking away; he felt Adeline fidgeting beside him. 

"Oh...Adeline..." He hummed, softly to her. "What are you up to my dear?" His eyes, sharply on her. 

"Let's go..." She told him, leading him further into the gallery.  

There were more...looks. All kinds and all types of people pausing and stopping to give Adeline a glance of....familiarity. Alastor saw and noted each and every single one...his interest entirely piqued. No one else was so bold at to approach them – however - and soon, turning a corner they both stepped into a large and spacious room; holding the most prized and sought out works to be placed on display for the collection. Dead center -taking up an entire wall - was a beautifully crafted acrylic-and-oil French painting of...Adeline. 

The painting was more than a little…suggestive. Adeline was painted – naked – in a breathtaking series of paintbrush strokes; an abstract done in a remarkable fashion. The lines of paint swept and hinted at the curvature and details to her elegant, and rather nude, body but what stood out vibrantly; in carefully placed details was her face – and the distinct series of seven freckles, forming a constellation across her skin.

Alastor had gone stock-still again, his back straight as a rod as he assessed the artwork; smiling. Adeline wasn't looking at the painting but at him...picking apart each minute detail, each sharp dart of the eyes, each quick and subtle movement of his hands or fingers, a very brief but notable twitch just below the lens of his spectacles on the right side. 

Her tension was building. When it became too much she started talking. 

"I found out it was coming here last month…A stranger recognized my face from it and told me it would be exhibited here. It's called Revenir and it’s painted by Monsieur Alro Miret". She explained. "He's a French artist that I met… while traveling. We were...". She gestured toward the painting; it was more than enough to imply the level of intimacy there had been.

"He...was struggling. He had a lot of barriers with...mental health. Insecurities, negativity, depression...He told me I was his "muse"... He stayed up one night: all night painting....this. When it was done...he had forgotten me but remembered the work he had had in completing the art. It brought him a sense of...fulfillment. He found his creativity – his positivity - again and he began to expound on his abilities. He's a very successful artist and this painting, is considered to be one of his very best works." 

Alastor did not move; his eyes still locked on the painting. 

"This...this is what I wanted to show you, Luc." She breathed. "This is my....potential." 

Finally, his eyes found her; regarded her. 

A smirking smile stretched across his face. "Our little miss Adeline LaRue..." He said softly. "Finding her way to make her mark on the world; playing with tortured artists to make her...impact. I'm impressed." 

"That's not it." She told him. "That is not the reason." 

Turning, he looked at her more directly now, giving him her full and undivided attention. 

"This is my purpose." She told him. "My passion. I finally found it." 

She was looking back at him with such strong conviction; he couldn't look away. 

"I can help people. I can help others." She continued. "I can help people form interactions - connections that otherwise would never have existed. I can make an impression...I can help others find their purpose." She looked back to the painting; feeling the truth of it. 

He startled her by erupting into a loud and raucous fit of laughter; others within the studio were stopping and turning toward them.

Adeline felt her face heating up; whether it was from embarrassment, anger or both...she couldn't decide. He was absolutely doubled over and cackling; unable to contain his mirth at realizing the full implications of what she was showing to him...realizing the true and absolute irony of it in everything. 

She had found her passion; her true purpose in helping others find theirs - in finding their own ways of feeling like they've made an impact, an impression in their own lives - by finding their own truest possibilities and potentials - all while she remained alone and forgotten... To him. It was the purest form of entertainment. The world was a stage, after all... 

"Oh....Adeline...dearest." He gasped between cackles, tapering down now. "You've impressed me - no, you’ve astounded me." He actually was gripping his chest; his laughter still shuddering through him. "Why, never before have I been so thoroughly entertained!" 

"You're not...upset, are you?" She asked him, really wanting to know. 

"Heaven's no." He chuckled. "It throws a rather nasty wrench into the mix for me, certainly. But, to see all of this...potential." His mouth was watering at the thought of it now... 

"And... you're not jealous?" She decided to ask him, truly curious. 

"Of what?" He asked her. He had collected himself entirely now - and wasn't understanding her question. 

"Of..." She nodded to the suggestive artwork. 

"Why would I be?" He asked her, perfectly honest. "I am well aware that you've had previous...relations, Adeline. Unless he was anything less than a gentleman toward you, I have absolutely no issue with it." He paused. "He...was a gentleman... wasn't he?" He asked her, serious now - a rather dark look passing across his face.

"Yes. He was." She said, assuring him. 

"Then it's no matter to me, whatsoever." He shrugged. 

"I wasn't sure...I was careful to make sure he wouldn't be attending this particular event.” She admitted. 

"I'm sorry that you felt the need, my dear." Alastor told her. 

"You never really gave me...a reason...to be worried." She explained. "I just didn't know how you would react to, well, to any of this." 

"Hm, well, I suppose my next move does remain to be seen." He told her. "How I do enjoy a good game of chess, though." He laughed. 

"You're not...mad?" She asked him, checking again. 

"No, Adeline." He told her, looking at her through a heated gaze. 

He was absolutely furious... 

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

Chapter 15

[kmomof4]

To Sir Graham, With Love Ch. 3

An early posting for ch3!!! Hubs and I are heading out of town for the weekend to celebrated our anniversary, and I didn't want Marta to have to wait until we got back for an update!! Thank you so much for reading and sharing! I hope you enjoy and I'd love to know what you think!

Thank you again to @jrob64 and @whimsicallyenchantedrose for beta and sounding board duties, and also to @motherkatereloyshipper for the GORGEOUS banner!!!

And finally, happy birthday again, @snowbellewells!!! I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

Summary: After a year long secret correspondence, twenty-eight year old spinster Ruby Jones decides to accept Sir Graham Humbert's offer of a visit to see if they might suit for marriage. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he was the father of twins, and they are not thrilled with Ruby's appearance.

Rating: M (for smut in later chs and mentions of physical abuse)

Words: Approx 8800 of 68k

Tags: Red Hunter Fic, Birthday Fic, Inspired by Eloise Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza

@djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling

@caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite

@captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones

@mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

… implore you, Mother, you MUST punish Belle. It is NOT FAIR that I am the only one sent to bed without pudding. And for a week! A week is far too long. Especially since it was all mostly Belle’s idea.

– from Ruby Jones to her mother, left upon Alice Jones’s night table during Ruby’s tenth year

~*~*~

… have never been so bored in my entire life. David, you must come home. It is interminably boring without you, and I don’t think I can bear such boredom another moment. Please do return, for I have clearly begun to repeat myself, and nothing could be more of a bore.

– from Ruby Jones to her older brother, David, during her fifth season as a debutante, sent (but never received) while David was traveling in Denmark.

~*~*~*~*~*~

How could so much change in a single day? Ruby thought. Not long after arriving - just this morning, Ruby realized with a start - she’d been convinced that she’d made a dreadful mistake, but now, as they strolled through Romney Hall, ostensibly to view the portraits in the gallery, but which she knew was actually just prolonging their time together, she was almost convinced that he would make a fine husband after all.

He was obviously quite handsome. He was tall and lean with a chiseled face that reminded her of some of the works of art she’d seen in the British Museum. His blue eyes were piercing and his boyish curls simply begged for her fingers to run through them. But besides that, he’d been quite a pleasant dinner companion, though not as loquacious as she was used to. He’d accepted, and even admired, her fish-in-the-bed treatment of Ava, proving he had an innate sense of fairness, which to her was quite essential in a potential husband, and for whatever reason, he’d handled Ava’s understandable tantrum with aplomb, which after the confrontation this morning when she’d arrived, was a bit surprising.

They stood now in the hall, his large hand gently holding her elbow, and she was quite simply enveloped in his presence. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, but gratifying as well. She’d taken a gamble on her future and she appeared to have won. Nothing would have been worse than coming back to London, her tail between her legs, and explaining to her family what she’d done. 

Ruby hated to be wrong. 

She hated even more to admit that she was wrong. 

Especially to herself.

But in this case, she didn’t appear to be wrong. 

Perhaps this could work. He wasn’t a complete stranger, after all. They had been corresponding for over a year.

“My grandfather,” Graham said, gesturing vaguely at a large portrait she could hardly see in the low light. 

Ruby nodded. “Is that your father?” she asked, nodding at the portrait on the right.

That was all it took for Graham to tense up - his shoulders and the corners of his lips tightening, the lines on his forehead becoming more pronounced as he nodded sharply.

“And where are you?” she asked, quickly realizing Graham had no wish to talk about his father.

“Over here,” he replied, leading them some distance away from where they stood. They came to a stop before a medium sized portrait of two boys - the older a young teen, the younger a couple of years behind.

“What happened to him?” Graham was obviously the younger and wouldn’t have inherited Romney Hall and the Baronet if his brother still lived.

“Waterloo.” No other explanation was needed. 

Ruby nodded and turned to him. He stood staring at the portrait, profound sadness in his eyes that Ruby couldn’t help responding to.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

A small sigh escaped his lips, but his gaze didn’t waver. “No one was sorrier than I,” he whispered.

“What was his name?”

“George.”

“You must have been quite young,” she observed, thinking back to 1815 and doing the math.

“Twenty-one,” he replied.

It was odd, Ruby reflected. At twenty-one she was expected to be married and running her own household. But now, nearing thirty, she thought it was awfully young and green to be thrust into responsibilities he never expected to have.

“My father died two weeks later.”

Ruby gasped in dismay. To lose a brother and a father so closely together must have been terribly difficult for Graham to endure.

“Here’s a portrait of Jacinda with the children,” he said, motioning to the other side of the room. It had been many, many years since she’d seen her cousin, but she still recognized her, the darker skin tone, the dark eyes with a sadness in them that was utterly foreign to Ruby then and heartbreaking to see now. With a much younger Nicholas by her side and Ava sitting on her lap, Ruby would have hoped that her eyes would reflect the joy of having two beautiful children, but no, her eyes still held the same emptiness and sadness that had so baffled her when they were children together.

“She was lovely,” Ruby said quietly. “The children must miss her.”

Graham nodded. “They’ve missed her for a long time.”

Ruby thought that was a rather odd way of phrasing it. “I know how they feel. I was very young when my father died.”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, turning to her.

“It’s not something I talk about all that much,” she replied with a half shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did it take you very long to get over it?” 

Ruby considered her words before answering, quite aware that the question wasn’t simply referring to her. “I’m not sure it’s something you ever fully get over,” she said, “completely, anyway. There will always be moments that you wish they could have been there to see and experience with you. But if you’re asking if I still think of my father every day, the answer is no, I don’t.”

Graham didn’t look away and Ruby finally turned to face him. They were still a respectable distance apart, but the darkness of the room and the intimacy of the conversation had a chill running down her spine. The blue of his eyes was spellbinding, and Ruby could almost feel his gaze as a physical touch on the apple of her cheek, along her jaw, and down the long line of her neck. 

“Ruby?” His voice was a whisper, and it broke the spell she was under. She took a small step back and searched for something, anything, to say in response.

“My brothers!” The words burst out of her mouth. “Especially Liam. He’s the oldest. It affected him much more than it did me. They were very close. And my mother, as well. They loved each other very much.”

“How did she react to his passing?”

“She cried a lot in the beginning,” Ruby said softly. “I’m quite sure we weren’t meant to hear. It was always late at night after she supposed we were all asleep. She missed him desperately, and it couldn’t have been easy with seven children.”

“Seven?” Graham asked. “I thought there were eight of you.”

“Tilly wasn’t yet born,” she informed him. “Mother must have been about eight months along.”

Good God, she thought she heard him breathe. Good God, indeed. She had no idea how her mother had managed.

“He was stung by a bee,” she continued. “Can you imagine?” A small sigh escaped her lips as she looked around the room. It always left her a little melancholy to speak about her father, but now, talking about him to a virtual stranger in a room filled with portraits of dead people, she wanted to leave. Immediately. 

“May I see your greenhouse?” she asked abruptly, turning back to face him.

“Now?” he asked, his voice filled with surprise.

Well, she shouldn’t have been surprised; it was dark outside, after all. “In the morning then, when we’ll be able to see.”

A bemused yet indulgent smile was on his lips. “We can go now,” he said. “The moon is full and we’ll take a lantern.”

She returned his smile. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d like that very much.”

He held out his elbow to her, and she took it, allowing him to lead her out into the night.

“It’s so warm!” she exclaimed some minutes later as he shut the door of the greenhouse behind them.

“It’s usually warmer than this,” he said. “The glass traps the heat from the sun to warm the air, allowing plants native to much warmer climes to grow and thrive, and aside from today, it’s been rather overcast lately.”

Graham often toiled in his greenhouse at night when he couldn’t sleep. Even during the day, he rarely had anyone with him, preferring to work alone, but now he found that he was seeing the greenhouse through Ruby’s eyes, and it was mesmerizing. The moonlight fell on the leaves and fronds of the plants he knew and loved so well, creating an otherworldly hush that was almost indescribable. During the day, the greenhouse wasn’t that different from almost any wooded place in England, but under the light of the moon, it was enchanting and mysterious, as if he moved his head quickly enough, he might catch a glimpse of a fairy, leaving a trail of magic in her wake. 

“What is this?” she asked, looking at a row of pots on his workbench.

His smile was ridiculously wide, exceptionally pleased that she seemed truly curious about his work. Most people feigned interest and looked for a quick escape.

“It’s an experiment I’m working on with peas,” he informed her.

“The kind we eat?”

He nodded. “I’ve been trying to develop a strain that will grow fatter in the pod.”

“Really!” she exclaimed, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “I had no idea that could be done.”

He shrugged. “I have no idea if it can be done, either. I’ve been trying for a year.”

“With no success? How very frustrating!”

“I’ve had some success,” he admitted. “Just not as much as I’d like.”

“I tried to grow roses one year,” she said. “They all died.”

“Roses are not easy to cultivate.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You have a lot of roses.”

“I also have a gardener,” he informed her amusedly.

“A botanist with a gardener?”

He shrugged. “It’s no different than a dressmaker with a seamstress.”

She considered that for a moment before nodding decisively and turning away from him, heading deeper into the greenhouse and scolding him for not keeping up with her with the lantern.

“You’re a bit bossy, this evening,” he said, an amused smile on his lips.

She smirked back at him. “I prefer the term ‘managing.’”

“A managing type of female, huh?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t deduce as much from my letters.” She tossed the words over her shoulder to him flirtatiously and he responded in kind.

“Why do you think I invited you?” He continued to follow her until she came to an abrupt stop and turned to him.

“You want someone to manage your life?” she asked, a bit breathlessly, he thought. He wanted someone to manage his children, but he didn’t think now was a good time to bring them up. Not when she was looking at him like that. Like she wanted…

Like she wanted to be kissed.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered. He would have stopped if she’d shown any hesitation, but her gorgeous green eyes were lit by the moon and there was nothing but wonder and acceptance and desire in them. “May I?” he asked again.

She nodded, a tiny, but sure thing. He lowered his head and simply brushed his lips against hers, the way one should kiss a woman one thought about marrying. But then her arms stole around him and her fingers brushed his neck, and he was lost.

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, closer, closer, until her body fully lined up with his. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and she opened, allowing him full access to explore all the hidden depths of her mouth, and he took full advantage, drawing soft mewling sounds from her that he swallowed with more kisses. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

He wanted to feel her. All of her. His hands ran up and down her back, until one boldly reached the curve of her bottom. He pressed her against him, not caring that she’d be able to clearly feel his desire for her. It had been so long, so damned long, and she was so soft and responsive in his arms, hesitantly at first, but then answering his passion with her own. She gasped, her head falling back and Graham took the invitation to pepper her jaw and the long line of her neck with his ardor. 

He’d begun working his way down, over her collarbone toward the neckline of the gown she wore when she pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, her hands flying to where he’d last kissed her.

“I’m not,” he said matter-of-factly.

Her eyes widened at his bluntness. But he’d never been particularly good with words and it was probably better that she learned this now.

“It… it was a figure of speech,” she stammered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said I was sorry,” she repeated, shrugging one shoulder, her eyes wide and guileless, confusing him further. “It was a figure of speech. I’m not really.”

She sounded rather flustered to his ears, and he couldn’t help the surge of male pride that he’d brought her to this state.

“It’s something one might say to fill the silence,” she continued. 

Graham was beginning to realize that Ruby didn’t like silence. He kissed her again. “You know, silence is sometimes a good thing.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. “Are you saying I talk too much?”

He shrugged, the corner of his lips lifted in a smirk, having much too much fun teasing her.

“I’ll have you know, I have been much quieter here than I normally am,” she informed him haughtily.

He wrapped his arms around her again and smiled. “We need a bit of noise around here.”

~*~*~

Ruby woke the next morning feeling wonderful. As if she was still wrapped up in a dream. A dream of a completely unexpected kiss.

A dream of enjoying a completely unexpected kiss far more than she thought she would.

Her stomach reminded her of the lateness of the hour and she decided to make her way down to the breakfast room. She had no idea if Sir Graham would be there or not. Was he the kind of man who rose with the sun? Or did he prefer to lay abed until noon? It seemed rather odd that she didn’t know something like this about a man she was seriously contemplating marrying.

And if he was there - waiting for her to join him to break their fast together - what would she say to him? What did one say to a man who’d licked one’s neck as if it were a delectable frozen treat? It was quite beyond scandalous.

What if she got there and could barely get out a good morning? He’d surely find that very amusing after his teasing her last night. It nearly made her laugh out loud. Ruby Jones - who could carry on a conversation about anything and nothing, and frequently did - not knowing what she was going to say to Sir Graham Humbert when next she saw him.

Of course, he had kissed her, and that changed everything.

Once dressed, she crossed the room, ready to leave, making sure her door was still tightly shut. She didn’t think the twins would try the same trick twice, but she wasn’t willing to place a large amount of trust in the thought. Honestly, after using a fish, she expected they were devising a more slimy or smelly retribution.

Humming softly to herself, she emerged into the hallway and headed toward the stairs. She was in a good mood since the sun had been peeking out from behind the clouds, making the day seem filled with promise…

“OH!”

The cry ripped out of her as she plunged forward, her foot caught back behind her, wrapped in something strung between two pieces of furniture. She had no chance to try and maintain her balance. She’d been walking quickly, as she was wont to do, and never saw the string reaching across the hall until it was too late. She didn’t even have the time to break her fall with her hands.

Tears burned her eyes. Her chin - dear God, her chin - her chin felt like it was on fire. She’d just been able to turn her head to the side before she landed, but the side of her face had taken the brunt of the fall, and Ruby couldn’t keep the incoherent whimpers of severe pain inside. She waited for the pain to fade, like it did when one stubbed one’s toe. The pain would take your breath away for a moment, but then would fade until it was nothing more than a dull ache. But the pain was not fading at all. Her chin, the side of her face, her elbow, hip, and knee were such a cacophony of agony, that she could do nothing more than lie there until she could draw breath without wanting to scream in anguish.

She felt as if she’d been beaten.

“Ruby!”

Graham. She couldn’t even look up, still trying to control her breathing and not willing to move from her curled up position.

“Ruby, my God!” he cried, taking the last few steps in one giant stride until he reached her side. “What happened?”

“I fell.” She tried not to whimper, she truly did, but it came out anyway.

His actions full of tenderness, he pulled her hand away from her face. The words that fell from his lips once he got a good look at it were not words Ruby was accustomed to hearing.

“You need a piece of meat on that,” he said grimly. 

“Is it very bruised?”

He nodded. “You may have a blackened eye as well; it’s too soon to tell.” She tried to smile, but it was just too painful to manage. “Does it hurt very badly?” he asked softly.

She nodded, a single tear finally falling down her cheek. It reminded her of a time when she was very small and fell out of a tree. She’d sprained her ankle quite badly, but hadn’t cried until she got home to her mother.

Graham touched her cheek gingerly, but pulled away with a scowl on his face when she winced. “What happened?” he asked again.

And of course she knew exactly what had happened. The twins had strung a piece of string across the hallway for her to trip over. But one look at Graham’s face and she almost considered holding her tongue. She didn’t think they meant to cause quite so much harm.

But she didn’t need to say a single word. He’d obviously already seen the piece of string, and without taking his eyes off of hers, he’d twisted it around his pointer finger until it snapped in two. He didn’t seem aware of it - his strength, nor the strength of his anger.

“Sir Graham,” she whispered, but it was clear he didn’t hear her.

“Nicholas! Ava!” he bellowed.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to injure me,” Ruby tried, quite sure that any punishment coming from their father while he was in this state would be far more painful for them than what she’d mete out.

“I don’t care what they meant!” he snapped. “Look how close to the stairs you were! What if you’d fallen down them?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to her, and now that she really looked, she had fallen dangerously close to them.

“They must answer for this.” His voice was low, and shaking with rage.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. And she would. In a few days. The agony was finally starting to fade, but she still cried out softly when Graham picked her up in his arms.

“You’re going straight to bed,” he bit out. She offered no disagreement. 

A maid arrived, a dismayed gasp escaping her when she saw Ruby’s bruised face. “Get me something for this,” Graham ordered. “A piece of meat, anything.” She nodded and quickly disappeared.

“Does anything else hurt?” he asked, as he laid her on top of the coverlet.

“My elbow. Hip. And knee,” she admitted.

“Do you think anything is broken?”

“Oh, no!” she assured him quickly, shaking her head as well. “I’m sure…”

“I’ll need to check anyway,” he interrupted her, cradling her arm in his hands as he gently examined it.

“Sir Graham!” she protested.

“My children nearly killed you,” he growled, but with no real heat in it. “I think we can dispose of the Sir.” He finished his examination and moved to the door of her bedchamber, his stride powerful and full of purpose. “Get me the twins immediately,” he barked to some servant who must have been hovering in the hall. She couldn’t imagine they hadn’t heard his earlier summons, but she also didn’t blame them for attempting to delay judgment day at the hands of their father.

“Graham, please,” she tried again. “Leave them to me. I was the injured party…”

“They are my children and I will punish them,” Graham said grimly. “God knows, it’s long overdue. They hurt you and that is unacceptable.” He leaned back against the wall next to her bed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “If I had…” He stopped and tried again. “If I hadn’t…” He blew out a frustrated breath and that was when Ruby knew. 

The rage in his voice, the shaking in his hands and body, wasn't directed at the twins. Not entirely anyway. 

He didn’t blame them.

He blamed himself.

Some minutes later - as the twins were ushered into the room by their nursemaid, half dragged and half pushed no doubt, if the heaviness of their gait was any indication - Graham maintained his position next to Ruby’s bed, deathly afraid that if he came any closer to his progeny, he’d beat them within an inch of their lives.

And when he was done, he wouldn’t regret his actions.

So he simply crossed his arms and glared at the children, letting them squirm under his clear anger and condemnation, while he tried to figure out what the hell to say to them.

Finally, Nicolas spoke, his voice trembling. “Father?”

Graham took a deep breath, and still not moving from his position, said the only thing he could think of. The only thing that bore mentioning at the present moment.

“Do you see Miss Jones?”

They both nodded, though they didn’t lift their gazes to where she lay on the bed.

“Look at her!” he barked.

They both jumped slightly, and then raised their eyes to actually look at her. From where he stood, he could see sorrow and, he hoped, remorse in their countenances, which helped him rein in his fury.

“Sir?” a servant asked from the door. 

He acknowledged her with a nod and took the piece of meat she’d brought for Ruby’s eye.

“Hungry?” he snapped at the children. When they didn’t answer, he continued. “Good, because we won’t be able to eat this now, will we?” He gently placed it over her eye and then covered it with a cloth so she wouldn’t dirty her fingers as she held it in place. Once he was done, he rose and stood in front of the children.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice still low and furious. They met his eyes and the fear he saw there made him sick, but he didn’t know how else to act. Or what else to do. They had to learn that they couldn’t continue behaving like this. They had to learn to show respect to adults. 

“We didn’t mean to hurt her,” Ava whispered.

“Oh, really?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You didn’t think she might possibly be hurt when she tripped over the string? Hmmm? Or perhaps you correctly thought that the string wouldn’t actually hurt her, but it didn’t occur to you that she might be injured when she actually fell?”

They said nothing. Graham glanced back at Ruby, who’d removed the meat from her eye and was gingerly touching her cheek. The bruising was getting worse by the minute.

“You will come with me,” he said, directing his words to the twins, and jerking his head in the direction of the door. He turned to them when he reached it to see they hadn’t taken a single step to follow him. “Now!” he barked. They finally moved and Graham prayed that he’d be able to control himself.

Once they were gone, Ruby tried not to listen, but she couldn’t stop herself from straining her ears. She didn’t know where he was taking them, but one thing was perfectly clear. They were going to be punished.

And while she agreed that it was necessary, what they’d done was inexcusable, she found herself anxious on their behalf. It reminded her of when Nicholas asked if she was going to hit them after he’d pushed her the day before. As if he’d been hit before. Surely Sir Graham didn’t… No, it was impossible. It was one thing to administer a spanking at a time like this, it was another thing entirely to habitually strike children.

She couldn’t possibly be that poor a judge of character. She’d spent time with the man. Allowed him to kiss her. Even kissed him back. She would have been able to sense if there was an inner streak of cruelty within him that would cause him to beat his children.

Shortly thereafter, Nicholas and then Ava entered her bedchamber again, their father bringing up the rear for the sole purpose, she was sure, of making sure their steps exceeded that of a tortoise. They were somber faced and red-eyed, and Graham looked just as grim as they did. 

They shuffled over to Ruby’s bed and she turned to face them. 

“We’re sorry, Miss Jones,” they mumbled in unison.

“Louder,” Graham said sharply.

“We’re sorry, Miss Jones,” they obeyed quickly.

Ruby nodded and tried to give them a small smile.

“It won’t happen again,” Ava added.

“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Ruby replied. Graham cleared his throat, loudly.

“Father says we have to make it up to you,” Nicholas said.

“Oh…” Ruby wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“Do you like sweets?” Ava asked, in an apparent burst of inspiration.

“Uh, yes, I do,” Ruby replied. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I have a bag of lemon drops,” Ava informed her. “I’ve been saving them for months. You can have them.”

Ruby sighed internally. There was something quite wrong here in the lives of these children. She had enough nieces and nephews to know, and her own upbringing as well to reference, what happy children looked like. And these children before her were anything but happy. She felt her heart clench in her chest in compassion for them.

“That’s alright, Ava,” she said softly. “You may keep your lemon drops.”

“But Father says we have to give you something,” she said, casting a fearful glance at Graham.

Ruby was about to say it wasn’t necessary, but then she realized it was. Not only because Graham had obviously insisted upon it, and she wasn’t about to undermine his authority in front of them, but because they also needed to understand what it meant to make amends.

“Very well,” she conceded, “You may give me an afternoon.”

“An afternoon?” they parroted.

“Yes,” she said. “Once I’m feeling better, you may both give me an afternoon. After all, there is much here at Romney Hall that I know nothing about and I’m sure you two know every nook and cranny of the house and gardens. You may take me on a tour. Provided of course,” and here she looked at them as sternly as she could manage with a large steak still covering her eye, “you both promise there will be no pranks.”

Ava nodded vigorously and quickly. “No, no pranks,” she promised.

“Nicholas,” Graham growled.

“There will be no pranks that afternoon,” he mumbled. Graham grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Ever,” he shouted. “There will be no pranks ever! We’ll leave Miss Jones completely alone!”

“Well, not completely, I hope,” she said, shooting a glance at Graham until he released Nicholas’ collar, “since you do owe me an afternoon.”

Ava smiled softly, but Nicholas’ scowl remained firmly in place.

“You may return to the nursery, now,” Graham informed the children, and they scurried away as fast as their feet could carry them.

Ruby and Graham remained silent for nearly a full minute after the twins left them alone. Ruby felt quite drained and wasn’t sure what to say. Graham turned back toward her and swallowed hard.

“How are you?” he asked. His voice was still rather gruff, but given the entire episode, she didn’t really blame him.

“If I’m not permitted to remove the steak soon, I think I might be physically ill,” she said, honestly.

He picked up the platter it’d arrived on and Ruby placed the meat upon it, grimacing at the squelching sound it made. “I’d like to wash my face, please.”

Graham nodded. “Let me first examine your eye. Look up,” he directed, probing gently around the socket when she obeyed.

“Do you have much experience with this sort of thing?” she asked.

“A bit,” he replied. “Look right.”

“A bit?”

“I boxed at university.”

“Were you good?”

“Look left,” he said, turning her head to the side. “Good enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“Close your eye.”

“What does that mean?” she asked again.

“You’re not closing your eye.”

She closed both eyes, though with a scowl on her face. “What does it mean!?” she repeated for the third time. And though she couldn’t see his face, the smile came through in his tone when he spoke.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly stubborn?” he asked.

“Oh, all the time,” she replied. “It’s my only flaw.”

“The only one, eh?” And now she could imagine his raised eyebrow.

“The only one worth commenting on.” She opened her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve quite forgotten what it was. Now close your eye again, I wasn’t finished.” Ruby scowled when she caught the teasing glint in his eyes, but obeyed. “Good enough,” he continued once her eyes were shut, “means that I never had to fight. Not if I didn’t want to.”

“But you weren’t the champion,” she speculated.

“You may open your eyes now,” he said gently. She blinked a few times in surprise when she saw how close he still was. “I wasn’t the champion.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “I didn’t care about it enough.”

“How does it look?”

“Your eye?”

She nodded.

“There’s nothing to be done to stop the bruising.”

“I didn’t think I hit my eye,” she said, pressing her fingers gently around the socket. “When I fell. I thought I hit my cheek.”

“Hitting your cheek, the blood will spread to the eye area. I can see from your face that you fell right here,” he said. His fingers oh so gently touched her cheekbone, exactly where she landed, but his touch was so light, there was no pain. 

Ruby groaned. “I’m going to look a fright for weeks.”

“Maybe not weeks,” he tried to reassure her.

She sent him an extremely dubious look, one that should have told him she knew what she was talking about. “I have brothers. I’ve seen blackened eyes. Killian had one that didn’t completely fade for two months.”

“Really?” Graham chuckled. “What happened to him?”

“Our older brother,” she informed him drily.

Graham nodded, his lips pressed together in amusement. “Say no more. I had a brother myself.”

“Beastly creatures,” she said, but her affection for them was clear from her tone.

“Your black eye probably won’t take that long to diminish,” he said, helping her from bed and over to the washbasin.

“But it might,” she said as she washed the smell from her face.

Graham nodded in agreement. “We need to get you a chaperone.”

Ruby stopped abruptly. “I’d quite forgotten.”

“I hadn’t.”

“It’s all my fault, of course,” she said, patting herself dry. “You had written in your invitation that you’d provide a chaperone, but in my haste to leave London, it didn’t occur to me that you’d need time to make the arrangements.”

Graham watched her closely and wondered if she realized just how much she’d revealed to him about her reasons for coming. It was hard to imagine someone as open, honest, and loquacious as the woman before him having secrets, but he did have to admit she’d been rather quiet about her exact reasons for coming to Gloucestershire.

She’d said she was looking for a husband. But he was starting to wonder if perhaps it had as much to do with what she was leaving behind in London as what she was looking for here.

And then the words in my haste…

What could have caused her to leave in such a hurry? 

“I sent a letter to my great-aunt yesterday morning after your arrival,” he informed her, “but she’s not the sort to leave home at the drop of a hat. She’ll need to pack and do whatever it is you ladies need to do when preparing for a journey.” He waved his hand vaguely around, and Ruby tried her best not to laugh. “I don’t expect her before Thursday. At the earliest.”

“Well, it’s only a few days, and it’s not like we’re completely alone,” she asserted. “You do have a house full of servants.”

“That may be,” he agreed, “but your reputation could be seriously compromised if this visit of yours were to get out among society.”

Ruby blew out a long breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Well, there’s not much I can do about it now,” she said. Then motioning to her eye, she continued. “And if I were to return now, this will have more people talking than the fact that I left to begin with.”

He nodded, acceding to her point, though his mind started shooting off in other directions entirely. Was there a reason she was so unconcerned about her reputation? He may have spent little time in society, but it’d been his experience that properly bred young ladies, no matter their age, were always concerned about their reputations.

Was it possible that Ruby’s reputation had been in tatters before she’d even arrived on his doorstep?

And more to the point, did he care?

He honestly wasn’t sure. He knew what he wanted - no, needed - in a wife, and it had very little to do with purity and chastity and all those things that society deemed important for young ladies.

He was looking for someone who could step in and manage his life and care for his children. He was quite pleased that Ruby not only appeared to be able to fill the role admirably, but that she was rather beautiful and he most undoubtedly felt a great deal of desire for her. Even if she’d been as ugly as a crone, he’d still have been willing to marry her if she could be a good mother to his children.

But if that were all true, then why did he feel no small amount of annoyance that Ruby might have had a lover?

She settled herself against the pillows, looked longingly out the window, and sighed. “Oh, look, the sun is shining again.”

“Would you like to sit in the garden?” he asked. “You haven’t eaten yet; I can have breakfast brought out to you.”

“I’d like to walk in the garden,” she groused, “but I suppose I should try to rest today.”

“More than just today,” he murmured.

“I’ll never be able to manage it,” she said. 

“You could take a book with you,” he suggested. It didn’t surprise him at all when she said she couldn’t sit still. Even injured, she was fidgety on the bed, and he couldn’t suppress a small smile.

“Will you not join me?” she asked.

“Ah…” he stammered. “I have work to do in the greenhouse today.” Her eyes reflected her disappointment, and as much as he would have loved to spend time with her in the garden, he needed to get away. Away from his swirling thoughts, conflicted feelings, and most of all the desire to crawl out of his skin over having to spank the children. He needed his hands in the dirt where the most complicated thought he’d encounter was about plants, something he did know something about. 

Every fortnight, it seemed, they did something that warranted punishment. He hated having to do it. To the depths of his being. But what else was he supposed to do when they behaved this badly? He could justify to himself brushing aside small things, but when they’d glued their last governess’ hair to the pillow while she slept, how on earth was he supposed to brush that aside? Or when they’d gotten into his greenhouse and broken an entire shelf of terra cotta pots? They’d claimed it was an accident, but Graham knew better, and from their countenances, they didn’t even truly think he’d believe them.

So he punished them the only way he knew how, if he punished them at all - though, to this point, he’d only used his hand. More often than not, he was so overwhelmed at the memories of his father’s brand of discipline and horrified at the way his hand itched to swat them on their behinds that he’d simply stumble away, a trembling and sweating mess.

He knew he was too lenient with them. They weren’t getting any better, after all. He knew he needed to be more stern with them, but the memory of what he’d almost done after the episode with their governess was enough to make him want to retch. He’d been so furious, so blindingly angry, that before he even realized it, he’d gone out to the stable and grabbed a whip. That was all it took for him to realize what he’d done and make him drop it in horror. Graham had fled to his greenhouse, shaking with disgust and hating himself for what he’d almost done.

But not only that. Hating himself for what he couldn’t do. 

Make his children better people.

He didn’t know how to be a father to them. Maybe he just wasn’t suited to the task. Perhaps there were men out there who just naturally knew how to teach, how to mold children, but Graham certainly wasn’t one of them. Perhaps one needed a good father in order to be one. But if that was the case, Graham had been doomed from birth. 

And now, here he was, pinning all his hopes on Miss Ruby Jones. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so guilty about being a miserable father to them if he could provide them with a good mother. 

But nothing was ever as simple as one might want and Miss Ruby Jones was proof positive of that. He’d never expected to want her. And when he came up the stairs and found her on the floor, his first thought hadn’t been anger at his children, it had been terror for her. For her wellbeing. As well as, if he was being brutally honest, terror that they might have convinced her to leave.

With the glue incident, his first emotion had been rage. With Ruby, he spared barely a thought to the twins until he’d assured himself of her well being. He hadn’t wanted to care about her, and now that he did, he didn’t know what to do with himself. So while a morning in the garden with her sounded lovely, he had to get away for a while. He had to try and bring his chaotic thoughts and feelings into some semblance of order. And if that made him a coward, then so be it.

~*~*~

Ruby spent the entire day in the garden on what she was sure was the most comfortable chaise lounge she’d ever had the pleasure to sit. It must have come from Italy, because in her experience, neither England nor France knew how to make comfortable furniture. Not that she normally spent much time pondering furniture makers, but being left alone in the gardens did provide her with an abundance of time and blessed little else to ponder.

Well, perhaps beside the fact that Sir Graham Humbert had to be the most ill-mannered beast on the planet, leaving her alone after his two little monsters - whom he hadn’t even disclosed the existence of in his correspondence - left her with a blackened eye. 

It was a perfect day. The sun was shining, the sky was the deepest shade of blue, a light breeze was blowing, and Ruby had not a thing to occupy her thoughts.

She had never been so bored in her entire life.

It just wasn’t in her nature to sit still and watch the clouds roll by. She would be much happier doing something - walking through the gardens, or at the very least having someone to talk to, rather than just sitting here like a bump on a log. If she had company, then perhaps the clouds would be more interesting. They could discuss the shapes they saw in them.

But no, he’d left her quite on her own. She could see him out there in his greenhouse from where she sat, but while she’d really like nothing better than to join him - his plants must be more interesting than clouds - she refused to seek him out. Not after the way he’d departed so abruptly earlier. She’d thought they were getting along rather well, but then he’d suddenly grown distant and irritable and made up a terrible excuse about having to work in the greenhouse. He’d all but run away from her.

Odious man.

She picked up the book she’d chosen from the library and held it in front of her face, determined to actually read it this time. Of course, that was what she said the previous four times she’d picked up the book. 

Blast it all. 

The Botany of Ferns? What exactly had she been thinking when she pulled it off the shelf? Well, the clear answer to that question was, she hadn’t been. Ruby rolled her eyes at herself. She should have at least looked for a novel to read. The library was quite extensive and she was sure she could have found something more enjoyable than this thing. And what was worse, if, for some reason, Sir Graham came back and found her reading it, he’d think she was wanting to learn more about him and his interests.

This was ridiculous. She slammed the book closed and back down on the side table. She got up and took a few steps to test the tenderness of her hip, a satisfied and rather smug smile lifting her lips when she realized her hip was causing her no more than mild discomfort. She walked all the way to a large rosebush some ways ahead and bent over to see if they had a scent yet. The buds were still closed, but there was always the chance…

“What the devil are you doing?”

Ruby just managed to avoid falling into the bush in surprise. “Sir Graham!” she exclaimed. “I was just…”

“You were supposed to be sitting down,” he interrupted.

“I was sitting down.”

“You were supposed to stay sitting down.”

The truth would make a superb explanation, she decided quickly. 

“I was bored.”

“Did you not get a book to read from the library, like I invited you to do?”

She speared him with a glance and Graham could feel a flush rising on his skin. 

“You said that you could have breakfast sent out to me,” she began, her temper rising along with her words, “and suggested that I could enjoy a book in the garden, which I wrongly assumed meant that you’d have something I’d enjoy reading included on the tray.”

Blast, he had said that, hadn’t he? He’d been in such a hurry to get away, he’d quite forgotten. The flush reached his face. 

“Allow me to apologize and correct that oversight, then,” he replied in a remarkable display of humility. Ruby wasn’t used to men ever admitting to a mistake, however unintended. “But you should remain seated.”

Ruby patted her hip. “I am truly perfectly fine. It hardly hurts at all.”

His expression was still irritable, but even with filthy hands and face, there was something very striking about him. Elemental, almost. Ruby’s mouth dropped open as a shiver of awareness worked its way over her.

“I can’t work if I’m worrying about you,” he groused.

“Then don’t work.” The solution seemed perfectly logical to her.

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“Then I’ll accompany you,” she said lightly, brushing by him on her way to the greenhouse. Really, how did he expect them to see if they would suit if they didn’t spend any time together?

“Miss Jones,” he bit out, “you cannot…”

“Couldn’t you use the help?” she asked, turning back toward him.

“No.”

“Sir Graham,” she snapped, deciding on a different tact. “Are you the same man you were last night?”

“I beg your pardon?” The expression on his face suggested that he thought she’d lost her mind.

“The man I spent the evening with last night,” she began, only just restraining herself from crossing her arms in her annoyance. “The one with whom I shared a very pleasant meal, then toured the house and greenhouse. The man who actually spoke to me, and seemed to enjoy my company.”

He shook his head at her words, bringing himself out of his haze of confusion. “I do enjoy your company,” he replied, utterly befuddled at her seemingly random tirade.

“Then why,” she asked, “have I been sitting alone in the garden for the last three hours?”

“It hasn’t been three hours.”

“It doesn’t matter how long…”

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” he interrupted.

That silenced her for just a moment. She stood there staring at him, her lips pressed together in a straight line, before opening them to speak again.

“Well…” She lost her words after that and Graham decided he’d better say something to save her from any more embarrassment her countenance told him she was swimming in.

“Miss Jones.” He tried not to snap, truly he did, but was extremely doubtful he’d succeeded. “As you might imagine, the incident with the children this morning has left me in rather a foul mood, and I sought to spare you my company, such as it is.”

“I see,” she said, rather meekly in his opinion.

“Good,” he bit out. 

But then she straightened up and looked him directly in the eye, lifting her chin just slightly. “In that case, I’ll just leave you to your work.” Then she had the audacity to wave him off as if he were nothing more than a buzzing fly, disturbing the peacefulness of the garden.

“And what will you be doing?” he asked.

“I will go for a walk,” she informed him, haughtily.

“You will not go for a walk,” he growled.

Almost, Ruby thought, as if he cared about her.

“Sir Graham,” she began, “I assure you, I am perfectly fine. I shall remain out of your way, which is all that really matters, is it not?” A vein in his temple began to pulse, and Ruby found entirely too much pleasure in the fact. She turned on her heel and began to walk to another area of the garden. 

“Stop this instant!” Graham exclaimed. “You may not go for a walk!”

Ruby stopped and turned to him, about to ask if he intended to tie her down to stop her, but shut her mouth just as quickly when it occurred to her that he might heartily approve the suggestion. 

“Sir Graham,” she said, “I fail to see… OH!” she exclaimed when he scooped her up in his arms, mumbling something about stubborn and foolish women, marched over to the chaise, and dropped her unceremoniously upon it.

“Stay there,” he ordered.

She sputtered indignantly, almost at a loss of what to say after his unbelievable display of arrogance. “You can’t just…”

“Good God, woman! You would try the patience of a saint!”

She glared at him.

He huffed in frustration. “What would it take to keep you from moving from this spot?”

She lifted her chin at him before answering. “I can’t think of a single thing,” she said honestly.

“Fine,” he said. “Hike all over the countryside, if it pleases you. Swim to France.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “From Gloucestershire?”

“If anyone could figure out a way to do it, it would be you, Miss Jones. Good day.” Then he turned on his heel and left her exactly where she’d started from.

~*~*~

Graham sat at supper that evening utterly dejected and lonely. One would have thought that eating alone was commonplace for him after all the years married to Jacinda, but in the last day and a half, he’d become used to Ruby’s presence and now, he missed her. If he wasn’t already painfully aware of how badly he’d handled the day's situations, her short missive informing him she intended to take supper in her room this evening made it abundantly clear. Considering the fact she’d been complaining about the lack of his company earlier, her refusal to join him was a stark insult, indeed, and one that the servants were obviously aware of. Graham sighed. He hated being the subject of the servants' gossip. 

He made his way through all the courses, hoping she might change her mind and come down. It was certainly doubtful, given her stubborn streak, but he could always hope. When it became abundantly clear it was a futile hope, he considered going up to her. But that would have been extremely inappropriate, even out here in the country. Besides the fact that seeking her out after his behavior this morning was tantamount to eating crow.

Which wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, considering he’d already decided he was willing to beg her to stay and be a mother to his children, if necessary. But wanting to woo a woman didn’t mean that he knew how to do it.

George had always been the one to charm and woo the ladies. He always knew what to say and how to act. He wouldn’t have cared about being the subject of the servants’ gossip. Graham had always been the quieter one, the studious one, the awkward one when compared to his older brother. Much less suited to being a father and lord of the manor. He’d always planned on leaving Romney Hall and never looking back, at least while his father was alive. George was to have married and had half a dozen perfect children and Graham would have been the somewhat strange but still fun uncle, working on his experiments at Cambridge.

But all of that changed on a battlefield in Belgium. England may have won the war, but it was blessed little comfort when his father dragged him home, determined to mold him into a suitable heir. Determined to mold him into George, who’d been his favorite.

And then he’d died. Right there in front of Graham. In the middle of a screaming, raging fit, his heart had given out on him. 

And Graham had become Sir Graham, with all the rights and responsibilities of a baronet. Rights and responsibilities he’d never, ever wanted.

He loved his children more than life itself, so he guessed he could say it’d turned out alright in the end, but he still felt like he was failing. Romney Hall was doing well. As a result of the agricultural techniques he’d introduced in the fields of the estate, they were turning a profit for the first time since… Well, he wasn’t sure exactly. They’d certainly never turned a profit in the years his father was lord of the estate.

But the fields weren’t nearly as important as the children. They were flesh and blood and would someday grow up, and with how badly behaved they were now, he was terrified of what the future would hold for them if something wasn’t  done soon. Which was why he was so desperate for Ruby to stay and marry him. 

He couldn’t continue to fail his children the way he had been since they were born really, but especially since Jacinda died. He had no idea how to handle them. 

Except the night before, with the fish incident. For the first time, he’d handled Ava exactly right. Ruby’s presence had calmed him in a way that he never would have believed, if he hadn’t experienced it himself.

That was why he couldn’t seek her out this evening. So he couldn’t muck it up any more than he already had.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to know what you think!

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4: New Game Patch (May 28th, 2024)

There is a new game update for The Sims 4, to prepare the game to the upcoming kits. Read it all on the blog post below.

If you have auto updates enabled in Origin’s “Application Settings”, the game will auto-update once you open Origin. If you have auto-updates disabled, you will need to manually update by clicking the game in your library.Advertisement

To ensure your game is up to date, check the game version found in Documents > EA > The Sims 4 > GameVersion.txt. Your game should now read: PC: PC: 1.107.112.1030 / Mac: 1.107.112.1230 / Console: 1.92

Sul Sul Simmers! It’s time for some late Spring cleaning! Let’s fix some things and make a few improvements. We’ve got quite the spread, with a host of resolutions for base game issues as well as addressing a wide assortment of packs. There’re also some performance gains, gallery updates, and DirectX 11 previews. We squeezed lots into this release, but there’s still more to come! Talk to you soon!

-The Sims 4 Team

Bug Fixes & Updates

Base Game

Oh you thought you could hide, dishes? We will find you and we will wash you. Dishes left in corners will no longer be ignored when cleaning up.

Begone weeds! Plants won’t grow weeds when Out of Season. If a plant has them when it becomes Out of Season, the weeds will be removed until it’s In Season again.

Campfires will stop causing so many fires on the lot. Campfire spreadfire was triggering a 50% chance every 10 sim-minutes to burn objects other than chairs in the area. We removed that to only focus on when Fireworks trigger (which we all know is the real danger).

“A Trash Can Is Required“ message will no longer display when trash cans are present on the active lot. Get that garbage outta here.

Skills will not randomly increase or change when leaving the lot or editing the household. If your Sim knows, they know.

The skills list is arranged in alphabetical order and my eye will no longer twitch when looking at it.

TS4 Packs are listed in the right order in the Build/Buy filter. Get back in line For Rent, Home Chef Hustle and Crystal Creations!

Careers will no longer have a blank daily task menu.

Summon Grilled Cheese interaction will no longer drop from the interaction queue.

Sim will no longer get stuck in the ground and continue to Swim Laps if the pool is removed in the middle of it. Because physics. Now the Sim will reset. Because magic.

Calendar notification light will remain on after traveling. No forgetting those important events.

Customizable pronouns were adjusted to appear correctly on a few of the Romantic Relationship phone calls and will no longer display improper usage like “ask their out.”

Sims can properly merge or move households with NPC Sims “not in world“; the merge/move button is now accessible. It’s all about bringing families together!

Console

After switching to build mode from world map a red bar will no longer display in the upper right corner.

Performance

We’ve made some optimizations so the game uses less memory. You may experience fewer crashes, better frame rate, and/or more responsive simulation.

We’ve improved the lot load process so it should happen a bit faster.

Cats & Dogs / City Living

Small dogs, puppies, and kittens will properly use the elevator to go downstairs from Penthouses. They can finally go potty! Poor little things.

Cottage Living

Hatchable and spoiled eggs will now remain visible in the Chicken coop whenever the Sim travels to the lot.

Dine Out

‘Order For Table’ interaction will properly clear from the interaction queue after the waiter delivers food to the table.

Home Chef Hustles players can now add Waffles to the Restaurant Menu. More menu additions to come.

DirectX 11 Preview

DirectX 11 is available on The Sims 4 on an opt-in basis and will be rolled out fully in a later update for Simmers running Windows. If you opt to run The Sims 4 using DirectX 11, you will potentially experience enhanced game performance and graphics quality. This update is designed to increase the overall gaming experience, with improved rendering capabilities that will allow for more details and immersive environments in future releases! We would appreciate your feedback and any issues you experience on our DirectX 11 Answers HQ thread.

Simmers running Windows and have DirectX 11 compatible hardware can now enter the argument -dx11 into the EA App or Steam to switch to using this renderer. You will be able to see which DirectX version The Sims 4 is using in your game version information displayed in the bottom right corner of the Main Menu.

You can find all the information you need to check if your PC is DirectX 11 compatible and learn how to enter launch arguments for both EA App and Steam here.

While DirectX 11 is available for those Simmers who want to try it, you may experience visual issues with mods so we recommend disabling all mods while using this command line argument.

Eco Lifestyle

Nose rings will no longer break when paired with brow piercings from this pack.

For Rent

Property Ownership of “Tam Nang Sands“ lot will be recognized in the owned rental tab.

“Unpleasant Surroundings“ Moodlet no longer triggered from the Pressure cooker and Kettle.

Tourist location icons will now appear correctly when hovering over the Tomarang world select screen.

Gallery Server

All profanity filter false positive reports sent to us via  The Sims 4 Gallery Profanity Filter Feedback survey up to May 1st have been reviewed and changes implemented. We appreciate all the reports and responses and will continue to update our systems based on your feedback.

Non-anonymous Gallery users appearing in the Following and Followers tabs will once again display the number of Followers each user has.

Get to Work

Aliens will stop having noticeable changes in facial structure (placement, size, etc) when aging up. No more morph faces.

Growing Together

The “Had a Baby“ Milestone now triggers from having a Science Baby or giving birth at the hospital rabbithole.

High School Years

Teens cannot send flirty messages on Social Bunny to adults or household family members.

After a teen high school Sim completes all tasks and aces exams, they will also be promoted to a better grade. They’ve earned it!

Horse Ranch

We all know how cute they are, but Sims will no longer autonomously want to buy mini goats (causing the UI to pop up).

Nectar value is now properly increased when selling to the mysterious rancher.

Horses will no longer get stuck while sleeping too close to the Horse training ball.

Island Living

Mermaid Conservationists can now complete the “Snorkel in Mua Pel’am“ job task.

Seasons

During winter, the weeding animation will no longer repeat and the Sim will actually remove all the weeds surrounding the plants. Checkmate weeds!

[ameliadamen]

AMIDST ART — ୨୧⋆ ˚ an open starter

The art museum stood tall and grand, its stone facade weathered by time yet still exuding an air of elegance and mystery. As the morning sun filtered through the towering windows, shafts of golden light danced across the polished marble floors, casting intricate patterns that seemed to beckon visitors within.

Inside, the vast halls stretched out like a maze of possibilities, each corner hiding treasures waiting to be discovered. Soft music drifted through the air, a gentle melody that mingled with the hushed whispers of patrons as they moved from one exhibit to the next.

The walls, adorned with paintings of every shape and size, seemed to come alive with color, each brushstroke a testament to the artist's vision. From bold strokes of vibrant hues to delicate lines of muted tones, the canvases waiting to be unraveled by eager eyes.

Sculptures dotted the open spaces, their forms frozen in time yet brimming with a sense of movement and life. Marble figures stood tall and proud, their chiseled features immortalized in stone, while delicate statues seemed to dance on pedestals, their graceful curves capturing the imagination of passersby.

𓃦: 𝒊. Amelia Damen, 22 years old [ Love & Deepspace MC ]

Amelia glanced around the art museum, feeling utterly out of place amidst the elegant swirl of colors and shapes that surrounded her. Her friends had insisted on this excursion, claiming it would be a cultural experience she shouldn't miss. Yet here she was, standing awkwardly in the grand halls, her eyes flitting from one painting to another with a sense of bewildered detachment.

Her red hair caught the soft glow of the gallery lights, casting a fiery halo around her as she wandered aimlessly through the museum. Her blue-grey eyes seemed to mirror the muted tones of the paintings lining the walls.

As her friends scattered to admire their favorite pieces, Amelia found herself alone. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an imposter in a world where everyone else seemed to belong. The chatter of other visitors washed over her in waves, blending into a soothing hum that did little to ease her unease.

She sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she approached a particularly intricate sculpture. It seemed to beckon to her, its smooth curves and sharp angles capturing her attention in a way that the paintings had failed to do. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it, her fingertips grazing the cool surface.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nine

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

AO3 Link

Warnings: Sexual shaming, physical abuse from a parental figure

CHAPTER NINE - LEAVE YOU IN PIECES

Reality is a slap in the face, and the River Lords finally arrive to King's Landing.

Mid-morning in the Red Keep meant that the gallery Aegon found himself in was illuminated with bright morning sun. It was three stories with floor to ceiling windows on the north side and smaller windows that could not be opened on the south, letting in natural light that would filter through them the entire day. It was his mother’s pride and joy, and he recalled the hours she’d thrown herself into its decoration and design when he was small and her smiles more frequent, her touch more caring. This was where she eagerly brought visiting nobles and dignitaries; this gallery was where his mother shone as Alicent Hightower, a girl with dreams that he watched fade from her eyes until piety and desperation and anger took hold of her.

His mother told him that she came to the sept to feel close to her own mother. Aegon came to the gallery to feel close to his. He was trying not to think about that too much as he watched Abrogail Strong pause in front of the intricate carving of the ship that the Targaryens brought to Dragonstone.

His gaze was fixated upon the spray of freckles along Abby’s bared shoulders. More importantly, it was that her shoulders were bare at all that was drawing his attention. The samite gown she wore was of the palest blue, the top edged with a broad band of silver. He’d watched her painstakingly embroider all the little decoration on it in front of the fireplace in the evenings. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, he could see the golden threads in the silver banding that also encircled her upper arms glimmer and reveal the hidden golden dragons sewn within. She said something but Aegon paid no mind to it on his approach, too focused watching the way her red curls glowed molten down past her pale shoulders and how the freckles dotting them were like cinnamon sugar on the sweet breads she’d eaten earlier.

It had been two days since he crept into her bed. Two days since they had the chance to be truly alone and he was going mad with it. Her throat was bare and never had he thought he’d want to drape a woman in jewels, but the idea of a necklace wound around her throat, mayhaps with rubies, appealed to him. A symbol that declared she was his and his alone.

Abby’s fingers, so dainty, so strong when they dove into his hair and gripped him like a lifeline, reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear and the bruise, deep and dark red, was revealed just there in the softness below her ear and along her jaw.

He closed the short distance between them, his arm snaking around her waist, hand splayed across the smooth curve of her belly to pull her against his chest. Aegon had been letting her set the pace, but here beneath the shaft of sunlight, the treasure she presented was too much for him. He pressed his face against the top of her head where she fit perfectly beneath his chin (if only just, for height eluded him and found his brother instead). He inhaled the scent of her hair, the orange and lemon of the bergamot oil she used for her curls.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, and he sighed, fingers flexing against her stomach, fabric bunching slightly beneath his touch, forcing himself to be still, to not beg for more.

To not take more.

“Your Grace, we shouldn’t,” she tried again, but this time, Abby’s voice shook with the little giggles he adored and he shut his eyes when she reached up to delve those fingers into his hair and hold him close. It was his turn to shudder at the feel of her nails lightly scratching his scalp, as if he were her cat laying across her lap. Aegon felt the heat rush through his veins, from the top of his head down to his toes that curled within his boots.

“I thought you were dragging me in here for the same purpose you had last night after dinner,” he countered. The memory of her hands grabbing him and hauling him behind the tapestry on the way toward Helaena’s room the night before made him giddy and ache. His rabbit had been possessed and he’d been a hungry dragon happily accosted by her. In the fortnight since they had first kissed, she was still clumsy and unsure, but her eagerness had delighted and ignited him. It was with that heady kiss, and the feeling of how perfectly her pert bottom fit his hands beneath her simple frock that had fed his dreams that night and left him craving, as always, for more.

Abby giggled again and he tilted his head back only enough to allow her to turn in his hold. She kissed his nose, and then his cheek. Peppering her way along the curve of bone to the soft skin behind his ear where his jaw met, she suckled and nipped with the softest sound that went straight to his cock. Aegon’s eyes fell almost shut and he brought his other hand up to cup the back of her head to keep her close. Her own fingers remained in his hair with their infernal tugging, drawing soft groans and his own wanton and needy whimper.

‘Touch me, touch me for here I hurt,’ he thought. ‘Touch me and make it all go away until it’s only you.’

“Do you like that?” she whispered against his ear, and it struck him how genuinely curious she was, how guileless the intent was in her explorations. It was intoxicating in a way he couldn’t describe and Aegon’s arm tightened around her waist, his fingers diving into her hair. Her arm had come up around his own waist to mimic him and he found it adorable how she took her cues from him. What he did, she did, and he rewarded her studious nature with a nip to her ear.

Her fingers tugged on his hair and he felt her teeth nip along his jaw. His cock twitched and he angled his hips back so she wouldn’t feel it, not wanting to frighten her. “I asked if you liked that.”

Abby’s bold teasing drew a high pitched laugh of his own. “Are you demanding answers from your prince, my Lady? What liberties you take.” From his view of her throat and the succulent curve of her shoulder, he watched the blush bloom like the malvales flowers in his mother’s solar. She shook against him with her giggles and Aegon felt like he was soaring to be the one to pull such joyous sounds from her with his japes. It was heady, like the most exotic of wines he’d been given that left him floating, but this? This flamed him instead of making him feel numb. This had his heart racing and his body tingling and Aegon laughed with her. He laughed in the way he hadn’t for so long, free from the anxiety and the fear, from the nervous notes that plagued the sound.

He met her eyes and felt like he was freefalling from Sunfyre’s back to drown in the rivers. They were so endlessly, beautifully blue and crinkled from how brightly she smiled. Her blush meant it was Aegon’s turn to reach up and cup her face in his hand and pepper kisses from the top of her forehead down the delicate line of her nose to the sweet, heart shape of her mouth. There were too many kisses to count; little needy kisses like he could capture the taste of her and hold it inside. They were both laughing, breathless and needy. Aegon ached with it, feeling the desire stir in his belly. Abby pressed against him and his breath caught, kisses pausing as there was no hiding what she was doing to him.

Abby stilled against him and Aegon felt more than heard the soft sound low in her throat. The gentle vibration of her mouth where she rested it against his. The taste of cinnamon sugar and sweet cream had already been devoured, leaving whatever taste of her that hid beneath for Aegon to glut on.

He didn’t move to press further against her no matter how his body begged to rut against her like a damned kennel dog, but his mouth continued to brush against hers, mouth catching along her lower lip, teeth nibbling along the fullness of her pout. “Abs,” he murmured. “Ñuha hunītsos.” She answered with the tentative touch of her own tongue against his as if she hadn’t eagerly returned such affection before. Aegon brushed his thumbs along the curve of her cheeks and felt the heat of her blush beneath his touch. Abby pressed closer into him and his breath caught at the pressure of pressing against her belly. He didn’t care about the layers of fabric between them, it felt just as good as if they were both bare as babes.

Seven hells, he wanted to taste her again. Just thinking about it had him salivating and Aegon’s hands moved further to cup her head properly when the striking sound of cane hitting the flagstone floor echoed through the gallery.

“Lady Strong!” came the horrified shout and Abby gasped, and they sprang apart - or would have, had Aegon’s hands not been caught in her hair and her ruby curls caught on the ring he wore. She yelped in pain and Aegon cursed low under his breath as the Septa strode towards them, her cane echoing off the floor with each strike.

“Hold on,” he consoled, helping her turn her head so he could work on getting her hair free. “Septa Lyserra,” he greeted nonchalantly, the smile he forced came out as a grimace. The fierce look on the woman’s face was enough to sap any desire from him. She had been a fixture for years, the Septa of his sister and Abby, who guarded the girls like a hound. Heleana struggled more beneath the woman’s gaze, but overall did not seem too bothered by it. Abby, as always, simply said that the Septa was strict, but well meaning. Aegon thought her suffocating, more austere and stringent than even his own mother. The woman before them was barely older than the queen herself, and so Aegon couldn’t fathom why she needed a cane since she seemed to have moved quickly across the gallery.

“Your Grace,” the woman demurred with a curtsy before she wrapped a slim hand about Abby’s bicep. “I apologize for the interruption, but the lady is late for her lessons.”

“Apologies, Septa,” Abby quickly cut in, and Aegon knew the warning glance from her when he saw it. Carefully, Aegon was working the curl out of his ring, and Abby let out a familiar pained sound as the hair tore, little strands of it still stuck in the gold. Her fingers tugged at his. “Here, just get it off your hand, I’ll fix it and give it back,” she said, breathless and flushed, already being tugged away from him by the persistent bitch who’d interrupted them. Aegon wanted to snarl at the Septa, demanding she leave, but Abby was letting herself be pulled away from him and mayhaps it was for the best. The intrusion had nearly killed the arousal he was feeling and watching her walk away from him, gazing back with her large blue eyes and kiss swollen mouth, it was everything to keep him from going after her, ensnaring her back in his arms.

So instead, he gave her a little wave before pulling his fingers through his hair in frustration of what to do with himself now. He supposed he should go and see himself to the training yard. He was reluctant to admit that Cole had been right, and that the physical exertion has been a good distractor - perhaps that was one of the not so honorable reasons Aemond spent so much time studying the blade. It wasn’t as terrible as he had feared, either. In just a few weeks, his body had remembered the moves he’d used to hone so well, reminding himself that he did have some natural ability that Aemond was once madly jealous of. The prospect of participating in the tournament was an enticing one. For once, he thought to prove himself worthy of praise, to show that he was good enough.

To see Abby fuss over any perceived injury, and swoon over his skill like he’d seen maidens do towards his uncle, Gwayne.

A soft, sharp cry, familiar to him, reached his ears and Aegon’s footsteps quickened. “Abs?” he called out, hurrying out into the hall, wondering what was the matter.

But the hall was empty, his rabbit nowhere to be found. Aegon frowned, turning in a circle to see what he may have missed, but it was only servants and pages making their way to wherever they needed to go. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, and he could feel Sunfyre responding through their bond, concern thrumming through his chest. “All seems well,” he murmured, to himself and to his bonded brother in the dragonpit. Sunfyre settled but the uncertain feeling remained.

“How is Lord Tully settling in, Lysa?” Alicent asked, her focus on the parchments in front of her. The menus had been finalized for the welcoming feast that night and now she was going through everything else that demanded her focus; orders for fabric and carriages, menus for Aegon’s nameday feast and the following celebrations, a missive to the High Septon for the wedding, among numerous other things that Lysa Fossoway was incomparable in helping her handle. Her other ladies had already been sent on errands and she was grateful for the quiet in her solar. A painful pulse had started behind her eyes and it was barely mid-morning.

Lysa was in the process of sprinkling the pounce powder on the last missive and did not pause in her work. Her apple green damask dress glimmered with golden thread, the gown low cut across her shoulders. “He is well, Your Grace. The Grand Maester visited him upon his arrival to ensure he had an easy rest and as of this morning, he is hale and hearty.” She paused, cocking her head. Her light blonde hair was caught in cauls on either side of her head, the nets a thick weave of flat golden lace and the fillet that wound around her head was gold and green. It was an older look. Princess Rhaenyra had made bare heads popular in court, but Lysa preferred her cauls to hide the graying of her blonde hair.

Alicent reached up to brush away a loose auburn curl, her long hair still braided loosely as she had no one to entertain that morning. It was vanity to let her hair flow free and uncovered, but it was a vanity she clung to, her hair one of the things about her that remained untouched and untainted.

Her mother had the same thick deep auburn curls that she recalled sitting on a little plush stool when she was small, watching Cybell Reyne’s maid gently brush and curl it.

“Your Grace, are you well?”

“Hm?” Alicent blinked and realized she had grown lost in thought as Lysa had been speaking with her. “What was it you said?”

Lysa pretended not to notice her flight of fancy and Alicent was grateful for it. “Lord Elmo is breaking fast with the Lord Hand this morning and the Ladies Baratheon are settling in well. Princess Helaena has taken quite a shine to young Floris and Lady Cassandra seems to have made her own spot within the court.” A thoughtful purse of her mouth, then, “I am concerned that she does not have true interest in the princess’ company.”

“Lady Cassandra would be an unsuitable companion.” Unfortunate, but not unexpected. A sigh. She would ideally keep the maiden here rather than send her to Harrenhal. Surely with enough time, the elder girl may creep into Aemond’s affection, or at the very least some willingness at being presented with someone who was not his sister. “Has Helaena shown any preference to any other ladies-”

“Your Grace!”

Septa Lyserra was prone to fits of indignation in the way only a believer who cleaved close to the Faith could be. It often took her by surprise that the woman was not much older than herself and yet seemed so ancient in her ways. Her own Septa had not been so stringent, teaching her songs and painting. Sometimes she wondered if she should have sent Lyserra back for one who embraced the arts and crafts the way many other septas did.

“I swear upon the memory of my mother, Daemon never touched me.”

‘But you lay with Ser Criston instead,’ Alicent thought as the long simmering heat curled low in her belly. Her attention turned to the red faced woman and confusion overtook her when she saw Abrogail being dragged in behind her.

There was no helping it, Alicent supposed. Better to be too strict when it came to her children, than too lax.

“What on earth is going on here, Lyserra? Abrogail? Child, what is it?” There was no hiding the confusion but she would not rise to meet the Septa’s conniption fit. The girl’s wrist was clutched in the septa’s tight hand, her eyes downcast and it was not often she had seen her lower lip quiver.

Things had been interesting over the past few weeks since she sat with the child in front of her to make clear what was expected of her. Sweet, meek thing that Abrogail was, there had been a sense of pride in seeing her lift her gaze and speak her thoughts even though Alicent thought they were foolish and misplaced. She was young, and she would learn, just as Alicent had over the last decade, to carve her way and find her voice. It was sweet and endearing the way she cleaved to Aegon, and truth be told, Alicent hoped that the child’s view of her son would come to fruition.

However, Alicent had lived through such betrayals and treacheries that Abrogail Strong had yet to encounter, and to hold onto hope in that way without question was foolish, childish, and naive.

It was stupid and dangerous.

Her heart would only be broken in the end, and if Alicent could save her from it, the way she herself was not saved, then all the better.

“Your Grace, I must apologize for bringing you such upsetting news. I found Lady Strong in a compromising position alone with Prince Aegon.” The last of the statement was said in a hushed, offended way that had Alicent’s stomach curl with unease. Lady Fossoway beside her made a soft sound and out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the other woman work to hold a laugh back. Had it been any other sort of situation, Alicent may have expressed such laughter.

This was Aegon.

This was the future king.

Everything hinged on this.

“That shall be all, Lady Fossoway. I will send for you should I require more of your valuable assistance today. Do check on the Baratheon girls after those items are addressed,” she said with clear dismissal. The following conversation did not need such an audience. In a flurry of deep green silk, Lady Fossoway made for her exit, leaving Alicent alone with the Septa and her soon to be good-daughter.

Alicent let the silence in the wake of the closing door lengthen and she turned to slowly gather the rest of the papers on her desk. It was something that her own father did. The anxiety of it had her tearing at her nails, and she recalled how Gwayne could never stand it, blurting out whatever it was that needed to be said to make the silence stop. She noted that Abrogail did none of this. No, the girl stood still as a statue, eyes downcast, wrist still grasped by her Septa.

“And what compromising position were they found in?” Alicent finally asked, focused on putting away the inks and sealing wax.

“They were in a passionate embrace,” the septa said, disdain and offense dripping from each word. Passionate embrace, you say? Alicent mouthed to herself while her face was turned away. The dramatics of the Septa were something she disliked, almost as much as the news that was being delivered. “They were alone, and I have no idea how far they have gone, your Grace. The insolent girl will not say.”

A soft gasp had Alicent look at the blushing maiden before her. The girl’s eyes had raised, the blue of them large with pain and her own silent indignation.

“Your Grace,” Abrogail said, trying to tug her captured wrist from the other woman’s grasp. “My honor is intact and I was only kissing my betrothed. Tis harmless.” Her voice shook as she tried to find her words and the foolishness of her statement only underscored poor Abrogail’s naivete.

“Is that what Aegon told you?” Alicent asked, voice flat, and stared long and hard at the child until she stopped struggling and closed her mouth. “You told me you know how he is and I warned you of his hedonistic behavior. Yet you brushed me off, and after reassuring me that you were well aware of his nature, I have to hear about the pair of you caught alone?” Abrogail was silent, teeth gnawing on her lower lip and Alicent exhaled. “Septa Lyserra, you are dismissed. I shall handle this.” The woman dropped the child’s hand, curtsying deeply, and excused herself from the room as well, no doubt to go and cleanse herself in front of the Mother in the small Sept.

The moment dragged once more and Alicent watched her, a mouse beneath a cat’s paw. Abrogail’s hands were folded across her waist, eyes averted, and she caught the glint of gold in one of her hands - Aegon’s ring, her thumb running over it.

“You are a foolish, wanton girl, and I am ashamed of the insult you have dealt me this day, Abrogail,” Alicent finally said with all the quiet cutting she knew those words would deliver. “Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena. Now I must hear of this! You, who I know have been taught better than to engage in such behavior. I trusted you to behave yourself as is expected, but it seems that I have been incredibly lax in your etiquette, or too lenient with your excursions dragon riding. You assured me they were chaste and harmless.”

“Your Grace,” Abrogail’s voice was small in the quiet of the room, thick with emotion, and the girl crossed towards her as if to throw herself at her lap, but stopped short, remembering herself. “My Queen, I can promise you that Aegon has done nothing more than kiss me. He has not compromised my virtue, he has not - I’ve never…”

Alicent rose then, closing the distance and taking Abrogail’s chin in her firm hand. A soft sound escaped her, but she did not try to pull away. “Were you aware he’d gotten a child on one of my maids barely a moon ago?”

Blue eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deeper red, and she minutely shook her head, Alicent’s grasp not giving her leeway. She hated to break this news to her, but the girl was living in a fairy tale.

“He did. I gave the girl moon tea and money for her to go back home to her family and find a new position, since she was clearly incapable of refuting my son’s advances. Very much like you seem incapable of refuting him-”

“Your Grace, it’s not like-”

“So you’re saying you are seducing him?” Abrogail had no answer for that, and all Alicent could think of was the image of Rhaenyra casting a web, ensnaring poor Ser Criston and his tender, stalwart heart. Capturing poor Harwin Strong, who was far too loyal for his own good. A net taught to her by her Targaryen blood, and the same blood that flowed through her son.

Forcing Abrogail back by the grip on her chin, Alicent shoved her toward the low couch and smoothed her hands on her skirt before leaning down to look into her eyes. “Let me disabuse you of your fantasies, child. You are Aegon’s bride because I believe that you can fix what is broken and infected inside of him. To show him how he should conduct himself so he is ready for what the future holds.”

She drew back in surprise when Abrogail shook her head in the negative. “Your Grace, we’re betrothed, we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Should we not get along? Should we not love and care for each other?”

The slap was sudden, before Alicent could even think.

“I will not have you walk into that Sept with a swollen belly, all because you lack conviction and understanding, Abrogail! You are not his bride so you may ruck your skirts for him without moral hesitation. If you throw yourself around as such, who is to say you are not doing such a thing with someone else. Aegon’s heirs must be without question, so you must be without question.”

Unlike Rhaenyra, swearing on the memory of her beloved mother in the godswood.

Unlike the brood of pug-nosed boys with their dark curls and smiles.

Abrogail’s curls. Abrogail’s smile.

Lyone’s curls. Lyonel’s smile.

Celeste Reyne’s eyes stared back from Abrogail’s face, the river blue of them wet and shining with tears. She watched the girl before her blink, the drops streaking down across the vibrant mottling of her cheek, shaking hands clutching her skirts.

“You needn’t be so harsh with the children,” the memory of the soft voice came, so like Alicent’s own mother it made her chest ache. Celeste’s face, pale and drawn, and still so softly smiling while she wasted away, pressing kisses to Aemond’s cheek while he sat on her lap. “We love them as we wish to have been loved.”

Alicent’s palm tingled and she curled her fist and clasped it against her waist, as if physically holding herself would keep her from reaching and shaking the foolish child before her until her teeth rattled in her skull and sense came in.

“Do you understand me, Lady Abrogail?” Alicent’s voice was not her own. Bile rose in her throat while she watched the trembling thing before her. Her father stood, watching her the same, doing nothing when she said that the king had touched her.

All that was missing was the bloody nails.

The Queen watched in satisfaction, in a detached sense of something raw and aching, a scream stuck in her chest, as she watched Abrogail curtsy low until she was almost kneeling on the rug at her feet. ‘Good,’ Alicent thought, her scream still clawing its way up her throat.

“Yes, my Queen. I pray for your clemency in your goodness and love.”

‘Good.’ Alicent couldn’t breathe. Good that she was learning. Good that Abrogail would come to understand the way she had, with lessons that would not be as harsh as the ones she had to go through.

It was a kindness that she was doing all she could to save this child the way none had saved her.

Aegon’s muscles ached in a comfortable sort of way as he headed down the back staircase towards the Queen’s Ballroom. The apartments above it were currently taken up by the Tully party, so Aegon avoided the gallery, not wanting to be pulled into some conversation about politics. No, he had one focus and that was to find his maiden fair and press a kiss to her heart shaped mouth and escort her in, to show off how beautiful she looked on his arm. To show that maybe she was right, and they liked each other, so this wasn’t a terrible thing. Mayhaps he wasn’t going to fuck it all up.

He tugged on the cuffs of his doublet, his left side black, his right in red with the opposite colored sleeves. His mother had tried to force him into something green as always, but Aegon had tossed that at his brother and went about his way. Let her favorite boy dress in the color she clung to, not he, who she could barely stand to look at since the fight in the brothel. It didn’t matter. Not now, maybe not anymore when Abby looked at him.

Where was she?

“Your Grace, you look lost.”

Aegon turned to see Cassandra Baratheon gliding towards him, her smoky voice echoing against the stone walls. Behind her were two of her ladies, comely and quiet with downcast eyes and furtive glances. The Lady Baratheon was encased in a cloud of gold that nearly shimmered in the rays of evening light and torch glow that illuminated the hall. Her hair was loose, a light golden veil held in place in the way that only women seemed to know how to do.

His eyes immediately took in her low neckline, the delicate gold chain that adorned her. It would be rude not to look at such a display when it was offered so willingly. Even more when she curtsied low before him, a coy smile playing along the lush red of her mouth.

“And now you’ve found me,” Aegon smirked, touching a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face back and withdrew it just as quickly in a bid for her to rise. She was tall, as tall as Helaena, but still his eyes lingered more about the lovely expanse of her chest than her actual face. “I believe that puts me in your debt, my Lady.”

Cassandra tilted her head, teeth bright and sharp in her smile that stirred the familiar, eager ache in his belly. “You give the debt so willingly, my Prince. Are you sure that’s wise?”

Aegon leaned in, close enough to smell the perfume on her skin. A scent of spice, warm like incense, but not cloying. “There are worse debts to be in than that of a beautiful woman, Lady Cassandra,” he told her, voice low with only the tease of a promise. She didn’t seem like the type to be offended by such a thing, and Cassandra did not let him down, even if she delicately pressed her hand to her chest.

“My Prince is too kind with such flattery.” Aegon preened, pulling back and fully enjoying the attention. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the attentions of beautiful women, and it was always good to allay any of his anxieties before one of his mother’s feasts, when expectations were at hand, and the watchful eye to make sure he wasn’t imbibing any of the wine forbidden to him. Perhaps the lady before him would help in such matters.

“I speak only the truth, my Lady. It’s Cassandra, is it not? Recently arrived from Storm’s End.” A test to see how casual and relaxed she was and again, the woman did not disappoint.

“Yes, that is correct. Her Grace, the Queen, invited myself and my sister to attend to Princess Helaena. Although, I suppose it shall be I who does, as Floris is still so young.” She lifted the hand from her chest to gesture vaguely. “It will be nice to spend time at court, experience new things. I do hope that you might be able to find the time to impart some of your own favorite things to do.”

Aegon’s smirk widened at the implication in those words, and the flash in her dark eyes showed that she very much meant it. There was no shyness in her words or her manner. Cassandra Baratheon was a woman who knew what she wanted.

“Mayhaps that would be the case, my Lady, or perhaps you’ll come with us to Harrenhal and we can be strangers together.” As much as he enjoyed the lady already, he did not think she would get along particularly well with his sister, who had the little Floris trailing after her like a baby duck. That was far more to Helaena’s liking. His Abby got along swimmingly with everyone.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in confusion and she opened her mouth to speak before his gaze caught on the figure down the hall. He exhaled softly, shifting away from Cassandra with a vague dismissal.

Aegon’s eyes fixed upon Abby and the way the light had turned her red curls molten, even beneath her own soft white veil that was held in place with a delicately wrought silver circlet dotted with pearls. Her dress was elaborate, the twilight blue silk brocade decorated in red and green opened in front to reveal the silver gown beneath. The same twilight blue made up her sleeves, the fabric of the silver gown puffed through the slashes. Her neckline was far more demure, yet no less enticing to him. How beautiful she looked in the colors of her house.

How beautiful she would look in the colors of his.

Yes, he’d had to get her something to decorate the delicate throat, but Aegon wouldn’t deny he enjoyed the unimpeded view. His mouth watered, reminded of the taste of her by sight alone. The sounds she so sweetly made drifted through his memory like a song.

Abby’s eyes were averted, but her lady, that northern wench, Wylla, who had become her guard dog, was watching with steely gray eyes and a pursed mouth. Aegon spared her only an annoyed glance before fixing his attention on the vision before him.

His Maiden still would not rest her gaze upon, and she curtsied with her eyes hidden from him. “Your Grace.”

There was no coy playfulness, no sweet smile, no shy gaze up at him with the bluest eyes beneath her dark lashes. There was soft propriety and a downcast gaze. Not unfamiliar, but jarring given how she’d greeted him that morning. Hells, how she’d greeted him the past several days. Perhaps it was their audience? He leaned down slightly, hands properly folded behind him like a good boy when he wanted nothing more than to snake his hands around her waist, to dive into her hair, to…

A frown slashed across his mouth, and Aegon felt a curl of unease in his stomach. Abby and her courtesies were always sweet and amusing, even when turned on him but this felt strange.

“We have time, if you like, to continue where we left off this morning,” he offered, lilac eyes searching her soft features, the way she resolutely wouldn’t look at him. “What is it?”

“It would be inappropriate, Your Grace, to be found engaging in such things,” came the reply, soft as before, but there was something sharp beneath the words, like the flash of teeth. The shutting of a door.

“Inappropriate.” He drew the word out in a low voice, and while the curl of unease began working its way up his chest, his eyes narrowed. “So you’re telling me that you’re worried about being inappropriate now?” Silence filled the moment, and Aegon lifted a hand to reach beneath her chin but Abby jerked her head back and moved away from him in a whisper of fabric and flushed embarrassment.

“Please.” This time her voice was a little louder, her gaze shifting up and while she looked at him, Abby didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, they danced around to somewhere over his shoulder, to the tapestry of the Riverlands on the wall, to anywhere but him. “I know you hold little concern for your reputation, but not all of us have such luxury.” Stronger. He liked the strength in her voice, but he detested it when turned on him in such a way.

“Please?” Aegon repeated and drew back himself. The curl of unease wound through his ribs like a pair of stays, tugging and tightening. “Please?” he repeated and how dare she throw that at him after their night. A third time, as she whispered in his arms, he blinked at her, quieter now. “Please.”

Three times to make a wish. Three times to make it matter.

Abrogail wouldn’t look at him. “I am a lady, and a member of the Queen’s household. I may be your betrothed, my Prince, but I must lead us by example if you find yourself incapable of containing your desires.”

A rushing sound filled Aegon’s ears. A familiar roaring as the tendrils amidst his ribs tightened and squeezed. His face went hot and cold, then hot again. When he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Nothing. All he could hear in his head was his mother’s voice, Abrogail’s voice.

I didn’t ask for you. She didn’t ask for the lecherous, depraved monster he’d become. No longer the sweet boy his mother loved, that his mother soundly replaced with each increasingly perfect child that came after him. Would Abrogail replace him as well?

“You… I…” Words stuttered from him but he couldn’t string any together that made the slightest bit of sense. Aegon let out a sharp bite of laughter and even that was strangled. The woman before him had robbed him of speech, of sound, of everything. All that was left in his chest was a hollow feeling that not even Sunfyre’s presence could ease.

He lifted his hand to touch his own cheek, wondering if she’d slapped him without him noticing.

The sounds of her cries, her gasps of his name in the quiet of the night when the world had pinpointed to the feel of her against him haunted him, clawing at his compressed insides while she looked anywhere but him. The firelight had shone in her glossy eyes, her mouth rounded with pleasure. Now they were shadowed and dull, mouth pressed into a fine line so very much like his own mother’s disapproval.

Aegon’s fingers reached past his cheek and into his hair as if that was the motion he’d intended to complete. He wanted to tear at his hair and claw at his own face like he could rip the rot of him out and drop it at her feet so she could be satisfied with him once more.

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him and Abrogail’s eyes focused, a slight smile breaking across her features. “Uncle Simon!” She called in greeting and Aegon’s hand gripped her bicep when she made to skirt around him. The bruises had healed, that much he knew. “Aegon,” she whispered, turning finally to look at him.

They had an audience now. She’d have to put on her pretty manners and not make a scene. Aegon said nothing and it was his turn to not look at her but instead at some unfathomable point in the middle distance.

The moment grew heavy, awkward. Abrogail shifted against him and Aegon thought he should let her go, he should say something. He should shake her until her teeth rattled and her wits fell back into place. Shake her until she admitted that this was a terrible jape and she meant none of it.

He could dive his hand into her sunset curls and yank her back and drag her to his bed like a war prize and make her take back everything she said. Give her a reason to think him monstrous, or a reason he wasn’t. ‘No’, he immediately thought, recoiling at himself for what the angry, poisonous thing inside him wanted to rage into. He didn’t want her to look at him like she was now, or worse, how his mother looked at him, but he was left confused and strangely afraid, unable to tell what was running through her head.

He could not reconcile the woman before him with her avoidance and snapping words to the one who smiled and giggled, who sighed and reached for him as readily as he did her. “Talk to me,” he commanded, voice low for her alone.

“Is everything alright?”

The man’s voice was unfamiliar, and not old, the way Ser Simon Strong’s was. This one was deep and calm, coated in courtesy and the edge of a blade.

Aegon finally turned his head to look over his shoulder at the company that had arrived. There was his lady’s uncle, a tall man grown plump as a bloated fruit with age, but the strength still lingered in his sturdy form. There was a strange pang of familiarity in the man’s face that made Aegon prickle and for a mad moment, he thought it was the ghost of Lyonel Strong coming from Harrenhal to strike him down for touching his little girl.

The man who spoke had Aegon instinctively sweeping his gaze over him. Younger by far than Ser Simon, the man had broad shoulders and an angular face softened by the light brown curls that shone gold in the evening sunlight. He was tall, taller than his companion, his two toned doublet, half-black and half-silver with golden buckles accentuated the narrowing of his figure. From the cut of his shoulders and his arms, he was clearly no slouch when it came to weapons.

Aegon’s tongue touched his lower lip, teeth biting in thought as he took this man in. His fingers released Abrogail’s arm and he took a step back. She immediately hurried past and into her uncle’s embrace. “Everything is fine. I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and Aegon swore he heard Wylla hiss at him like a cat beneath her breath when she went to join them.

“Uncle, this is his Grace, Prince Aegon Targaryen.” Ever polite, to hide whatever distaste she suddenly held for him. He approached slowly, the gathered group all bowing in deference, and Aegon breathed slowly through his nose to allay the panic that was settling in, that was threatening to send him running.

He watched the man with the golden hair alight his gaze on Abrogail. “Ser Edmund Vance, Your Grace, of Wayfarer’s Rest.” A bow to him as protocol dictated and his eyes focused on the way he took Abby’s hand, so small and delicate, into his larger one, to press a kiss to it. “Many speak of your gentle beauty, my lady, but even such flowery descriptions could never do you justice.”

Edmund Vance. Ser Edmund Vance.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat,” his grandfather had said, waving the scroll in hand.

Amidst the cold and crushing pull inside Aegon’s chest, a flaring sensation began. Hot and molten in that warm, safe spot that Sunfyre lived within him; his dragon in place of his heart.

Aegon focused on the golden shine of Edmund Vance’s curls, the shy look on Abrogail’s face, the way she looked at him.

“Condolences are in order, I’ve heard.” Aegon did not give his mouth order to move, had just been utterly speechless in the face of Abrogail’s uncharacteristic harshness.. Edmund’s brow furrowed and Aegon continued on, feeling the spark of annoyance that he had to look up to meet the man’s gaze. Aegon was as tall as his father, even as the king grew stooped with his infirmity, but Edmund held a frustrating few inches on him. “For the passing of your dear lady wife.”

Aegon smiled as the golden man shifted, his face flashing with ill disguised discomfort. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘Know your place, know that your words mean nothing in the face of your loss, not to her.’ Flushed with ruining the man’s attempts at flirting with his lady, Aegon thought to move back in, to grab her and drag her against his side. To bite his fingers into her until tears pricked her eyes, so she would know the pain she had caused him, and for her to understand that she was his.

For her to tell him why she was speaking so cruelly to him. To tell him what he had done since she’d been pulled from his embrace that morning, to have her reject his touch when she had cuddled into his warmth like the little rabbit she was.

“Your kindness is much appreciated, Your Grace,” came the stiff, soft reply, and then his eyes were on Abrogail again. “I would offer to escort you into the feast, but I think our Ser Simon has the privilege of such a vision on his arm.”

Laughter rolled from Ser Simon and he took his niece’s arm, pulling her away.

Edmund looked at Aegon. Aegon smiled back. Sunfyre growled deep in his chest and Aegon swore it vibrated through his words. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Ser Edmund. I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

Dismissing the man, Aegon continued into the hall. The Queen’s Ballroom was the smallest of the halls of the Keep. Nothing like the Great Hall, and half as big as the Small Hall in their Grandfather’s tower. It was an intimate setting: two long trestle tables took up most of the room without it feeling crowded with the wide aisle between them leading up to the dias where the head table sat. The walls of the room were carved in dark ironwood imported from the north, carved with dragons winding and twisting around carvings of trees. The room was filled with light so bright it could have been out in the gardens. Each wall sconce was covered in beaten silver to reflect the light about and the draperies along the south wall were pulled to the side and the windows thrown open to the terrace that opened up to the gardens below.

His mother stood above it all, a beacon at the high table, and his fear caused his steps to falter. She looked so young next to the ancient Lord Tully seated beside her. The green of her gown shone emerald in the light and he could make out the embroidery that made it seem like she had scales of her own. Her hair was in a low bun at the nape of her neck and the silver tiara she wore rested gently in her hair. Rubies the size of his thumb were fitted along the delicately wrought crown, each one lined with little sparkling emeralds. Fire of the Dragon. Fire of the Hightower.

‘Of Castamere,’ Aegon thought, noticing the lion broach on his mother’s bodice. Rubies for house Targaryen, rubies and silver for House Reyne. The house of the grandmother Aegon had never met. Was it always the loss of a mother and a wife that turned people cruel and cold? The loss of grandmother turning his grandfather into the cruel man he was, Mother into the fearful creature with her lion claws, his own sire too caught in the memory of the woman he’d ordered to die for the promise of a son. Would losing Abrogail do the same to him?

Fuck him, he hadn’t had a proper drink in weeks, and the wheel of his thoughts that he worked so desperately to avoid was threatening to derail him before he could even reach the dias and present himself to his mother’s hidden ridicule. What’s worse, was how he’d actually looked forward to it had Abrogail been on his arm rather than her uncle’s.

Better than being touched by that Vance prick, who had entered behind him but steered clear. Good.

A hand slipped along his right arm and Aegon startled. Helaena hummed and gave him a slight smile. Her silver hair hung freely down her back with a braid wrapped around her head like a crown and woven with a strand of rubies and chips of dark dragonglass. She wore no veil, her dress the same twilight blue as Abrogail’s, although low cut across her shoulders and dipped across her chest. Black embroidery crept along her bodice in the shapes of dragon flame. A simple gold and sapphire necklace hung about her throat, and her lavender eyes were curious and searching his face.

“Do you think I look pretty as well?” She teased him softly and Aegon rolled his eyes.

“You look nice,” he said softly, their heads leaning towards each other while they walked towards the dias. “Mother will have a fit. Who have you dressed up for?” He might have asked if she dressed for Aemond, but after the display in the garden the prior day, Aegon thought that would not be the wisest question. They may not have discussed it, but it hadn’t escaped Aegon’s notice that while Aemond was the one who discussed future marriage with Helaena, how their love was so insufferably true, Helaena’s feelings on the matter were noticeably absent. Little more than agreeable hums and nods and changes of the subject.

“For myself. Some people think their breasts are worth showing off and need to learn their place.” Arching an eyebrow, Aegon followed his sister’s gaze to where Cassandra Baratheon was speaking with some other lord, those breasts of hers drawing his gaze once more. He snorted and Helaena pushed his arm good naturedly. “I’m right, you know. What is a doe to a dragon? No need to give her delusions of grandeur more than she already has.”

“Thought about this a lot this week, have you?”

“Of course. I do not like how she speaks to little Floris, nor Abby.” Helaena paused and squeezed his arm. “You both look terribly upset again. Not that I don’t enjoy making Mother’s face look like she’s sucking on lemons walking in with you, but what’s happened?”

Aegon found himself grateful that Helaena didn’t immediately blame him and the fondness for his sister came back. The sharp edges to his expression softened and he glanced at Helaena and her patient look. Something crossed his face with the softening, because her patient countenance furrowed with concern. He gripped her arm. “Not. Now.”

“You’re angry.”

“You think?”

Mother’s face when she looked upon them did, indeed as Helaena predicted, appear as if she sucked a lemon. Her large, dark eyes darted around the room in the clear search for his betrothed and he gave a short bow, his sister curtsying. “Lord Grover, my two eldest. Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.”

Grover Tully was an ancient man. His shoulders were stooped beneath the thick, deep velvet of his surcoat, his jowls saggy from a face that was once robust. Pale skin sallow and jaundiced glowed even more yellow beneath the warm candlelight of the hall, but did little to disguise the multitude of liver spots. His hair was thin and wispy against his head, but his watery blue eyes were sharp and bright, intelligent and cataloging even as his body wasted away. Aegon was struck by how his father, who Aegon only now noticed seated on his mother’s left, looked as ancient as a man in his eighth decade.

“Helaena, you look lovely,” their father smiled, his gaze flitting, and Aegon barely held back his snort that he could call their sister by the correct name.

“Thank you, yo- father,” Helaena demurred in a quiet voice.

“They say you ride the great Dreamfyre, Princess,” Lord Tully rasped with a wistful smile. “I had the honor of seeing the Queen of the East, dear Princess Rhaena, may the Seven keep her, fly her about the God’s Eye when I was a wee lad. A sight that still strikes me. So blue as to melt into the twilight sky.” The watery blue eyes shifted towards Aegon now, deceptively sharp and alert. “I hear news that the sun will now bring the dawn.”

“My Lord,” Aegon said, voice stilted, but the courtesies that had been hammered into him kept him from looking the fool. ‘Abby would know what to say,’ he thought, but the boiling hurt rolling through his veins kept him from looking for her and acknowledging the bell of her laughter coming from behind him. “I hope the sight of such a thing will bring you the same fond memory.” A careful confirmation. There would be no official announcement until his nameday feast, but the natural conversation and gossip of the news would rip through the ballroom by the end of the night. The servants were already talking, and he’d overheard the whisper of it when sneaking through the Keep to his nightly pursuits.

The minstrels in the gallery above the hall struck up traditional music of the Riverlands between the popular songs that accompanied the feasts within the Keep. Lord Grover and his grandson sat at the high table with his parents and grandfather. At one of the tables, Wylla sat with her brother, Harrion. The man was tall with dark brown hair compared to the raven wing’s of his sister and a long, stern looking face that broke brightly when he laughed and smiled with Lord Bracken. Abrogail had mentioned he would be marrying the lord’s daughter on his return north.

The meal began in a blur. Aegon barely remembered swiping his bread through the beef potage, nor the spiced fennel and greens, hardly recalling the details of which horse was best for the joust and whether one should wear a heavy plate or lighter mail. He lost himself in the camaraderie that didn’t truly matter, licking juice from his thumb and taking hefty gulps from his goblet like a starving man. There was no drying out on this feast night, not when his mother sought to impress, and Aegon was grateful to finally have his Arbor red coursing through his veins to chase away the heat of his hurt and anger. He was eager to fill up the gaping maw inside of his chest that threatened to break through the tightness. The numbness began to settle in, familiar even though it was not as comforting as it once was.

Cassandra Baratheon had taken the seat beside him, having tried to speak to him, but he resolutely ignored her in favor of diving into the roast boar slathered in plum sauce and the succulent apple chutney. Finally, finally, Aegon began to feel settled with food and wine in his belly. He burped and called for a fresh decanter of Dornish and something stronger for the fine Riverlanders around him, sending up an approving shout amongst them. Let his mother be displeased, he was only doing what he was supposed to. When he turned, his eyes went across the table to the other.

Abrogail was seated with Helaena shining on her left, and on her right, Edmund Vance, who was receiving the full brunt of her bright smile and the earnest way she would lean over as to be heard over the music and merriment surrounding them. He stared at her, a roil curling in his belly as Vance piled her plate for her of the delicately poached salmon and honeyed bread. As if sensing him, her gaze flicked over to his. She should have smiled, tapping her fingers against her chin or goblet. Hells, he should have done it, and her face paled, lovely little mouth pursed. Instead, Aegon glared before turning his attention to far more pleasing things. Let her see that he was not so whipped that her words would have him still beg after her.

“And what lovely thing have I done to be rewarded by you choosing me to sit beside?” Aegon grinned at the Baratheon, resolutely grinning at her eyes than what was revealed by the cut of her gown.

“Your Grace honors me with his flattery, for in turn I do not know what I have done to earn it,” Cassandra said over the rim of her goblet.

“How could I pass up spending what promises to be quite the boring feast when I have someone like you to entertain me?” He raised his eyebrows at her and reached to top up her goblet and his own, resting his elbow on the table. Cassandra hummed and clinked her goblet against his before they swallowed. “Are you normally so preening? I swore I detected a rather enticing scent of confidence earlier.”

Confidence. Surety. Cassandra Baratheon knew who she was and it wasn’t a facsimile of his mother. It wasn’t The Maiden come down meant to judge him and find him wanting with a kiss and a slash of her hidden claws.

Abrogail’s laughter echoed through the hall again and Aegon’s fingers tightened around his cup. Another swig, another refill. It was watered down, but it didn't matter. Aegon could hold his wine well and it simply gave him an excuse to drink. “Tell me, Lady Cassandra, if I have to worry about some young buck coming to steal you away should I ask you to dance?”

“Oh, I do not think anyone would dare cut in should I be in your arms, Your Grace, but…” However the sentence didn't register as he watched Edmund Vance lift his hand to brush a curl from her shoulder. Aegon’s knee slammed against the table as he swept his legs over the bench, hoisting Cassandra up to join others who had gone to the center of the room to dance. Not an infernal Riverlands dance he didn’t know. Something more fucking civilized. Something he knew like the feel of his hand on his cock. He caught the brief flicker of confusion on the woman’s face that smoothed out as the dance began and he preened beneath the attention. He wasn’t drunk, having eaten too much for it to have hit yet, but he was loose enough that it was easy to slide into the steps, to twirl the woman gowned in gold. His favorite color.

They were betrothed and there wasn’t a bit of gold on Abrogail and she always had something golden on her.

Until now.

“Your grace shames me, Lady Cassandra,” Aegon complimented, spinning her back into him as they moved across the parquet floor. “I’ve never had a more agile partner.”

She chuckled low, the heat of her body emanating from their closeness, and Aegon’s hand slid a little lower on her waist than what was appropriate, but it would just be another line on his list of sins that his mother collected. “Have you had many partners, my prince?”

His cheeks were warm from the drink and exertion and the grin he gave Cassandra was slightly feral and full of mischief. “None as high born and beautiful as you,” he answered honestly even while his ribs tightened and the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

“Let me be the only one you touch this way. Aegon? If you want to have me, let it only be me.”

Cassandra Baratheon was the daughter of a Lord Paramount, with Targaryen blood in her veins, niece to Princess Rhaenys. She was more than comely; she was an entrancing woman with hair like a storm and delicately flushed from drink and dancing. The body that her gown clung to was positively sinful. Curves in every place that was ripe for the grasping and he was looking forward to seeing how -

As the pair spun, their partners changed, and while Cassandra flew into Aemond’s grasp, his eye glaring coldly at him over Cassandra’s shoulder, Abrogail’s hands slid into his.

The blood drained from Aegon’s face while his feet continued to move. This dance he knew by heart. This dance they both knew, having practiced it together countless times. She smelled of roses, not like a Tyrell, but something richer, darker, deeper and more primal.

Sunfyre half-grumbled and half-purred in the gaping hole inside of his chest at the feel of her, the sight of her in his arms while they spun through the next dance. Her blue eyes were fixed on his chin, which was better than her full avoidance. A soft gasp escaped her when Aegon’s hold on her waist and hand tightened painfully.

“Your mother thought we should have a turn and sent Aemond,” she explained softly. Aegon scoffed.

“So by the Queen’s command, you dance with me and not of your own volition.” His voice was almost pleasant and jovial as they spun, the music an irritating hum.

The feel of her dainty foot meeting his shin was not a mistake and it pulled a half-manic peal of laughter from him. He caught the look his mother sent from the high table and rolled his eyes. “What do you and my dear queenly mother expect from me anyway? That being betrothed to her little pet will turn me as angelic as baby Daeron?” He lowered his head to her ear and his breath caught. He heard her own soft gasp and instinctively, Aegon pulled her closer. Inappropriately perhaps, if half the hall didn’t already know they were engaged by now. “I’m an awful disappointment. You know that.”

“I know a lot about you, Aegon,” Abrogail said softly with a sour edge to her voice that he found amusing. “I know that you’re better than this. And with Lady Cassandra no less-”

“You know I’m better than this?” Aegon stepped back and held onto her hand, spinning her about so that the skirt of her gown flared, her fiery hair shining under all the glow. The candlelight caught in the little jewels of her circlet, the blue of her eyes warm as she came back into his arms and for a moment, Aegon forgot he was angry when her soft hand curled against his chest. “So my drinking and my whoring and my tavern fights - none of those are me? They’re just the worst part of myself? And here I thought you were the Maiden herself, but I doubt she moans as wantonly as you do. Such lovely sounds you make, or do you deny them now as you deny me?”

They spun apart once more and Aegon ignored the stricken expression that flashed across her doll-like face as his own chest ached with the feeling. He thought she had accepted even these terrible parts of him that shamed his mother and drew her to rage. She never scolded him or chastised him for his dalliances and escapades. When the brawl that had spilled into the streets of Flea Bottom that had nearly gotten him killed before the Gold Cloaks rushed, she had simply tended to his wounds, a simple “What happened?” in her soft voice. Out of everyone, Abrogail was the one who never expected more from him.

Clearly, Aegon had been wrong.

Another twirl, a distracted wink at Cassandra as they passed, and Abrogail was back in his arms, a brittle smile plastered on her face.

“You think I'm the Maiden?” She asked as if there’d been no pause in the conversation. “Not simply me?”

Aegon didn’t understand and he reached down to grasp her waist, lifting and spinning her in time with the music, clapping and moving around one another. “You are her. Were her-”

“Until you touched me,” she said softly, bitingly, her eyes dark and shining.

“Until you acted like I was the one begging, not you,” he snapped.

“You came into my chamber.”

“You said please.”

Another twirl, another spin and Aegon was rougher than he meant to, jerking her back into his chest as the music stopped. Her face was tilted up, eyes red and shining with unshed tears and a furious twist to her mouth, such an angry expression on her face. “And you held me through the night,” she hissed and then the fury melted away to hold that brittle smile once more, her curtsy low and flawless. When she rose, Abrogail drifted closer to him and he could see the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. He welcomed the bite of pain when she came to cup the back of his neck, her nails digging into his skin. “How filthy are your hands, mo realta geal, that you believe that their very touch has ruined me. That you have ruined me?”

As Aegon turned away he found Elmo Tully watching him and raised his goblet with a slight incline of his head.

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson,” his grandfather told Abrogail as they sat trapped in that office. “He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.”

Abby stayed as long as she could at the feast. She laughed with her Uncle Simon, with Lords Bracken and Blackwood both and their sons. Wylla’s eldest brother, Harrion, was kind, teasing her and Wylla both for his sister’s new position. Her bruised and beaten heart ached even further upon seeing the love and care between the Karstark siblings, and felt herself tearing up when she realised that Harwin wouldn’t have been there if he was still alive.

He’d be at Dragonstone, with the Princess. Or perhaps after the tragic death of her first husband, Princess Rhaenyra might have married him. Maybe it would have made things better. Maybe then, things wouldn’t be so bad.

The room felt too stifling and too loud. It felt too big and too small. The scent of sweat and wine and melting beeswax and hair pomade and perfume was making her head spin. Wylla was laughing at something Harrion had said but it sounded distant. Helaena had already gone and Abby couldn’t remember when she’d left.

Wylla’s arm slid around her waist and Abby mechanically moved through the motions of good nights and evening well wishes before the elder girl steered her out of the hall. “Not my room,” Abby rasped and her voice sounded distant and thick, choked in her throat. “C-can we go to Helaena’s, please?”

“As if you need to ask,” Wylla scoffed lightly, and the arm around her tucked in further. “Walk with us to the Princess’ chambers?” she asked her brother. “If I run into that peacock, I won’t restrain myself.”

“And they’re going to send you to Harrenhal with him. Will you be locked up for tossing him from a tower then?” Harrion’s deep voice teased softly and Abby felt his hand, warm and heavy, on her shoulder and the familiarity of it tore a soft sound from her throat. She wanted Harwin. She wanted her brother like air. A gentle squeeze and Abby let herself be guided down the hall, her fingers clinging to her skirt and Wylla was forced to guide her because she could not raise her eyes, so focused on the decorated stone before her.

“Abby?” Wylla asked softly against her ear. “Abby? Did Aegon say something else to you?”

Yes, she wanted to say, but she shook her head. He never saw me, he doesn’t see me. Did he ever see me?

“It’s been a long night,” she said instead, feeling the siblings exchange glances over her head but too tired to say anything for it. The walk was filled with tales of rides through the forests of the Karhold, of fox hunts and wolves in the tree. Of young Rickon chasing after Torrhen to learn archery, of Harrion’s impending nuptials to his southern bride. “Thank you for your company, Lord Harrion,” Abby said politely when they reached the hall to Helaena’s rooms. In the torch light, he looked nothing like Harwin, and yet every bit about him was Harwin.

‘Him and the queen are nearly the same age, aren’t they?’ Abby realised. There were a great many years between Wylla and her eldest brother, and she always forgot how young the queen was. How young her brother had been when he was lost.

“Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena.”

A soft smile broke across the severe lines of Harrion Karstark’s face and he pressed a fond kiss to the top of Wylla’s head, and brushed a familiar hand over her own hair. It was paternal, affectionate in the familial way, not familiar that made her ache, that made her want to throw herself into his arms to sob as she would with Harwin when she was small and then the doors to Helaena’s room opened and Wylla ushered her inside.

“Whatever is the matter?” Helaena asked, already dressed in her nightgown, The fire was a warm and welcoming blaze in the grate. Wylla made a soft hissing sound at the maid putting away Helaena’s gown from earlier, sending her from the room. Abby gulped down the lump in her throat, and gaped at Helaena like a fool. Her vision had gone hot and blurry, her mouth trembling. She shook as if she was cold, but her cheeks were flaming and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. “Abby!” Helaena was alarmed now and she felt her sister’s hands on her arms and a great, wet hiccup tore from Abby’s throat.

“I-I was cruel to him,” she gasped, clutching at Helaena’s sleeves. “I was cruel and I-I shouldn’t have been, but yo-your mother was furious with me a-and…” Gods help her, Abby could barely breathe as the words came rushing out over heaving hiccups. She felt Wylla’s hands at the back of her gown undoing the spiral lacing while Helaena’s fingers tugged at the laces of her sleeves.

She’d lashed out and was ashamed of it, but then, “He was flirting with that bitch, and dared to be angry w-with me about Ser Edmund and… and I miss my brother.” Abby sobbed, hysterics settled in, and she was a doll in the hands of her friends as they got her out of her gown. Helaena reached for the soft blanket from the settee to wrap around her. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what she wanted, but Abby realised she didn’t know what she wanted. So unused to being like this, Abby felt adrift like a leaf in the fountain and no adorable little frog to perch on her and make her laugh.

“Abby,” Helaena whispered and led her to the great bed, Wylla coming to help her up. She felt utterly useless with herself. All she could do was sob like a broken pail streaming water everywhere. Useless and silly and utterly shattered inside.

“I want them back,” Abby wailed, and pressed her face into Helaena’s chest. The comfort she so often gave to others, she sought for herself without even asking.

How selfish and unbecoming.

Her fingers clawed into Helaena’s gown like she could find proper purchase until she finally got her arms around the princess’ waist. She tried to speak again and apologise and explain herself more clearly but words were wind, and all Abby could do was cry and beg for someone to get her papa, her athair, as she called him, and her brother.

It should not be her. It should not be her entertaining the river lords and brokering peace, a pawn, a spy. It should be Harwin taking the seat at Harrenhal, Princess Rhaenyra and their boys at his side.

It should be her athair sitting at the high table next to King Viserys, not the cold, stoic judgement of her Uncle Otto and his cruel words.

The world made sense when they were alive. The world was a safe, warm place, even after the loss of her mother.

‘I want Aegon,’ came the traitorous thought. ‘I want Aegon the way he was before he turned so cruel so quickly. I want the boy he used to be, not the man he is becoming. I want the Aegon who kissed me by the lake.’

Helaena was calling for the maids to draw a bath while Wylla held her this time. She thought of the Sept and weeks of silence, of barely eating, of the frantic and terrible fear that fire would consume them all. She thought of Aegon coming to sit with her as she cuddled Theraxis in her arms. How he wiped her tears and in awkward starts, he had managed to coax a tearful smile from her when recounting the tale of nearly decapitating a training dummy on his own, and how Harwin had taught him how to properly swing. When he showed off for Cole later, he’d been impressed.

Where had her Aegon disappeared to? Gone so far away, and how foolish it was of her to believe that the way he hid himself would not eventually come to bite her.

“Were my dear brother here, he’d bloody well geld him and give me his balls on a platter for treating me so,” Abby said scathingly before she could even think. Wylla looked startled at the violent admission that escaped her before bursting into peals of shaking laughter.

“Where did that come from?” she half accused, half demanded breathlessly, and between her sobs, Abby choked out her own laughter. Helaena joined in the mirth with a shake of her head and began dabbing at her tears with a tender touch normally reserved for her most delicate of creatures. The handkerchief was soft, adorned with little blue and gold beetles.

“I don’t know,” she said as the maids came in with the copper tub lined with linen and buckets of steaming water. Another maid brough the delicate wooden box of bath oils and salts.

Abby let Helaena and Wylla poke and prod through the vials and jars, picking out sweet and calming scents to pour into the water. They only asked her minimal questions, if she favoured something sweet or floral but little else and Abby was grateful for the reprieve. It was a rather novel feeling to let her decisions stop. She didn’t have to think or plan or organise. Helaena and Wylla handled it rather easily, wrapping her long hair up with Helaena’s carved dragon pins and guiding her into the tub. The water seeped into the cold that constantly permeated her bones and her thoughts drifted to the feel of Aegon’s arms around her as they had been in her bed. The warmth of him too had chased away the persistent cold.

She sighed, letting herself sink into the water, and let their voices wash over her.

[Chapter Ten]

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP!

I won’t even beat around the bush. This is a Jimin Fishing ask inspired by this lovely Twitter thread:

https://twitter.com/pjmngallery/status/1671537322075082753?s=46&t=0p2xrEO4ePcaUttUPmcMmA

So BPP, please do us the honour and drop your Jimin is so sexy pictures 😋

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Hi Anon,

Your link.

I appreciate you being upfront about this being a fishing ask. But rather than post pictures as I usually do, I'd rather fill you all in on what I've been doing recently.

I've been watching fancams...

Jikook and rapline member fancams, specifically. Because, before anything else, I'm a fan (ARMY), and I need my fix of their god-tier performances on a regular basis. Coincidentally, I was going through my playlist of Jimin fancams before deciding to open up my Tumblr on a whim to answer a random ask, and yours seems most appropriate for what I was just doing.

So without further ado,

Jimin:

ON era Jimin is so fucking underrated. Timestamps of note: 1:10 - 1:38 (for peak Jimin energy), 2:43 (for Namjoon's walk), 2:43 - 4:02 (for jikook and Jimtonin concentrate).

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I'm still gagged. The passion? The abs? The fact this man was singing live while maintaining that energy? The immaculate synchronization with the background dancers? The masterclass in charm and fan engagement he showed? The fanchants???? First of Park Jimin then BTS? Y'all, I'm gagged still, months later. Park Jimin did that shit with Set Me Free Pt 2. I'm looking forward to the rest of his music this year and next.

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Also, streaming his MVs are good and all, but his music show live performances shouldn't be neglected either. First of all, they're very good performances. It's clear Jimin put a lot of work into them and the quality shows. Second of all, the streaming filters on music show channels are less than on HYBE channels on youtube, for whatever reason. Just FYI.

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One of the first times I saw him perform live. And no offense to everyone else, but the difference in skill he showed here, in a song that wasn't even his, compared to everybody on that stage.... I had to pay attention.

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Pardon my language but he's a beast, a serpent, if Lucifer had a love affair with blonde hair dye and tight skinny jeans, he'd be Jimin in this Gayo performance. Wholly demonic and entirely cherubic at the same time. There isn't a single idol in existence who has his energy.

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Nobody is immune from Kitty Gang Jimin and I'm no different.

(In 2026 I want him in blood red dreads beaded in cowries, his back tats fully on display, and a military scar running up his left arm.... but I'd be alright with his angelic visuals and persona kept intact and that highlighted instead :))

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Anybody who says they don't know why BTS is on top is lying. BTS has Jimin. Enough said.

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In this one performance, you see at least 8 sides of his personality. He's incredibly aware, expressive, and empathetic.

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Endeared.

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Endeared Pt 2.

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Anyway, I miss them. Jungkook will be dropping new music soon, but I also really want something new from Jimin and Namjoon, so I hope we get that too before the end of the year.. maybe just before Tae's release or right after. I need it.

If you've read and watched the fancams to get to this point, here's a few random Jimin pics from my gallery just because...

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[muldxr]

@pscentral event 22: 2023 wrapped ↳ 12 films i watched this year

image description below the cut:

The main header is a gif banner. It has a black background with white ashes falling like snow. Extra bolded text reads "2023", with a light blue-grey gradient. Across its middle is a black banner cutout with a smaller, white, all-caps font reading "Wrapped".

Then, 12 main GIFs are divided into 4 groups of 3 rows/images. Each row is a clip from a movie. They all have light contrast and a de-saturated filter. Above each clip is a white banner background and black font naming the title of the movie clip.

First GIF: Emphasized blue and grey tones. 1. Spirited Away - Sen is riding Haku in dragon form away from the camera into the sky. There are big, soft, blue clouds, and a moon shines on the right hand side. 2. Us - The doppelganger family stand in a line outside on the Wilsons' driveway. Green pine trees surround them. A streetlight is behind them, shrouding them in darkness. Red claps, and the other three doppelgangers begin to move. 3. The X-Files: Fight the Future - A body is on a table with a sheet covering it. Scully is on the left hand side of the screen, looking at Mulder who is standing on the right hand side of the screen. Soft light comes in from the frosted window behind Mulder. Both of them are wearing black suit jackets.

Second GIF: All gifs are much paler, near grey. 4. Westworld - A white coat moves right to unveil the cowboy android, wearing a black hat and lying on a table (table not visible). The android's face is removed by a lab technician to show wires and computer chips inside. 5. Arsenic and Old Lace - The camera follows Martha Brewster as she places a large, elaborate wine decanter on the table. The liquid inside swirls around. (This is a B&W gif.) 6. Dial M for Murder - A medium rolling shot of Margot on the phone, in a dimly lit apartment. She has blonde hair and is wearing a nightdress.

Third GIF: Stronger tones of blue and red. 7. That Thing You Do! - The Wonders are waiting in the stage left wings for their performance. They are in red suits reminiscent of the 1960s, and the curtains around the stage are blue. Their manager, Mr. White, is talking to them. 8. Final Destination 3 - A wide shot of the roller coaster stuck at the top of the loop-de-loop. There are two people hanging from their seats. To the left is more of the coaster structure. 9. Miracle - A USA Olympic Hockey player (Johnson, #10) looks up at the clock as he skates across the ice with great effort. His uniform is white with red and blue accents. The scene cuts to the clock and the scoreboard, showing 1:01, then 1:00. The score is USA 4, URS 3.

Fourth GIF: A mix of desaturated hues. Most notable is the pink in the Barbie gif and some blue in the Rent gif. 10. Catfight - There are many people in an art gallery, looking on as Veronica angrily tears a large portrait from the wall. Veronica then runs away screaming, carrying the painting with her. 11. Barbie - In an outdoor cafeteria, Barbie looks at a group of girls and says, "I'm Barbie!" while throwing her arms out jazz-hands style. She is wearing a hot pink western outfit and a white hat. 12. Rent - A dark scene shows Mark on his bike, traveling through a wide alley. The camera pans to a pole with several 'eviction notice' papers on it. Other strangers linger in the background.

[hebuiltfive]

Tabloid Trash!

The Forgotten Fifth: Who is John Glenn Tracy?

In another attempt to use the Tracy name as clickbait, a celebrity editor at the Daily Celebs! tabloid magazine speaks to an old friend of John's about who the often forgotten fifth brother truly is. John isn't impressed, but he's more concerned about how the tabloid found out about another, smaller detail.

AO3 link here (I coded this so it should look like a news article. Hopefully it works and isn't glitchy!)

Previous TT works: Aliens!

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by Madeleine Buchanan, Celebrity Editor

Like the Kardashians of old, the Tracys are the world’s most intriguing family. Whether we’re wondering what they’re wearing to their latest red carpet appearance, or whether we’re glued to our screens as we watch them head off on their next daring rescue with their philanthropic organisation, International Rescue, the Tracy family are firmly in our minds almost twenty-four seven.

The family (and their extended close circle) are never not working. This year alone has seen Virgil Tracy attend almost fifteen art gallery openings, Gordon Tracy visiting almost seven marine conservation centres, Scott Tracy organising no less than ten charity functions on behalf of the family’s two organisations and Alan Tracy beginning his college degree adventure. Add in all the work the family does under International Rescue and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of room left in the schedules for down-time.

Yet they somehow manage it.

Oft-forgotten brother, John Tracy, made the news this week with the publication of his new book, Times Trails Tells. It is his fifth book in as many years (find our review of the scientific breakthrough here).

Die-hard Tracy fans might recognise the name, but normies are probably wondering who John Tracy is and why his name isn’t as known as the rest of his brothers.

In fact, Daily Celebs! recently conducted a poll on the general public’s knowledge of the Tracy family as a whole. From hobbies to skills, names to numbers, our reporters asked one hundred people on Hollywood Boulevard what they knew about the elusively in-demand family. You can see a more detailed report on that here, but staggeringly, it showed that almost sixty per cent of those interviewed got one of the more simpler of questions completely wrong.

How many sons did Jeff Tracy have?

The answer, of course, is five (bonus points for those readers who can name them in order), but sixty people interviews claimed it was four.

So, why is this the case? Who is the elusive fifth brother that everyone seems to forget?

If we start at the beginning, we can paint a better picture of who this man is. Born John Glenn Tracy, he is the third son of Jefferson Tracy and his late with Lucille. Like his brothers both before and after him, John was born in Kansas and spent most, if not all, of his childhood in the state. He excelled at school and, for a while at least, was surprisingly popular with his peers. Rumours of troubles with bullies begin in the years after his eldest brother left to attend a separate High School in the area, though these reports could not be confirmed at the time of writing.

John graduated from Harvard University and has since gone on to receive multiple degrees in various subjects including, but not limited to, Advanced Telecommunications and Astronomy. Most of his published works are continuations of his previous research studies.

When it comes to International Rescue, John is one of the team’s most valuable members. Known to the world as The Guy In The Sky, John is the Tracy who filters, listens and responds to all the incoming emergency calls. If you’ve asked International Rescue for help, you were most likely talking to John Tracy.

Yet he’s the brother who is most often forgotten about. Is is because he spends so much time up in space? A former peer from John’s college days suggests that it might be.

“John was always such a party-pooper at college. He was never interested in doing anything fun. He always had his nose stuck in a book. No matter how hard we tried, the guy was never interested in any of the parties or any of the girls. Total waste of space, if you ask me. What is college if not an excuse to get absolutely wrecked? Basically, what I’m trying to say is, it’s no surprise to me that John’s the guy who’s based in space. Honestly? Best place for the loser.”

Clarence Hickory, a computer programmer for the Hickory Foundation, agreed to speak with Daily Celebs! about his former friendship with John Tracy. (At the time of writing, Tracy Industries have yet to respond to a request for a comment.)

“We met on orientation day. It was a chilly fall day. I remember it well. John stuck out like a sore thumb. You could tell he hated it. Everyone crowded round him when they saw his dad and his brother at his side. Everyone wanted a piece of him.”

Was Clarence one of these people?

“God, no! I knew to let the guy have some space. If I’m being honest, my father saw John’s as a kind of rival at the time. Both the Hickory Foundation and Tracy Industries were thinking of branching out into the same sector. Neither did in the end. My father ended up becoming good friends with Jeff Tracy.”

And you became friends with John?

“Wouldn’t exactly call us friends. We were more… colleagues. We shared a dorm along with a couple of other guys, but we didn’t get along. John didn’t fit the vibe of ‘typical college student’. He wasn’t popular with many students.”

He didn’t have friends?

“He did, just not many and our friendship circles certainly didn’t cross.”

But you studied in the same classes?

“Yeah. For Advanced Telecommunications. Bullshit lectures, let me tell you that, but it did give me a job, so I can’t complain.”

Your father gave you a position in his company, you mean?

“I like to think of my appointment as a reward for all my hard-work, rather than it being complete nepotism, Maddy.”

So, back to John. Have you seen much of him since leaving Harvard?

“I see him occasionally at conventions and conferences. He’s never interested in the talking or the mingling. I think I’ve spoken more with his brothers than John himself. I don’t think he’s changed all that much since college. In these situations, though, I can hardly blame him. I remember how terrified he looked on that orientation day, when the crowds swarmed him just because of his family name. I can’t imagine those events are much different. No wonder he doesn’t do them often.”

Our readers are going to want to know your opinion on why you think John Tracy isn’t often seen around, why he could be considered the forgotten fifth Tracy brother, but I think you’ve practically answered that.

“John is a recluse. I don’t know if he does it on purpose or whether it truly is just him, you know? But he’s definitely not an outgoing person. Never has been. Probably never will be.”

Were you surprised by the revelation of his involvement with International Rescue?

“One thing to know about the Tracys is they are probably some of the most sickeningly do-gooders the world has ever seen. Do you know how much is costs to be in their shadow as a business? A lot, okay? Did it surprise me? A little, maybe. We all had our suspicions around who IR were. Everyone did. All of us thought it was the Tracys. It doesn’t surprise me that John was involved in that, no. Not even as the comms guy.” 

You described him as a recluse.

“John is a recluse, yes. He’s also a bloody enigma. There’s a reason no-one knows a lot about him, Maddy. He likes it that way. Hell, I bet half the people in his life don’t have the full story, with the exception of his brothers probably. Maybe. Who knows!”

But why would a recluse, as you put it, be the one who answers the calls?

“I think the better question isn’t why put the recluse on the calls, but rather about the work that they do. International Rescue are, annoyingly, a phenomenal organisation who do incredibly heroic and important work. Listen, I can sit here and talk to you about John all day. I’ve probably got plenty of anecdotes that could earn me a fortune, but I’m not going to share them. John and I… we didn’t get on but he’s a good man. If he doesn’t want the world to know more about him, I say respect that, Maddy, and leave him be.”

John attended three bookstores and his old university on a short tour for the launching of his new book. So far this year, that has been the entirety of his public engagements. Suspicious or, as Clarence suggested, private?

The Enigmatic Tracy will be in attendance at this year’s annual Tracy Christmas Ball, hosted by Tracy Industries LTD. Find out more here and check out previous year’s red carpet appearances here.

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John reclined back in his seat and switched the projector off. The glasses he’d been using to deflect some of the harshness of the screen were yanked off his face, and fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose as he repressed a sigh.

Time and time and time again did glossy magazine reporters (if they could even be called such a title) tried to ‘unpick’ him. Like this, most of the time it was nonsense news, though John was surprised they’d managed to track down someone who would actually speak to them about him. Normally it was all words and suspicions with no credible source to back it up. In fact, John would have been impressed if he wasn’t so exhausted by it all.

An enigma. The Enigmatic Tracy. Was that to be his new title? He’d lost count of all the others he’d been given over the years, not to mention the ones his brothers had been assigned.

He hadn’t meant to read the article. Most of the time, John actually prided himself on being able to skim past tabloid news stories about him or his family. Nothing good ever came from taking a read. In his opinion, one article like this was usually the equivalent to searching one’s name and then doom-scrolling through the feeds for hours on end, but he was in need of a break from all those numbers, and the words seemed unusually inviting to him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been down here since breakfast, Johnny.”

Scott’s voice echoed from the glass doorway behind him. His usually immaculately styled hair was floppy and damp, suggesting he’d just come from a quick dip in the pool. John’s eyes skimmed the patio to find Gordon and Virgil still in the water, evidence enough to conclude his assumption had been correct.

He took out his ear-pods, still blasting his choice of music for concentration, and laid them on the table beside his empty mug. The sorry sight of the ceramic had him craving more coffee.

Whether it was brotherly intuition or the gleam in John’s eye, Scott took a few strides forward to confiscate the mug before the idea of a refill properly went through his mind.

“Absolutely not! You’re going to crash hard if you have any more of this.” His eldest brother chastised, breathing in once and then grimacing. “Jesus, John, how many cups have you had? You smell worse than Virgil’s studio after a long night of ‘creative pursuits’.”

Very much not impressed by the comparison — excuse him, he was not as bad as Virgil, thank you very much — John swatted Scott’s arm before trying, and failing, to reach for the mug.

“Scott…”

“No more coffee. It’s—”

“Unimportant.” John finished for him, disallowing his brother to finish that train of thought.

“I wouldn’t call twenty mugs of coffee—”

“It wasn’t twenty—”

“— unimportant, Johnny.”

“The tabloids know I’ll be at the Annual Tracy Christmas Ball this year.”

John’s bombshell had Scott take a pause.

“They… shouldn’t know. The guest list hasn’t been released yet. It’s only… what? October?” His blue eyes cast an unweary glance toward the holo-projector and then toward John. “How do you know the tabloids know?”

There was another brief pause before both brothers were scrambling for the holo-projector. The sight would have been amusing if Virgil or Gordon were paying attention to the riot that was happening indoors. Thankfully for the two battling it out for temporary custodianship of the projector, neither seemed to notice. 

Scott won with ease and flicked the screen back on to reveal the article John had foolishly not completely disregarded before switching the projector off.

“John…”

“It wasn’t a bad one, Scott, I swear.”

“What have we said about reading these things? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be running the numbers for whatever it was Brains wanted you to check for him? Not exactly a productive use of your time, Johnny.”

“One, stop with the Johnny, Scooter. Two, I needed a break. Yes, even geniuses like us need breaks. And three… Are we going to pretend EOS didn’t catch you reading up on some article concerning your alleged morning Get Ready routine?”

Scott lifted a finger. “Hey, that was important! They got the hair preparation steps all wrong! I don’t want the world to think I use some crappy conditioner!”

John tried to stifle his laugh. “Yes, because correcting them was the most productive use of your time.”

His eldest brother ignored him. He sighed, scanning the article quickly and then shook his head. “I’ll check with Saf tomorrow morning, see if they know who leaked something. Of course, the journo could just be… postulating.”

He couldn’t help the raised brow. “Postulating?”

Scott nodded. “Mm-hm. Postulating.”

“That’s a big word for you, Scooter.”

The comment earned John a gentle whack of his arm, but it was worth it. 

“If I can’t call you Johnny, you can’t call me Scooter.”

“I thought you liked Scooter.”

Again, Scott ignored him. “Are you going to come out and join us for a while?” He asked as he returned the projector to the table. When John reached for the mug, he held it out of reach. “No. More. Coffee.”

“If I come out and risk burning to a crisp in this stifling hot sun, will you let me have another cup?”

“It’s late October, John. It’s not stifling hot anymore.”

“Will you?”

“Absolutely not.” Scott began to trail off outside, with the cup still in his grasp, calling back to his brother as he left. “There is this thing called sunscreen, Johnny. If you’re so worried, use it.”

[thisismycorneroftheinternet]

Carla - Drawing taken from my comic

Have I gone overboard with the nostalgia filter for the picture? Perhaps. Or not. It looks like some of my pictures as a little kid. Speaking of looking like anything, Carla's dress is inspired by this dress I had at her age, which was a Minnie Mouse stamped red dress with the white chest. It was a really nice dress, cotton as well.

drawn in GIMP, Carla is my OC from my comic series Guardian and Warriors. If you're seeking commissions from me, here's my page. Also, support me on Ko-fi here! Lastly, check out my Neocities website and my deviantArt gallery to see more of my work.