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deathbxnny · 6 months ago

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Woooo, congrats on 1k followers, sure has been a ride, huh?

Now, with requests back open, it's time time for the sequel to my Arle request!

Okay so, like I said in that ask I sent a while ago, this one takes place in the same "continuity" as the angsty af Arle request you did last req period. This one takes place some time after that story, and is less angsty in this case (but there's definitely still some here).

Here, similarily to the last request, the "Mother" of the House is staying in... let's say Fontaine, tending to one of the injured children (could be some rando kid, or maybe it's one of the Fontaine trio) after a mission. Unlike last time though, it's looking as though the child will pull through, that "Mother" won't have to bury another of her kids!

Bad news tho, the people responsible for the child's injuries are coming around to finish what they started. Arle, who's handling business elsewhere, catches wind of this and makes haste to help her wife.

Little did those who came to finish the child realize what danger they're in. Because you see, fem!reader is a former child of the House of Hearth. Not just that, she's the wife of a Harbinger. Normally she doesn't engage in violence, but these people Hage intentions of ending her child's life, and she simply cannot let that slide.

And so, Arle arrives just in time to bare witness to her s/o going absolutely John Wick (does she kill anyone with a pencil? That's up to you 🤭) on the bandits who dared to cross her not once, but twice.

(Part one) (Part three) (Part four) (Part five)

Ohoho.... I absolutely love this, dear Anon, and I'm hoping you'll love my spin on this as well!! Although I have to admit that I gave it a bit of a mellow end, instead of the "John Wick" type of ending, mainly because I found it more fitting with what I was going for... but anyhow, thank you so much for this request, I was definitely looking forward to it, hehe!!<33

Content: Some gore, Near character death, mentions of near fatal injuries/wounds, blood, mentions of grief/child loss, Reader snapping, violence, assassination attempts, Reader is referred to as "Mother", heavy angst, hurt/comfort, kind of a good ending for once?, stitches

Reader uses she/her pronouns here!!

((Not proofread))

The last one standing had crimson palms. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

"I... I wish to..." "Shh... not another word, child... don't you dare say it." Your hands were stained red once more, pressing down on another gashing, deep wound, sweat running down your forehead as everyone around you attempted to stop the bleeding. You didn't want him to see what had become of him, one hand resting over his teary eyes to stop your heart from shattering any further. You wished she was here, your dearest wife, who had to choose this week of all the others to leave the country for a short business trip.

And today was supposed to be a good day. One filled with the laughter of children and the smell of grilled sausages and steaks coming from the garden. You were trying to have a little festival together to celebrate the start of warmer months. But the atmosphere had now become suffocating with the smell of sharp iron and sweat instead, the gentle warmth now scorching hot, exhausting, and grinding you down to the bone. However, you couldn't let go of him now. You couldn't let him die. You refused to give up on him, especially. You refused to let him become another buried angel.

His hand pressed against yours weakly, his breaths deep, pathetic gasps for air, as he tried telling you something important through broken cries. "Mother... Mother, please, you have to listen to me." He coughed out, blood staining his lips, as his other hand reached out blindly to grasp onto the fabric of your once white sundress. You furrowed your brows against the darkness of the room, light only filtering in through the moon outside and the shaky hands of Lynette trying to keep a lantern steady so her twin could keep patching his younger brother up.

"What is it, Freminet?" You indulged him, trying to keep him awake at all costs. His voice was hoarse, raspy, once silky blonde hair now sticking to his forehead as he gulped dryly to collect his thoughts.

"They are coming for us, mother... and you are next."

Lyney gave you a look, one filled with an undefined emotion he only ever had when it came to your protection. If you didn't know better, you would've been terrified at how similar he was becoming to his father. "Those assassins we encountered during our mission, Mother... they weren't ordinary ones, to say the least." He muttered to you, his mind replaying the moment one of them struck his brother, who was just trying to protect them out of pure instinct. He was brave, despite the shyness he often portrayed.

"How so?" You wiped away the sweat on your forehead, nose wrinkling when another member of the house handed you a medkit before they disappeared into the shadows again. "They... knew us by name. Every single one of us. And then-" You waved over Lynette to stand in your place whilst her twin spoke, so you could unpack the needed supplies for the upcoming "operation" you had to conduct on your son. You've become a near professional over the years. Something else you didn't choose to do nor want to be.

"-They uttered your name. We... believe that they are trying to weaken Father. And you are that weakness they are seeking, Mother.-" "-They've come to finish the job. We... we need to evacuate everyone.. we need to hide her.-" Lynette hushed Freminet quickly, as she pressed some cloth into his mouth. With a glance downwards to his wound, she determined that it would definitely hurt horribly to stitch him up... but he'd live. For the first time in weeks, someone would live. She closed her eyes to hide those tears that threatened to spill in relief.

You stared at the three of them for a moment before you simply proceeded with placing the first few stitches into the boy's wound wordlessly. He writhed in pain, his fingernails digging into the mattress below whilst his screams and cries were muffled by the cloth. Lyney and Lynette were trying to hold him down, their bodies wincing involuntarily at every sharp breath or movement from their brother. Your expression was meanwhile unreadable, hands moving automatically until you cut the string and were done with your little procedure. It's as if your mind completely fazed out, only driven by the need to fix and protect, keep everyone alive no matter what.

"Lyney." The young man hesitantly met your gaze, his body shaking when his brother fell limply into the bed again, his breathing heavy and uneven. "Evacuate everyone into the upper floors and then come back to watch over Freminet." You said, quick to wipe your hands with a nearby towel nearly coldly, but Lyney knew that look in your eyes. You were sick of it and would take it all into your own hands if your wife couldn't. "Mother, you can't just-" "-Lynette, use the backdoor and let this bird free." You tapped the golden cage on the nightstand with your fingers, the little sparrow chirping curiously. It was a messenger bird, one specifically designed to catch your wife's attention and bring her home instantly when things got out of control.

But you weren't using it for it's purpose tonight. No, everything was completely under control here... you just needed her to come back home to stop you once you're done.

"Mother-" A sharp look made him quickly reconsider what he was about to say, a hand pressing against his chest whilst he bowed. "... we're on it." Lyney muttered, signaling Lynette to love with him, which she did after grabbing the bird cage. Their paths split at the stairs, the girl practically descending them two steps at a time, which got the attention of their fellow bretheren immideatly. "Everyone! Get into the attic or your rooms at once! Mother's orders, so get moving! Barricade your doors and don't open them up to anyone! This is an absolute emergency!" Everyone jumped when they heard the usually playful magicians voice bark out orders harshly, automatically getting the job done as everyone filed up the stairs to do as he said.

Lyney pushed through the crowd to continue looking for stray children who may not have heard him. His heart was racing against his ribcage, sweat dripping off his forehead he could only barely wipe off with a handkerchief he accidentally dropped when someone bumped into him. But your orders were clear in his mind and kept him steady. He knew that he and most, if not all, other kids of the house could take care of themselves just fine... but this was something beyond their means. Something usually only Father got to handle.

By the time he finally got back to his brothers room, you had left it behind, nowhere to be found, and yet the injured boy had a simple blanket covering his shivering form now, dressed in clean clothes and resting on perfectly white bedsheets. Lyney waited by the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly, as he listened to his sisters familiar steps running towards him. He let her in, eyes glancing around the dim hallway one more time before he tipped his hat down and shut the wooden entrance again.

The only sound heard for a moment after was the chirping of a bird in the dead of night until deafening silence filtered in once more.

---

The house of Hearth was never still and unmoving, not even in the darkest parts of the day. The late hours were the busiest, filled with agents and children alike walking in and out of it's doors under the cover of shadows to complete their given tasks and missions. The iron, bloody scent left behind by their previous endeavors, their hushed words to eachother as they passed by, the movement of paper being hidden under floorboards, some given to you with proud looks for approval, as you stayed up with them until the first rays of the sun danced in your eyes... it was never calm, never quiet. Yet the intruders didn't question it. They didn't even think twice to enter the house, the open birdcage. They mistook the silence and stillness for safety.

The first assasin stepped in through the picked lock of a backdoor entrance, his cautious eyes trying to catch any looming danger that may cause them trouble. Yet with nothing in sight, he waved over the rest of his three little friends right into your humble home. "Okay, you know the plan... kill as many of those little rats as you can." "And what about the Mother?" One of them asked, his hair clumsily hidden under a makeshift hood, a dirty grin on his lips in anticipation.

"Can I get rid of her? It won't be much of a struggle, I'm sure. She's just a measly housewife anyway." "Heard she's a pretty thing, though." A round of chuckles filled the kitchen before the first shrugged. "Do what you want. We just have to be done by dawn... let's split up in two groups, then. Just in case." The men agreed, one group making their way upwards, whilst the other searched the ground floors.

The darkness was inviting, the silence emitting a false sense of safety that made the intruders let their guards down, unaware of your form slinking after them. You were calm and collected, eyes dull, the dim moonlight not catching in them anymore. A mother's rage was a dangerous, unpredictable one. Filled with the need to make those who hurt her children suffer, she'd advance even through the most perilous paths for the sake of glory, revenge.

Unbeknownst to anyone, you had put two and two together a long time ago. These intruders, who belonged to a foreign enemy faction, were the cause of many of your children's deaths. They were the reason as to why you had to hear them cry out that odd wish so often. They had dared to enter your territory tonight to take away the rest of the family you had worked so hard for to have. You worked so hard to be a good mother. You bled, you cried, you slaughtered your way here. You became a "mother" one could be proud of. And on this fateful night, you'd prove your worth and pride to even Celestia above you with their screams that will reach far and wide. Your hand gripped a silver dagger, one originally gifted to you by your wife, as you blew out a lantern in one of the hallways, plunging everyone into further darkness that was far from warm.

It was ice cold.

---

"Wait outside." Arlecchino gave the Fatui agents a sharp, warning look, her clawed fingers tight around the Scythe as she entered the still, quiet building she called home. Her eyes glanced around carefully, noting immideatly that the danger that lurked in the dark was familiar. The bird on her shoulder chirped, reminding her of why she had come here in the first place. The meeting she had was cut short by it flying through the window, the call for help loud and clear. She had simply walked out then, her priority always having been you and the house, although it still made her wonder why exactly everything seemed so... unusually silent. Did Lyney and the other children deal with the threat already? If so... where were you?

Her keen ears picked up movement in the living room nearby, which made her calmly make her way over to it's entrance. With a raise of a brow, she stopped when she stepped into a puddle of blood. It seems like her suspicions were partially correct... althkugh who it was that took care of the intruders certainly came as a surprise.

"... You came." Your voice made the tension in her shoulders cease, eyes flickering to your form seated infront of the fireplace. The orange light cascaded across the dark room, the four mangled bodies laying at the bottom of your favorite lavish loveseat being a testament to your victory, and yet you remained still as a statue, back turned to her to observe the flames instead.

"You called." Arlecchino replied after taking in the situation, the sound of her heeled shoe echoing off the walls, as she approached you carefully. Her clawed hand grabbed onto your shoulder, head tilting to look at the side of your head. Your eyes were cold, not even the scorching warmth of the fire melting them. You were unreadable, hands bloody, and yet still so tightly gripping onto the dagger like your life depended on it. And despite that, you were still breathtaking to the woman.

"Are... you alright, my dove?" She asked, a genuine tone in her voice that was only ever reserved for you. The tears in your eyes burned when you finally looked up at her with a pained expression. You weren't like her. You couldn't just kill and be as proud as you hoped to be. You raised your hands towards her, bloody palms raised towards the gods the way they often were when you pleaded for help and forgiveness for the death of your children. You didn't need to say anything anymore, as she pressed a hand to your cheek with an acknowledging nod.

She wasn't good at comfort, nor did she ever try to be. A father didn't comfort his children in her eyes. No, a father simply led them to glory, and that's it. But that didn't mean that she was a bad wife, too. She sat down next to you, uncaring of the bloody mess that surrounded you, when she pulled you close to press your foreheads together. It was a way to silently show her support. She was there for you and understood you.

"I was scared... they hurt Freminet, and I couldn't fathom losing the rest-" "-I know. Thank you for your bravery, my dove. I'll take it from here." Her words were curt and short, and most would perhaps chalk it up to indifference. But when she held you close like this, gently rubbed your back and promised to take care of you only she knew how to, you found yourself being lulled back into the familiar comfort you were so used to. You knew that despite everything that happened, however, she could still not promise that this would never happen again. Your hands will always be stained crimson for as long as you were a Mother. There was no going back. There was no leaving the house.

But... you both were stuck in it together forever, weren't you?

Alrightttt... this took a while to finish, mainly due to work and me being sick again. But yeah, thank you again for the request, Anon, and I hope you liked this!!<33

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #arlechinno genshin #genshin

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radiant-reid · 1 year ago

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Hey Cate, I love your writing and love the way you portray Spencer and I would love if you could write a blurb where it's father's day and Spencer is with reader and their twin daughters(#girldadspencer) and it's just fluff with him and their family anyway feel free to just ignore me

thank you <3 dad!spence is my favorite to write, and girl twins!! say less

The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. It was Father's Day, a day of celebration and appreciation, and as always, you had plans to make Spencer feel as treasured as he deserves to feel.

Spencer stirs in his sleep, blinking his eyes open to find you're not next to him. Like the majority of the mornings in the last eight years, he hears your voice first. "Okay, be really quiet." You instruct your twin daughters, whose feet pitter-patter on the hardwood as they walk closer to his side of the bed.

They watch him eagerly, and their eyes dance with excitement when his eyes open.

"Good morning, Daddy," Payton says, her voice filled with anticipation.

Spencer sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and smiles at the sight before him. "Good morning, angels. What's all this?"

With matching grins, they climb onto the bed next to him and present him with handmade cards.

Their little hands had carefully crafted heartfelt messages of love and appreciation, and you had adored watching them talk about how much they loved their dad.

Spencer's heart swells with joy as he eagerly takes the cards in his hands, studying the colorful drawings and heartfelt words.

For the best dad in the world, one card reads, adorned with stick-figure drawings of your family.

Daddy, you're our superhero, the other card declares, complete with a stick-figure drawing of Spencer wearing a cape.

Tears threaten to escape Spencer's eyes as he looks at his daughters, overwhelmed by the love they've expressed for him. "Thank you, my sweet babies. These are beautiful, you're both such talented artists."

You place a tender hand on Spencer's shoulder as you sit in bed next to him, your smile filled with adoration watching him interact with them. "You're an amazing father, Spencer. You've guided our girls with kindness, patience, and so much love. We wanted to make this day special for you."

Spencer can't have asked for a more loving and supportive family, it's everything he ever wanted. With his daughters perching on either side of him, he embraces the moment, cherishing the love that surrounded him.

As the morning unfolded, you all gathered in the kitchen, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast filling the air. The girls, eager to help, don miniature aprons, their tiny hands assisting you in preparing a special Father's Day feast.

Spencer sits at the kitchen island, watching the beautiful chaos unfold before him. He marvels at the way you effortlessly multitask, balancing cooking and laughter, while the girls enthusiastically pour ingredients into bowls, their giggles echoing through the room.

"You two are doing so well helping Mommy." Spencer praises, his eyes filled with pride. "I'm lucky to have such talented chefs in my life."

The twins beam with delight, reveling in their father's words of encouragement. Together, you cook a delicious Father's Day meal.

As you sit down to eat at the table adorned with their handmade cards and a bouquet of flowers, Spencer looks around at his family. In moments like that, he's always reminded that he has everything he wants.

"I'm truly grateful for all of you," Spencer says, his voice filled with emotion. "Being a father is the greatest gift I've ever received. You bring so much love, light, and happiness into my life."

"And we're grateful for you, Spencer." You reply. "We're lucky to have you."

Your daughters echoed your sentiments, their innocent voices chiming in unison. "We love you, Daddy!"

As you continued to eat breakfast together, laughter and conversation fill the air. Being your husband and a dad, Spencer feels a profound sense of gratitude for having such a beautiful family. And he feels ever luckier that he gets to have those two important roles for the rest of his life.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb

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sgiandubh · 8 months ago

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Sketch for a possible aftermath

Did you ever ask yourselves how would that almost fabled Day After look, as in the day after a Reveal?

Yesterday should be a good indication.

Prudent celebration, but clear celebration here. And across the street, a stunned, heavy silence. It's only fair: shite has been eaten in colossal amounts, in Mordor, on a daily basis. S has been particularly maimed, in the process, the daily divertimento of women sniper commandos, their own sexual fantasy poorly disguised as snarl.

Two of the three sopranos remain silent and the Ur Troll still has to distance herself from the last Harlequin fanfic, featuring something that never was, on a distant shore she has no idea about. The one who immediately spoke, paid perfunctory tribute to her favorite, C, and that's about it. The other, speaking only today, answers Anons about Xena's teeth, Xena's filtered Instagram and Xena's bra: where is her vulgar courage, now? Oooh. Right. Lame, as usual and I have to say I am surprised. And their Investigator in Chief remains silent as we speak: her inflated ego blew a fuse, in the process and anger is always a lonesome territory.

The Spanish Evil Twin does not count. Her attempts at irony are tinged with her proverbial stupidity and, perhaps for the first time, with clear and present panic: she sounds drunk, just like my Anon. She is laughable.

So long for Reason. So long for Braincells. So long for all those painstaking, intricate webs of lies. Something snapped, in the Narrative and you all know it. And it happened not because all those bitter honchos at *** had a sudden Damascus like revelation, but because their complete lack of professional ethics, shamelessly lying to an entire fandom, backfired in the most horrible way they could have ever imagined.

Yesterday was a wonderful day.

Credits given to @themusicsweetly, for this wonderful gif that clearly shows just how much these two people hate each other.

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squatch-and-stretch · 21 days ago

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Reunion V1

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 829 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

A scrapped draft of Stanley and Stanford’s reunion with Fiddleford in the multiverse.

The first chapter of the actual fic available here!

“Ge’down!” a voice shouts, and the sound of a human other than him or his brother is so shocking that he can’t even try to recognize it.

It stuns him so badly that he doesn’t even register the command, not until Stanley is grabbing him by the back of the coat and pulling him down. On instinct, he rolls onto his back to face the threat, and his eyes land on the massive slithering beast just in time to see something— some sort of squat tube with loose wires and four sharp metal legs— latch onto it. It doesn’t flinch even as those legs dig in and hold on tight, its head twisting a full 180 degrees so its blind, gaping maw can shoot out towards them. Faintly, inexplicably, he hears a sharp series of beeps and then—

Stanley shouts out a curse, grabbing Ford by the shoulder and turning him back towards the cave floor, one arm thrown over the back of his head, hand covering his ear. Ford means to shake him off, but before he can—

BOOM.

Even with Stanley’s hand covering one ear and the other buried in his brother’s armpit— gross, he notes distantly— the sound is nearly deafening. Stanley pulls away with another series of curses, this time under his breath, too soft for Ford to catch.

“C’mon, this way, don’ wanna see what that did to the structure of that there cave!” the voice shouts, or, at least, they say something along those lines. It’s still hard to parse, both physically with his ringing ears and mentally with his mind racing with no known destination.

Stanley doesn’t seem to hear it at all, still kneeling on the cave floor. He lifts a hand to his ear and Ford watches as it comes away wet. As soon as Stanley himself seems to notice, he quickly wipes it on his jacket, letting the fluid blend into his stained burgundy jacket.

It’s up to Ford to grab him this time, pulling him to his feet and towards the entrance of the cave. There's a person— or person-shaped being, perhaps, Ford can’t take anything here for granted— silhouetted against the strange light of this unfamiliar dimension as it filters into the cave. They’re tall and wearing a long, tattered coat, and that’s all Ford can make out at this distance. As cautious as he is of the stranger, he can’t deny the logic of their words.

Once Stanley seems to get the point, he pulls away to stand on his own, wobbling slightly. He shakes his head and shoves his hand into his pocket, doubtlessly retrieving the pair of brass knuckles he has stored away there.

As they approach the stranger, a few more features come into relief; light brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, green-tinted goggles with one cracked lens, a scrap of brown cloth wrapped around their neck and brought up over their nose. The long coat, Ford realizes, is a tattered and stained lab coat.

With a jolt, Ford recognizes the hair color, the lanky build, the anxious hunch…

“Son of a gun,” the not-stranger groans, pulling his scarf down to reveal a familiar soft jawline and tight frown.

“Fiddleford,” Ford breathes, hardly believing his eyes. He wants to run up to his partner, pull him into a hug and celebrate the fact that he’s alive, it worked, Ford made it in time, but even Ford can read the way Fiddleford’s tense posture only tightens at the sight of him.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford says in response, “What in tarnation are you doin’ here? And who…”

Fiddleford’s eyes land on Stanley, brows furrowing for just a moment before his eyes widen.

“Stanley,” he concludes. “Hell of a way to mend bridges with your estranged twin brother.”

“I wouldn’t really say those bridges have been mended,” Ford mumbles, and surprisingly, Stanley doesn’t respond.

He hasn’t said anything, actually, in quite some time. He’s still staring at Fiddleford, posture defensive, eyes wary but distant, somehow. Some sort of cloudy liquid has gathered in the low notch of his ear, a few drops making their way down his jaw. As if noticing at the same time as Ford, Stan huffs and tilts his head, lifting a shoulder to wipe the liquid away. His breath hitches as if the movement pains him.

For all his staring, Stanley doesn’t seem to notice. He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again.

“Stanley?” Ford asks, completely distracted by his strange behavior. Stanley doesn’t respond, still watching Fiddleford warily.

“What do you want?” Stanley says, far more loudly than necessary, glaring at Fiddleford.

Fiddleford, for his part, just stares at Stanley in the same way he used to look over Ford’s less-than-legible notes and equations.

“Shoot,” Fiddleford mumbles, lifting a hand to his own ear. “Done ruptured his eardrum, I reckon.”

“I’m fine,” Stanley grumbles, moving to mirror the motion before just letting his arm drop.

#mystery trio through the multiverse au #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #stanley pines #mystery trio #gravity falls #silver scribe (writing tag)#this was written before i really had the context of where Fidds ended up figured out #and i thought it would be kinda fun and flirty if fidds made an attempt on ford’s life upon reuniting with him <3 #Fiddleford tackles him to the ground and holds a knife to his throat and threatens him and he’s lowkey like 😳…

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wisssp · 10 months ago

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you walk out of your dorm into the common room to see what the twins have stuck balloons to the ceiling, made you a full spread breakfast and have one rose lying around the table for each year you've blessed the world with your presence. they have shit eating grins on their faces, considering the fact that they know you don't like to be celebrated. they guide you to the seat at the head of the table where a place card read: 'birthday girl'. they sit down on either side of you and in the total wrong key, practically screech the happy birthday song at the top of their lungs until you're a giggling mess. the rest of your house filters in the room to wish you a scattered happy birthday when Fred leans down to your right ear.

"that's not the only gift we have..." his breath on your neck makes you warm as George closes in on your left ear.

"let's just say it's a good thing we know the muffliato charm with what we have in store for you."

and just like that, a ghost of chills flew down your spine and all it whispered was:

weasley.

#weasleys #george weasley #fred weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader

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slut4alicewu · 2 months ago

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Happy Birthday

~ alice wu gulliver x fem!oc (Astrid)

summary: alice and astrid celebrate their twins' birthday.

warnings: magical pregnancy (no men here), bad parentship and crappy writing.

note: i need to cure my broken heart 💔

The sun filtered through the trees, casting a warm golden light over the backyard, where laughter echoed and a sense of joy filled the air. Red and Pink balloons danced in the gentle breeze, and a banner reading “Happy 3rd Birthday, Cassandra and Lorna!” hung proudly across the patio. Today was a day of celebration, a day of joy, but beneath the surface, emotions ran deep for the adults present.

Alice, radiant and teary-eyed, stood beside her wife, watching the twins as they played with their new toys, her heart swelling with pride. “Can you believe they’re already three?” she murmured to Astrid, who cuddled her, wiping away a stray tear. “It feels like just yesterday we were in the hospital, holding them for the first time.”

Astrid smiled, her eyes shimmering with happiness. “I know. They’ve grown so much, Alice. Look at them.” She gestured towards Cassandra and Lorna, who were giggling as they built a small tower with colorful blocks. “They’re our little witches.”

As the twins squealed in delight, Alice couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness. “I just want to shield them from everything,” she admitted softly, her voice thick with emotion. “The world is so big and scary, and they’re so small.”

Astrid wrapped an arm around Alice’s shoulder, drawing her close. “We’ll protect them together, just like we always have.” There was an unspoken understanding between them, a bond forged in the fires of their past. "When we discovered I was pregnant I was so scared.” Alice looked at her wife. “I don't want to be like them.” she didn't asked like who, she knew she was talking about her parents.

Nearby, Sharon, was busy preparing the cake, humming a soft tune. The twins adored their grandmother, her sweet and kind nature a perfect counterbalance to their chaotic personality. “Can you girls help me with the frosting?” she called, and they scampered over, eager to assist.

“Granny Sasa, look!” Lorna exclaimed, holding up a dollop of frosting. “I made a cupcake!”

“Oh, that looks delicious, my sweet!” Sharon praised, her heart swelling with love for her now granddaughters.

Lilia watched from the sidelines, her expression serious but softened by the warmth of the moment. “Don’t get too much frosting on your clothes, girls,” she said, her voice firm but with a hint of amusement. “You don’t want to give your moms a reason to be angry.”

The twins giggled at Lilia’s seriousness. “We’re careful, Granny Lia!” Cassandra chirped, brushing her hands together, frosting smudged across her cheek.

Jennifer, was nearby, setting up a piñata that hung from a low branch. “Alright, who’s ready to break this open?” she called, her playful demeanor contagious. The twins jumped up and down in excitement, their eyes shining with anticipation.

“Me! Me!” they shouted, and Alice couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm. “Thanks Auntie Jen!”

As the festivities continued, Agatha observed from a distance. Though her demeanor was often cold, there was a playful glint in her eyes as she watched the twins interact with their mothers. She had always kept her emotions tightly locked away, but something about being around the girls stirred something deep within her.

They reminded her of Nicholas.

“Come on, Auntie Aggie! Time to break the piñata!” Cassandra called, her tone loud as always. The twins rushed toward her, taking her hands.

Agatha just chuckled.

#agatha all along #alice wu gulliver #lgbt #lilia calderu #alice wu gulliver x fem!oc #jennifer kale #agatha harkness #sharon davis

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anonymousonlyanonymoud · 11 months ago

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The Lost de Rolo Chp. 4

The Merchant

TW: TW: Murder, child murder, blood, panic attack, vomit

Previous Chapter

The Market Ward of Westruun was slowly becoming alive as the shops began to open and the chatter of the morning began to fill the streets.

Small crowds formed in front of stores while people began exiting taverns, either drunkenly stumbling home or leaving for whatever job that'd been found for the day.

And at the end of one of the darkest streets, coming out of a dilapidated tavern known for serving watered-down ale and food that was similar to mush, and having beetles in their beds, was Ciara de Rolo.

Her weathered and thin cloak was tightly pulled around her shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep the chill that had begun to set across the realm as the first flurry of snow began to fall.

The signs of winter were all around the town as the preparations for Westruun's Winterscrest Festival were underway, but Ciara kept her head down to avoid looking at any decorations that would have been put up.

The last Winterscrest festival she'd celebrated had been before she lost everything.

It used to be a happy time for her, watching the Castle of Whitestone being transformed into a wonderland of celebrations as the surrounding city shared a festive joy.

Vesper had taken an interest in overseeing the festivities during the years before...

Both mother and father praised her for her work while Julius said he was grateful for not being the one in charge of parties as it would never look half as good as what she came up with.

Percy asked millions of questions regarding the construction that went on during the setup and would have to be pulled away multiple times from the head builders who had come to finalize plans with Vesper.

The twins had always rolled their eyes at Percy, teasing him about what he was asking. But Whitney and Oliver always looked with awe at what Vesper was able to accomplish.

Ludwig and Cass were filled with wonder at the way the city transformed. Their excitement built each day preparations were made while they used the progress being made as a calendar to count down the days till Winterscrest.

The excitement was infectious and spread throughout the city as the holiday drew closer, even the year the Briarwoods came.

They had been welcomed warmly along with that fucking doctor by her parents, and they repaid that kindness with murder.

Ciara no longer thought about her siblings' happiness when Winterscrest came around. Her mind instead was filled with Whitney's sobs of terror as she was ripped from their sister's arms by Captain Kerrion Stonefell. The man's laugh rang in Ciara's ears before he slammed Whitney's head against the wall. Her blood dripped down the stonework and stained her light brown hair.

Vesper's screams as Stonefell pulled her by her hair and threw her from the window. Ciara heard the sickening snap of bones as her sister's screams cut off. Stonefell continued to laugh as he dragged Ciara to that same window and forced her to look at Vesper's broken body in the courtyard below.

The laughter of children filtered through her head as a small group rushed past. One of the children fell into her side, unintentionally jerking the metallic right arm that the doctor had melded to her years ago. The rods and screws tugged at her skin which sent a sharp twinge of pain through the remains of the limb as she grimaced.

While attempting to blink away the image of her sister's broken body, Ciara sent a glare to the kids who ran off without looking back.

A part of her, the old part of her that belonged to a young girl who had sat through hours of etiquette lessons with her siblings, the old part that was caged away in the back of her mind in a darkened room, wanted to scold the children for not looking where they were going. That it wasn't polite and they should apologize.

But the main part of Ciara, the part that had been fed on, tortured, ripped apart, and sewn back together with jagged stitches that left horrific scars, only glared as the kids scampered away.

Ciara continued weaving through the growing crowds, not lifting her head as vendors began calling out for customers as their stalls went up. She heard all the sales pitches before, and it wasn't like she could afford the wares anyway. Ciara was ready to walk past and ignore the merchants until she caught a conversation that her freezing in her tracks,

"-a shop in Whitestone at some point. The tyrants who'd forcefully taken control five years ago are gone and, thankfully, dead. The city is now rebuilding and in need of new economics in the market," The de Rolo felt herself turn toward the voice and saw the person who'd caught her attention.

The voice belonged to a man with dark skin, hair in a half-ponytail with two short braids framing the side of his face, a braided goatee, purple robes with gold trim, gold jewelry, and a red sash around his waist to complete the look.

He was standing in front of a building that looked to be in the middle of renovations with four other merchants. Two humans, a halfling, and an elf. Ciara recognized them as members of the Westruun Merchant Guild. She'd stolen a thing or two from the halfling and spied on the elf.

His sister was a cartographer who had married a diplomat in Syngorn. He only kept in touch with her and his niece. From what Ciara had found, he didn't have much love for his brother-in-law and rarely spoke to him. Which meant the Clasp no longer wanted anything to do with him.

The merchants were listening intently to the purple-clad man as he spoke about bringing business to Whitestone during and after the city was restored.

But what made Ciara turn cold with shock was when she heard the goateed man say,

"A council has been made, with a de Rolo at the head to rule Whitestone once again,"

A de Rolo? That couldn't be possible.

The de Rolo's were all dead.

Ciara knew they were dead.

She'd seen them, her parents, Julius, Vesper, Oliver, Whitney, and Ludwig.

She never saw Percy or Cass alive after that dinner, but she heard them. The Briarwoods made sure she heard them scream.

Ciara heard her remaining family as she sat frozen in the cell The Briarwoods had shoved her in. Bound under a Hold Person Spell she was forced to listen as Ripley tortured Percy and Cass.

She heard them.

Ciara heard Percy weakly insisting he didn't know what was below Whitestone before his voice became desperate as Ripley began cutting into their sister.

When the screaming stopped and Ciara was dragged away, Ripley would visit. The doctor would show her the hooks and tools that had been embedded in her siblings' mere minutes ago. Ciara was forced to listen as Ripley described how she tortured Percy and Cass before going on to say Ciara could stop it.

She just needed to tell Ripley about what was under Whitestone.

But Ciara hadn't, and still didn't, know what the woman was talking about.

And the screaming continued.

Ciara had each of their screams etched into her mind that she heard it everywhere. Even after she'd been taken from the dungeons.

And then, the screaming stopped. She was no longer tossed into a cell to listen as Ripley tortured her siblings. And because of that, a venomous hope leached into her mind, because despite all that she had witnessed, Ciara was naive enough to think that Percy and Cass had somehow escaped.

Until-

Anger bubbled to the surface as Ciara found herself standing in front of the goateed man with words that were spat with rage and vitriol flying from her mouth,

"Enough! Enough of these lies! The de Rolos are dead! All of them are dead!"

The goateed man looked momentarily taken aback at Ciara rushing into his space, but he composed himself while leaning against the wall behind him. His arms crossed in front of his chest which made the bangles clink together,

"I can assure you, I speak no lies-"

"And I can assure you, you are!" Ciara hissed, but the man seemed nonplussed at her anger and merely raised a perfectly trimmed brow,

"You are quite confident that I am lying,"

"Because I know you are! Seven of them were killed in one night by the Briarwoods! And the two who were left alive were tortured and killed a year later!" Her voice was tapering out into a harsh whisper, "The only de Rolos left in Whitestone are the ones in the crypts!"

The man, despite the other merchants quickly making their exit, only began inspecting his nails before meeting her gaze,

"I admit, I've never been told the details about what happened. My friend was present for the events, and understandably, Percival hasn't wanted to explain how his family was murdered in front of him,"

Her whole body began to shake as her hands clenched,

"Percival is dead! I don't know who you've been talking to, who's been claiming to be him, who is using his name to rule, but Percival died years ago!"

Once again, as Ciara's anger rolled from her in waves, the man didn't seem bothered and continued inspecting his nails. But Ciara hadn't noticed how his gaze hardened as he began taking in the details of her.

Gilmore was beginning to put the similarities between the woman in front of him, and the gunslinger that followed Vax'ildan's sister around, carefully putting pieces of the puzzle together as he said,

"It is not Percival who rules Whitestone but his sister Cassandra," He tilted his head and gauged her reaction.

The fire that had been raging inside Ciara turned to ice as the tremors racing through her tripled in strength while she felt her eyes begin to burn,

"Then whoever rules Whitestone is an imposter!" She hissed, "Both Percival and Cassandra de Rolo died! They were flayed and murdered!"

Her voice was shattered as her legs shook harshly and it was a wonder that Ciara was able to stay upright as her mind filled with the bodies of her siblings.

Of Percy and Cass who had been flayed by the doctor's hooks until they died and then thrown out into the courtyard in front of Ciara. Ripley had lit the torch and Sylas Briarwood had thrown it onto what remained of her siblings.

Ciara had screamed. Screamed loud enough that she was certain her voice had reached beyond the Timberlands as what remained of her family became nothing more than charred bones. And when the fire had gone out, Delilah Briarwood had cast a magical flame that turned their remains to ash that blew away in the wind.

A hand was now on her shoulder and pulling her up.

Ciara had collapsed to her knees without realizing and the merchant was now leading her inside the renovated building behind them.

The interior was plain with empty shelves and display cases, a few rugs rolled up and crates stacked against the wall.

When the door shut behind them, the man snapped his fingers, and a table and two chairs appeared before the two.

The young woman found herself now sitting across from the merchant who was staring at her with a critical gaze,

"Well," He began after a moment of studying her, "I suppose introductions are in order before questions are asked. I'm Gilmore, owner of Gilmore's Glorious Goods in Emon and of this soon-to-be-open store here in Westruun,"

The merchant, Gilmore, waved his hand in a flamboyant fashion that had small sparks falling from his fingers which made Ciara flinch back.

Gilmore then looked at Ciara as the sparks quickly dissipated and gestured toward her with an open palm and expectant look until she answered,

"People call me Bird,"

"I imagine due to your corvid friends there,"

She didn't need to look to know that Adrik and Nyx were peering in through the window. They were like two small shadows that followed her everywhere, no matter how many times she refused to acknowledge them,

"Suppose so,"

Gilmore hummed while resting his chin against his hand, "If I were to ask for your real name, I assume you would not give it,"

The tension that had slowly been ebbing away returned tenfold as Ciara leaned as far away from the man as possible,

"If I were to say you were right?"

The merchant shrugged while leaning back in his chair, "Names have power. From the gods and fiends to the most ordinary of folk, a name can have a hold on someone. Whether to bind or summon a being of power, or simply be a shield for someone hiding,"

She should leave. Ciara needed to leave. She had a job that was given a deadline of two days, and she knew better than to slack off or be late. And this Gilmore was prying into open wounds that had festered and rotted over the years,

"What you're implying," Her voice was shaking, "Is wrong. It- It's all wrong!"

"Are you certain? Earlier you counted nine de Rolo's. Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't there ten in Whitestone? The lord and lady with their eight children? Why have you only counted seven children?"

Her trembling hand found purchase on the short sword that hung at her hip as she whispered, "The eighth died. She died when her brother and sister's bodies were burned in front of her,"

Gilmore's eyes were trained on her with a look of sadness as he leaned forward,

"Then I'll speak to the ghost sitting across from me. And I'll tell her that her brother, Percival, is coming to Westruun-"

He was cut off by Ciara shoving away from the table, causing the chair she'd been sitting on to clatter to the ground,

"No-he-He's dead! He's-" She darted out of the store without finishing.

The ravens that had been sitting at the window croaked and squawked in alarm when the door slammed open and Ciara stumbled out into the street.

She couldn't see the people around her, she couldn't see where she was going.

There were some shouts as she ran into things, but Ciara kept running until she skidded to a stop and fell to her knees in an alley.

A burning, acrid taste came hurtling up her throat and onto the ground in front of her as she only thought of the last two bodies. Of Cassandra and Percy.

The exposed muscle and bone had been barely covered by the remains of their formal wear. The remains of what they had been wearing to that fucking dinner!

They were dead. They were dead!

They couldn't be alive because that would mean she would have-

More bile worked its way up Ciara's throat as her vision blurred.

When the meager contents of her stomach had all been expelled from her body, Ciara coughed and gagged while wiping at her mouth. She managed to push herself up and saw someone standing to her right with a waterskin held out.

Ciara saw who had found her and took the skin, swishing the water around her mouth before spitting it out as the Spireling made himself comfortable on a few crates,

"You're taking a late start, Bird. Not like you," The halfling rasped.

She sat against the wall and tossed the waterskin back, "Got distracted. Nothing to worry about, Fetch. I'm going to leave now,"

"What did that man want?" The halfling questioned, "The merchant. He's new in Westruun,"

"No one,"

"Really? No one?"

"No one to me,"

Fetch scoffed and leaned toward her, "And despite that, one of your ravens stayed behind at his shop,"

She jerked her gaze toward the sky and only saw one raven settled on the roof across from her. Nyx's beady eyes met hers before darting to Fetch. If a raven could glare, Ciara was certain that Nyx would be. But Fetch was correct, Adrik was nowhere to be seen,

"I don't control where they go-"

"But they've been following you since you arrived in Westruun. And suddenly, one of them leaves your side? What. Did. He. Want?"

Ciara shook her head, "Nothing of consequence-"

"You expect me to believe that?" He leaned forward, "Are you trying to fly away, Bird?"

She unflinchingly met his gaze, "I'm not that stupid, Fetch. I learned my lesson from last time,"

Fetch only continued to eye her for a very long moment before standing,

"You better get going, Bird. You've already lost too much time,"

He disappeared as quickly as he came, leaving Ciara to shakily return to her feet.

With a shaky breath, she glanced up at Nyx who was hopping along the roof and ruffling her feathers, then began making her way toward the Western Gate.

#legend of vox machina #vax x original character #vax x reader #critical role #grog strongjaw #keyleth #percy de rolo #scanlan shorthalt #trinket #vax'ildan x original character #vex'ahlia #shaun gilmore

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ourtearsofrain · 18 days ago

Text

Just Another Scary Movie (D.R.W/S.F.K)

Summary: When Sam does everything he can to finally just get one night to himself, he gets exactly what he wanted, spending the night watching shitty rom coms all comfy on his couch. But when a strange caller interrupts his night of relaxation, all his plans come crashing down on his head.

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka (!Scream AU)

Series Genre: angst, horror

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: man threatening/breaking and entering/physically restraining someone (Just imagine the actual Scream movies, less blood and stuff but same phycological mind fuck)

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Sam truly did love living with his brothers, but quickly learned that the two rarely spent time apart from each other, only dragging Sam into their “adventures” as soon as he had settled into their house and his class schedules. Which was fine, after only seeing them on holidays for six years, he was grateful to spend so much time with them again, just like they did before the twins left for college. But Sam needed time to himself every once and a while, a concept that his brothers seemed to not understand. So, he took every chance he could to have the house to himself for the night, often making excuses that he had to be up early for a required attendance lecture the next day or that he was too exhausted to join them.

And that’s exactly what he had done tonight; when the twins invited him to go club hopping with them to celebrate Jake finishing his thesis, Sam had even feigned a cold to stay at home when they didn’t believe his other excuses, wanting nothing more than to watch movies all night long curled up on the couch with a freshly packed bong. Sam didn’t feel like explaining just how stressful and exhausting transferring universities in his Junior year and moving to another state had been for him, he was trying to focus on how great it was to be with his brothers again and didn’t need them feeling sorry for him. So, he had done everything to make sure it would be the perfect cozy night at home, knowing he needed just one calm night to himself. Sam had pre-popped popcorn for when he got the munchies, wrapped himself in his favorite throw blanket, and decided to wear the smallest shorts he owned, knowing that he would be asleep by the time the twins got home so they wouldn’t be able to give him shit over it.

Hitting ‘play’ on whatever new, probably shitty, Netflix original rom com he had decided on, Sam grabs his lighter, already knowing from the trailer that he needed to be incredibly high to sit through it. Just as the intro begins to play, Sam’s phone buzzes wildly on the couch next to him, halting his movements as he reaches for the bong. That’s weird, someone’s calling me. Jake and Josh never call when they’re out, unless it’s an emergency. Trying to keep himself calm, Sam picks up his phone, his heart rate steadying once more when he sees an unrecognized caller ID. Usually, he never answered those calls, choosing to send them to voicemail instead, but his relief that the twins were fine clouds his mind as he answers it, pausing his movie and putting his phone on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hello.” A deep voice rasps through the phone, and Sam can’t help but wonder if that was actually what his voice sounded like, or if he was using some voice filter to remain anonymous.

“Yes?”

“Who is this?” Great, a wrong number dial. Just what I needed interrupting my movie night.

“Who are you trying to reach?” Sam tries not to let his annoyance into his tone, knowing that it probably wasn’t the caller’s fault that they accidentally called him so late into the night.

“I don’t know.”

I’m getting tired of this. “Well, you have the wrong number.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, have a great night.” Sam hangs up without another word, tossing his phone back onto the couch as he reaches for his bong once again. His hand doesn’t even find the cool glass before his phone begins buzzing, annoyance and frustration taking root in him when he sees the same number flash across his screen. “Hello??”

“I’m sorry, I guess I dialed the wrong number.”

“So, why’d you call me again?”

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“And you have now, so bye.” Sam’s finger hovers over the ‘end call’ button before the mystery caller’s voice filters through the speaker, the hint of desperation tinging his tone.

“Wait, wait! Don’t hang up please.”

“Why?”

“I wanna talk to you for a little.”

Disgusting creep. “Pornhub is free if you’re looking to get off tonight, or go find some AI text chat to fulfill whatever you need.” Sam hangs up, trying to keep the weird caller off his mind as he didn’t want it to ruin his night. You need this, Sammy. You just need one fucking relaxing night at home to reset, don’t let him ruin that for you.

He gets about five more minutes into the movie before his phone rings again, thankful that their family had an unlimited plan so that whoever was constantly calling him wouldn’t drain any of his minutes. With his first bong rip flowing through his body, he can’t seem to find it in himself to be annoyed as calm fills him, curious to see exactly what the fuck this person wanted from him. If all else failed, he could always block them. “Hello? Seriously, what do you want?”

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” He sounds… genuinely sad?

“Because I don’t know who you are.”

“You tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.” Sam almost laughs as he picks up a few pieces of popcorn, not realizing that he had put his phone on speaker again and was holding it close enough to himself that the caller would be able to hear him eat. “What’s that noise?”

“Popcorn.” Sam’s answer comes immediately, his mind too muddled to care about the unimportant question.

“I only eat popcorn when I watch a movie.” Amusement tinges the caller’s voice as he pauses, the silence heavy through the speaker as Sam waits to see if he would continue. “Are you watching a movie? Is that what I hear?”

“Yep. Some cheesy rom com. Do you like rom coms?” If he was being honest, Sam couldn’t explain what prompted him to ask the question, too inebriated to care and willing to just talk to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Not really. I prefer horror movies. Do you like horror movies?”

“Eh, some of the classics. IT, Friday the 13th, The Shining, Halloween, stuff like that. I’m not a fan of most of the newer stuff since CGI has gotten better, it’s too gory for me.” Sam considers his words for a moment, thinking back on all the new horror movies Jake had forced him and Josh to watch over the years. “Actually, the newer IT movies were pretty good too.”

“Is that your favorite horror movie?”

Shrugging, Sam realizes that the other man couldn’t see him over the phone, slightly amused at himself that he had forgotten. “I guess. Do you have a favorite horror movie?”

“Hmmmm… maybe Sleepaway Camp. You ever seen that?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“The ending is reaaally scary.

“Oh, is it?”

“Mhm.” Not knowing how to feel about the hungry undertones of the caller’s voice, he moves past it, unable to care enough about it to end the call. “So, you got a boyfriend?”

Sam’s cheeks tinge bright pink at the unexpected question, his sudden nerves coming off as what he worried was flirtatious banter. “Why? You wanna ask me out or something?”

“Maybe” The single word sends butterflies to Sam’s stomach, the smile in the other man’s voice audible even through his speaker. This is a really weird pick-up attempt, but it’s the first romantic possibility I’ve gotten here so far… “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Y’know, you never told me your name.” Why does he sound so hungry? Shit, I’m hungry, I’m probably just projecting. At the realization that the munchies had hit him, Sam moves the popcorn bowl closer to himself, snacking off it as he considers what to say.

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“‘Cause I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Sam feels as if he had been thrown into a freezing lake as ice cold fear seeps into his bones at the words. When he doesn’t see anyone after glancing around himself, his eyes go out the large window beside the TV, the night too dark to see more than five feet outside of it. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I wanna know who I’m talking to.” The caller’s smooth, even voice sends another wave of terror over Sam, the other man’s tone unsettlingly calm and collected.

“That’s- that’s not what you said.”

“And what do you think I said?” The speaker goes silent, and Sam’s anxiety finally gets the best of him as he darts up to close the blinds to the window, trying to squint into the darkness to see further. “Hello?”

“I need to- I gotta go-”

“Wait! I didn’t get to ask you out.” Although his tone remains mostly the same, Sam can hear the eagerness and despiration in his voice, and while the anonymity of the other man used to spark intrigue inside of Sam, now it only brought dread.

“No thank you.”

“Don’t hang up on me!” Sam nearly misses his words over the sound of him slamming the blinds closed, his hands shaking as he presses that red button in the bottom center of his screen.

Fuck, did the twins lock the front door? Nearly tripping over his blanket, he absentmindedly chucks it back onto the couch as he races to the front door, his stomach dropping to see it unlocked. He can’t get to the door fast enough, forcing his hands to steady before slamming the deadbolt into place. The sudden buzzing in his hand nearly makes him jump out of his skin, scared tears beginning to brew on his lash line at the number.

“Y-yes?”

“I told you not to hang up on me.” The anger in his tone is enough to nearly send Sam over the edge, his paranoia overtaking him as his eyes stay locked on the door.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Well then just- just call someone else, okay?” The second Sam hangs up, he navigates to the “contact” for the number, his finger mere centimeters from the “block” button before his screen lights up. It was the same number, the same person. Again. His fear transforms into anger momentarily, his frustration at his interrupted movie night filling him. Who did this person think they were calling him like that? From taking him away from his night of relaxation? “Listen, asshole!”

“No! You listen, you little bitch! You hang up on me again and I’ll strangle you with your own fucking intestines!” Sam is left frozen in his spot at the rage dripping from the caller’s words, his stomach turning from the open and graphic threat as he tries to find something, anything to respond with.

“Is this- is this some kind of a joke?”

“More of a game, really.” There’s that slick, cunning tone again. This guy is fucking psychotic. “Can you handle that… Sammy?”

How the fuck does he know my name? Sam tries to keep himself calm, his mind moving in slow motion through every possibility. “I’m gonna- I’ll call the cops.”

“Even if you hung up right now to do that, they’d never get here in time.” The caller’s voice carries an almost musical, sing-songy lilt to it, only furthering Sam’s utter terror. Is this is all- just some fucking game to him?

“What- what do you want?”

“To see if you’re still this pretty without your skin.” Nausea crashes over Sam at the words, the other man’s sincere tone sending him racing to the kitchen and grabbing the nearest trashcan he can find before emptying his stomach into the bin. Straightening, Sam finds his phone face-down on the floor, almost staring at him, beckoning him closer with each second. Just when he bends to pick it up, three booming knocks ring out against the window over the sink, the frames rattling as if the glass was on the verge of shattering.

“Who’s there?! Who’s there?!” Sam nearly sobs the words out, huddling closer to the counter from the floor, his knees pulled to his chest. “I’m calling the fucking cops!”

“You should never say, ‘Who’s there?’.” The caller cuts him off just as Sam moves to hang up, that deep, smooth voice pausing his motions. “You’d know that if you watched horror movies. It’s a death wish, y’know. There’re three rules to surviving in a horror movie. Rule number one is don’t fuck. Think you’ve got that one covered, Sammy boy. Rule two, don’t drink or do drugs. Not off to a great start here, are we?” Disappointment drips from his tone, tsking at Sam until he feels like he could physically picture the caller shaking his head. “And rule number three is never, ever fucking say ‘I’ll be right back’ or ‘Who’s there?’. That makes two out of three, I’m afraid your chances aren’t lookin’ too good here, Sammy.”

Just as the words leave the caller’s mouth, Sam glances up at the window, catching a flash of white and black just on the other side of the glass. Throwing himself into the corner, Sam takes up as little space as possible, hoping that if whatever had passed by the window looked back into it, he wouldn’t be able to see Sam. “No! Please, please, I don’t want to die. I- why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“I want to play a game.”

Sam’s tears roll down his cheeks at the monotony of his words. It is all just a game to him. He’s- he’s playing with me like I’m some toy. “No.”

“Then you die.”

“No, no, please!”

“Which is it then, Sammy?”

“What kind- what kind of game?”

“Go back to the living room and find out.”

Did this sick fuck get in?! Am I- is he gonna kill me the second I get in the room? Is he just waiting to attack? Sam stands on shaky legs, forcing his body to move through the kitchen in the direction of the living room. The moonlight filtering through the window catches the light off the cold steel of a knife in a woodblock, and Sam grabs it before continuing his path. Tiptoeing through the silent house, Sam peeks around the corner only to find the living room empty, his shitty romcom still playing on the TV.

“Good, now here’s how we play: I ask a question, if you get it right, I leave you alone.”

“Please, please don’t do this.”

“Come onnnn, it’ll be fun.”

This could- this could be my only chance to get out. What the fuck is this, why is this happening to me? I don’t- I don’t know what to do. “Fine.” Sam’s words are no louder than a whisper, heavy with defeat as he peeks through the blinds, his eyes scanning the trees outside of the window desperately.

“It’s an easy category: classic horror movie trivia. I’ll even give you a warm-up question. What’s the name of the summer camp where ‘Friday the 13th’ takes place?”

“I- I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”

“Come onnnn, you said it was one of the classics. You like the classics, remember?”

“I-” Sam cuts himself off, his mind scrambling in his terror to remember anything he could about the movie. “Camp- Camp Crystal?”

“Oh, you’re so close Sammy.” The caller purrs the words out, only adding to the distractions swirling around his head.

“Camp Crystal- Camp Crystal Lake! It’s Camp Crystal Lake!”

“Yes! Good job, Sammy. Now, for your real question. That was just a warm-up, remember?”

“Please- please-” Sam tries to blink the tears from his eyes, knowing that he would never be able to see anything happening around him if he let them pool to blur his vision.

“Same category. Who first says ‘Beep, beep Richie’ in the 2017 IT?”

“One of the Losers- one of- uhhh, probably Eddie! It’s one of the Losers, you sick fuck!” Nearly screaming the words out, relief floods Sam as he realizes what his correct answer meant for him.

“I’m sorry, Sammy! That’s the wrong answer!”

“No! No, it’s not! It was one of them, I’ve seen that movie so many fucking times, I know it’s one of them!”

“Then you should know that in the 2017 remake, Pennywise is the first to say ‘Beep, beep Richie’! None of the other Losers say it in the first movie! That’s only in the original!”

“You- you tricked me-”

“I didn’t though, Sammy. Lucky for you, I’m willing to give you a bonus round, just to see if you can redeem yourself.” Sam holds his breath, the caller’s seconds of silence stretching into what felt like hours. “Where am I?”

“What?”

“Where am I? Am I outside, or am I in the house? Where. Am. I?”

Feeling as if his heart had stopped, Sam can do nothing but hang up the phone, clutching the knife in his hand as he makes a beeline for his bedroom. Ok, Josh- Josh- I need to call him. I need to get to my room, lock the door, and then call him. I need to- to call the cops. Dread fills him with each step towards the stairs as he’s sent straight to voicemail, waiting for the tone to begin his recording. “Josh there’s- there’s someone here with me, threatening me, they want to- they want to hurt me. I’m- I’m locking myself in my room and calling the cops but just- I don’t know if they’re in the house but-” Panic flashes across his mind as realization hits him. I didn’t check the back door. We never- we never lock the back door.

The knife and phone drop from his hand as someone body slams him, sending them both to the floor while Sam can do nothing but yelp in his shock. The other person straddles Sam before he can recover, pinning his wrists down on the floor with his hands, and Sam can think nothing, feel nothing, as he stares up at the masked figure above him. His black, hooded cloak hid any distinct features from Sam, but he swore he could see a singular, dark brown curl hanging down from under the hood, just to the side of his mask that resembled a disfigured, screaming ghost.

Sam sends his knee straight into the other man’s crotch, shoving him off himself as he claws at the mask, eventually ripping it from his face. Before he has a chance to look at him properly, Sam gives the man one final shove downwards before snatching his phone off the ground and darting up the stairs. He doesn’t stop until he slams and locks his door behind himself, looking around his room frantically for anything he could use as a weapon before realizing that he was still leaving Josh a voicemail. “Listen, please, please just pick up. Please, Josh, I need help-”

Something slams into Sam’s door, and hard. The force shakes the doorframe, the lock creaking under the impact, startling Sam and causing him to drop his phone in his terror. Racing to the window, his shaking hands fumble with the lock, finally ripping it wide open before he shoves the screen from the frame and it clatters to the ground as he tries to climb out. A loud crack rattles the room, and Sam glances back to see the man, the caller, standing in the door, the kitchen knife in hand as he takes heavy breaths.

The man makes it across the room and throws Sam to the floor before he can even try to hoist himself up, his terror multiplying as he pins him to the ground once again. Sam can do nothing but stare up at him when the other man straddles him, making sure to keep his legs pinned to the ground too, as he keeps his gorgeous hazel eyes glued to Sam. I was right. Curly hair. He almost laughs from fear at the thought, knowing that he had much more important things to focus on at the moment, that he shouldn’t spend his remaining time thinking about the caller’s gorgeous shoulder length mess of curls, or how good it looked with the top half held back with a hair tie. And he really shouldn’t have been staring at each individual freckle dotting the arch of his nose, peppered across his sun-kissed skin like stars.

“So,” The caller starts, moving Sam’s wrists to one hand as the other comes down to grab the knife, before bringing the blade up to Sam’s throat, the cool metal stinging his skin under even the smallest amount of pressure. Although Sam realizes that the man must have filtered his voice over the phone, finding it now higher in pitch yet still deeper than his own, it was still as smooth and delicious as honey. “You still don’t like horror movies?”

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

A/N:

This is possibly another contribution to @hearts-hunger 's Halloween event (2 or 11 ish if you squint?) (ik it's late, I just needed to write this)

Yes ik that Danny pic is from last yrs Jedi costume but HE’S WEARING A FUCKIN CLOAK/ROBE I HAD TO

I actually fucking hate Sleepaway Camp, the end isn't scary, it's just completely fucked up. Spoilers ahead if you don't feel like watching: the only reason the killer girl starts murdering people is because she's actually a boy who has been forced to dress and act like a girl for the last like 10 years of their life. No. Other. Reason.

Taglist:

@jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @ofthecaravel @holdingup-fallingsky

#gvfhalloweenfics #greta van angst #greta van fleet fan fiction #sanny gvf #sam kiszka x danny wagner #scream au

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moondrop-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Child of Dionysus grieving after Castor’s death and maybe people around camp start to get really worried cause she’s like barely leaving her cabin and so Mr D kinda helps her through it cause he can tell she’s taking it really hard?

hi!! ive been an absolute bitch abt responding to asks so i am so sorry abt that 😭 i’ve been so busy w/ things but everything i’m doing should settle within the next few weeks and i’ll probably get back to being consistent. tysm everyone for your patience <3

The battle was settled, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. The air was still heavy with grief and bloodshed, and everyone’s nerves seemed to be frayed. They’d won. They should’ve been celebrating. But there was nothing joyous in partying when your siblings and family had died.

The Dionysus cabin was small, especially considering that Dionysus had only been freed of his punishment twice. Once, when he met your mother. And the other time, when he met your brothers mother.

Castor, despite the small quantity of the cabin, managed to be the glue of the three of you. While you and Pastor were the more mellow and quiet of the siblings, Castor certainly was not. His smile could light up a room, and he always knew the right thing to say.

Castor and Pollux were twins, both younger than you. Even if you weren’t related by blood, they were still your brothers. They still managed to pull this protective older sibling feel out of you.

It was bad enough when Pollux had nearly lost an arm one time but now? You weren’t sure if you were ever going to be okay again.

Castor’s death felt like a hole inside you. It was as if somebody took your heart and tore out the stem that held all memories of your little brother. He was always in your thoughts, never did a day pass where you didn’t think of him, but he was taken from you.

Children shouldn’t fight wars, you had told your father that much. You refused to let Castor and Pollux fight, but they were boys of honor. In their eyes, if they didn’t fight in Dionysus’ honor, it was disrespectful. It was something that you wished many times you could smack out of them.

Being honorbound was not a good thing.

You couldn’t imagine how Pollux felt, his twin, his other half stolen from him. But you knew very well how you felt. There was a deep ache in you, that would never be satisfied.

Curled up against the headboard of your bed, you stared at the walls, watching the wilted vines and leaves. Once they had shined, just like Castor but now they were dull. You knew they were meant to reflect the mood of those in the cabin, but even then, they couldn’t capture the utter anguish you felt.

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, spilling rays over your face and your bedsheets. You were wearing old clothes, stained with tears and food, and your hair was tangled. A knot had formed in your throat, preventing you from making any sound other than soft cries.

The door to the cabin creaked open, and you slowly shifted your head to see your father. He was dressed in his finest suit, no doubt prepared for a meeting with the council. He sighed when he caught sight of you, and walked further into the cabin.

“This place is dreary,” he comments, placing his hands on your bedposts. You stared at him, eyebrows furrowed and your lashline red.

When you don’t reply, he only shakes his head and purses his lips.

“I know…I know you miss him,” he whispers thickly, “more than anything. I miss him too, Y/N, and so does Pollux.”

He walks around the bed, and sits next to you. The bed dips, and he gently tugs you against his side. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling that knot in your throat tighten before beginning to break up.

“But…Pollux and I miss you too.”

“What?” you croak, voice breaking.

He cups your cheek, tilting your head up so your eyes could meet. When your eyes begin to bubble over with tears, and he rests his chin on your head.

“You’re gone, Y/N. We can’t reach you, and it’s like we’re talking to a ghost. Pollux and I…we’re trying to move on and you’ve got to as well.”

You sob wetly into his suit jacket. “I can’t—he’s g-gone and there’s nothing I could’ve done—“

“Shhh, baby, don’t cry.”

“I’m trying so hard, Papa—“ you cut yourself off with a whimper, choking on your own gasps.

He runs his hand through your greasy tangled mess of hair, and doesn’t care when his fingers get caught. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says, “you can grieve without hurting yourself like this.”

You cry, and cry, and cry. You cry until your nose is running and your eyes are swollen. You cry until your throat burns. You cry because you had spent so long missing your little brother, feeling so much pain and hurt and yet being unable to get any of it out. And now you can, and you cant stop.

And Dionysus holds you through all of it. He whispers soft nothings into your ear and his warmth enveloping you. His fingers are in your hair, on your cheeks, rubbing your back. It’s his sweet attempt at comfort, and you never want to let go of it.

You never want to let go of him, or Pollux or even Castor. But you know, if you let go of yourself, you’re letting go of the people you care about just as much.

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #x reader #moondrop writes #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #dionysus #child of dionysus

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kmomof4 · 3 months ago

Text

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!

#to sir graham with love #krystal writes #birthday fic for marta #art by motherkatereloyshipper #red hunter fic

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koshka-sova · 11 months ago

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i have finished reading hortus de escapismo. i liked it more than i thought! certainly grim and depressing in many parts, as this was the central conflict of the monastery' inhabitants and especially clément's internal breakdown. some thoughts below about the event's ending teasing future stories, in no clear order...

firstly, they really went and put in a teaser for the next celebration event (zwillingstürme im herbst) by having arturia be escorted out by a spire caster of all people. if her previous appearance in lingering echoes was any hint (or even oren's tip about her back in guide ahead), it's clear now shes not only operating in leithanien, she seems to have strong ties with the country's militia. from what little i got by filtering any spoilers, ZiH seems to involve not just the twin empresses but the witch king again, so just what kind of business did arturia even get into... im curious.

next, is andoain. it's nice that he gets a nod through the notebook lemuen found in the monastery. i wonder if it's a given that he visited there, given that hes from iberia, laterano's partnering nation in building the monastery in the first place? i used to share fiammetta's anger towards him and thought him unsensitive to lemuen and mostima, and really, none of them have given the closure fia so desparately wants. but with how internalised sankta othering is, how it's so ingrained in their culture because to them, Paradise is real and is their given right, andoain is unique in asking these questions about the lateran faith and equality. to the readers, who are now learning even more clearly how sankta naturally live in a system that promotes that specific brand of racism, andoain becomes more decent than most other sankta characters. seeing the sankta involved in hortus, we can now see just how prejudiced they are especially about sarkaz, with the exception of federico. the nod to andoain in hortus invites me to think he might play a role again in another laterano event, as despite having two laterano events that bring this prejudice into light, theres no satisfying addressing of the issue despite it being literally questioned--by patia, andoain, ezell and cecilia in GA, then by federico and abbot stefano in HdE. this brings me to...

third and last point: im hoping hg cooks something new for laterano. in the epilogue, the pope expresses satisfaction that federico is starting to ask questions about how the law is not as encompassing. he says he will relay federico's question to a man he knows. although there's no way to say this is andoain (hell, what if it's ezell or an entirely new person), it does raise the question why they'd include this dialogue. ofc, in true arknights fashion, this could mean nothing at all. the same is true for lemuen and the abbot's epilogue. both of them either say or think that the abbot's journey is yet to end, and that he will find his own laterano. a new kind of laterano? much like a new volsinii without the famiglie? or (the efforts of) a new iberia? or whatever is in store for leithanien in ZiH? or the strides kjerag is pulling in the new event with degenbrecher? this could be a sign that the issue of laterano and the Law's directive--and its consequences taking shape as sanktan prejudice--will be challenged again, perhaps in a more direct manner. and who better to challenge this than andoain, who's done so before? perhaps it is true that abbot stefano will be involved again then. and id also like to mention lemuen, who does show that sort of questioning as well, in the form of acknowledging the monastery residents' bond regardless of race. still, she seems to have concluded as of the event's epilogue that that sort of understanding between different people is impossible (though she even seems to extend this to between sankta; is she saying this bc even with shared empathy and common goals there is still conflict?). so, who knows. for all i know this is just my delusional hope that andoain and lemuen might become playable some day. even if not though, i do think hortus de escapismo intentionally doesnt give a resolving answer to the inherent issues with Law's directive.

i dont know how to end this, other than that in the end, it is nice to have an epilogue that gives closure to the different characters involved. theres closure for raimund, fortuna, abbot stefano... even hyman and aulus have a section.

last thoughts. the arknights wiki mentions that a sami priest once foretold that terra's end is near, though their cries were ignored. interestingly, we've seen at least two apocalypse scenarios, both not addressed as canon as of now. one is the seaborn assimilation (is3 ending), the other originium spread (kaltsit skin). so perhaps, its not out of pocket to speculate that there might be a future laterano event that signifies a sort of 'end' or fall, either of the physical holy city or the Law. we'll see in due time...

#glad i decided to read other ppl's analysis abt sankta othering #it gave me a better perspective on andoain #and also writings abt fia's character. girl really needs the closure and some extra therapy #arknights #catowl rambles #hortus de escapismo

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oxyvouge · 1 year ago

Text

ᝰ roadtrip, autumn leaves and you .ᐟ ꩜

summary: you're an artist travelling to a village that's hidden within a forest somewhere in the countryside to paint a certain flower that could be found there only. along the way, you came across a certain someone from your past.

━━ ✦ pairing(s): remus lupin x evans!reader

━━ ✦ au where everyone is alive and happy

━━ ✦ word count: 1.5K

⟢ chapters: 1, 2 (upcoming)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: bcz my fave season of the year is coming, heres a remus story for you. if u aren't ginger do pretend so bcz its a evans reader 😭😭

FIRST CHAPTER

AUTUMN ARRIVED WITH A FLOURISH. The trees that were once painted in the finest of green shades were now adorned in a symphony of russet and amber, their leaves gently fluttering to the ground like confetti at a celebration of the changing seasons. Sunlight filtered through the foliage, creating dappled patterns of warmth on the car's dashboard. The autumn's embrace grew even more enchanting as the month of welcoming it is almost passing, ready to welcome the month of October.

Everything around you seemed to remind yourself of a person you had spent your entire life with. A certain fiery red head twin with the name of Lily Evans, now Potter.

Your hair flows with the wind like a flower that wasn't tucked within your headscarf, you're wearing sunglasses to protect your eyes against the sunlight. The music blasted against the winding road playing "Take Me Home, Country Roads" from the radio and falling leaves that made their way into your roof-free convertible. The air that flowed through you carried the crisp fragrance of fallen leaves, mingling with the distant scent of wood smoke from cottages nestled amidst rolling hills reminding you of a certain scarred Gryffindor.

The nostalgia of this season always took you back to your days at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Memories of walking through the corridors with your friends, casting spells in the courtyard, and attending classes flooded your mind.

As you drove down the scenic, tree-lined road of 1985, You couldn't help but smile at the thought of everything. The adventures were etched in your heart, and even now, you could almost hear the mischievous laughter and witty banter that echoed through the pages of your memories.

Years had passed since you crossed paths with most of the people from your past, except for the Potter couple. The memories of that time had become distant, with only the Potter duo consistently present in your life. The last gathering you attended was Lily and James' wedding, where you stood as Maid of Honor. And the latest encounter you had with them was last July, when you popped by to deliver a birthday gift to your nephew, Harry, the birthday boy.

When you arrived to drop off Harry's present, your twin had already been waiting at their front porch. "You're not planning to stay?" Lily inquired, a slight frown creasing her features. She knew well that her younger twin sister wouldn't be partaking in the celebration for Harry's fifth birthday, unlike the others who were yet to arrive.

You chuckled softly as you scooped up the giggling 5-year-old Harry into your arms, playfully tickling his neck. "Sorry, dear sister, but I've got an artwork I need to finish before the looming deadline next week," You replied with a mischievous wink. "I promise, I'll make it up to Harry next year."

Lily shot her a skeptical look, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't convinced by the younger's nonchalant demeanor. "You've been saying that for the past four years, Y/N," she pointed out, her tone wary. "Don't tell me you're still clinging on to the past about Remus?"

Lily's suspicions hit closer to home than you were willing to admit, but for now, you played it off with a playful smile choosing to ignore what she said. "Well, Lilykins, I would've been hanging out with Harry today if you didn't deny my request to take him with me for a road trip."

"I can't leave Harry with you for the entire day," you gasped, taken aback by your twin's lack of faith in you. "You spoil him way too often, and don't get me started on how you're purposefully ignoring Remus!" Lily yelled, her index finger accusingly pointed at you, to which you responded with a dismissive scoff.

"Auntie Y/N, why are you not talking to Uncle Moony?" Harry inquired with a sweet voice, making you turn your grumpy noise into a nice smile 'cause it made you feel better. "Did you both have a fight?"

"Who's fighting who?" James emerged from the house and encountered a duo of redheaded twins. Lily, pointing an accusing finger at the you who's hip holding Harry, turned her attention to him and handed over your neatly wrapped gift for Harry. "Well, hello there, sister-in-law."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Getting into another fight, Slythia?" James arched an eyebrow, wearing a mischievous grin as he playfully addressed you by the nickname he had given you based on your Hogwarts house.

"Well, Y/N here is still holding a torch for Remus," Lily remarked, gently coaxing Harry to let go of her embrace, but the little boy shook his head, clearly spoiled by his aunt's attention. "And aren't your arms getting tired from carrying Harry?"

"Seriously? A torch?" You asked Lily with her use of metaphors.

James burst into laughter at Lily's words about you and Remus being in the same sentence. "Really?"

"Of course not, it's been years since I last saw him and I have moved on." you replied, though your intention wasn't to be humorous, the married couple found it hilarious, sharing a laugh. "I'm serious!"

"No, you're not," James countered, grinning broadly. Damn, this joke never gets old.

Lily pointed out, "It's been years since you last saw him because you've been avoiding him," as she took Harry from her arms and set him down, causing the young boy to pout, prompting James to scoop him up instead.

Defending yourself, you retorted, "I do not!" However, when you looked around, you couldn't deny how tired your legs were becoming, so you straightened your back and glanced at your wristwatch. "Would you look at that, I'm running late. See you!"

Thinking back, are you still really — you shook your head about the thought and looked straight to the road. Not a chance. You let out a scoff, "Please — it's been years."

You look into the rear view mirror to take a look of yourself and back into the road but suddenly someone emerges from the trees and speeds towards the road. You immediately hit the breaks in shock causing your chest to hit the wheel with force narrowly avoiding a collision with the person. Your heart raced. "Bloody hell — ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?" You pushed your sleek sunglasses up and walked out of your car where the person was crouching holding a baby sloth. "Sir, you need to look at me." Your voice mixed with irritation and concern.

When the man looked up at you with slight widened eyes your breath hitched. "Y/N?"

"Remus?" Your irritation turned into shock at seeing your ex here in this situation. "What are you doing here? Why did you — I could've hit you!"

"I was traveling, and I saw the sloth—" Remus stumbled on his words as he still can't process seeing you here of all people. "Wait — How — What are you doing here?"

"Wasn't I the one who's asking you that?" Your voice carried a mix of relief and concern.

Remus, still clutching a sloth in his arms, looked shaken but managed a weak smile. "I suppose you're right," he replied, his voice a tad shaky. He carefully placed the sloth on the grassy roadside.

You quickly parked your car, your concern growing. "Nevermind," you said, shaking off the earlier irritation. "Are you alright?" You extended a hand to help him up, realizing he must have sprained something during his heroic rescue of the sloth.

Remus winced as he tried to stand, clearly favoring one leg. "I think I might have sprained my ankle," he admitted, trying to put weight on it but wincing in pain.

With a concerned frown, you gently supported him and helped him stand, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured ankle. "Let's get you back to my car," you suggested. "There's a store not so far from here, I think I can temporarily take care of that."

And you carefully guided him back to your car, "You're a witch, Y/N." Remus reminded but you shook your head.

"I'm not a healer, Lupin, unless you know a healing spell for that." Suddenly, you felt like you were being hit by a stray rock. "Oh right. Ferula." You conjured the bandaging charm, wrapping them around his ankle.

Remus nodded, appreciative of your help. "Thank you," he said, his voice tinged with gratitude. "And thanks for not hitting that sloth. They're not exactly the fastest creatures."

"How could I not stop when you darted out from the forest, trying to take that hit instead?" You shook your head in disbelief at his recklessness. Despite your astonishment, you gently tucked him into the car seat and made sure he was securely fastened by the seat belt. You closed the door and walked to your side of the car and shut it too before starting your car again.

"I can do that, you know?" Remus stated about how you secured him with a seat belt.

You nodded. "I know." You gave him a quick glance, and started to maneuvering the wheel. "So, where are you off too?"

PS. if yall have other title ideas other than this, do tell bcz i suck with them

NEXT CHAPTER >

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #oxyvouge writes

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abeautylives · 2 years ago

Text

Imperfect Moments - Chapter Three

a/n: If you’ve made it this far, thank you for trusting that things would get spicy. Of course they will. Also Josh is a dick 🫣

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: just under 4k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

warnings: 18+ minors stay away, language, a little angsty, more unwanted attention (discomfort, unwanted touching, nothing graphic but could be triggering to some), Josh being mean lol, mentions and description of sexual situations

Even after coffee, you’re considering skipping the show tonight, but on the other end of the line Josh isn’t having it.

“Please darling you have to come! You can sit in the stands this time and then come back with us to the after party.”

“Josh, I didn’t sleep well. I’m tired, I can miss the show and meet up with you for the party. I think I can figure out how to get there,” you’re trying to lighten the mood, the party is at his and Jake’s house.

He rejects the levity in your tone immediately.

“You’re serious? You’re not coming?”

The complete absence of empathy, of understanding in his voice, hurts. “I’m sorry, I-“

“Ya know what, that’s fine, it’s fine. We could use a lack of distraction I think. Call me if you change your mind I suppose.” With that, the line goes dead.

Already exhausted and now on the verge of tears, you crawl back into bed. You’re sure he didn’t mean anything by it, he’s just disappointed that you won’t be there for him. He’ll be happy to see you afterwards. Right?

When he hasn’t run into you at the venue beforehand, Jake asks Josh if you’re in the seats.

“Why? So you can beg her to kiss you again after?”

“What the fuck is your problem? She not quite far enough up your ass today?”

“She’s not here, claimed she didn’t sleep enough or something, too tired. I don’t have time to worry about it, frankly.”

Jake is taken aback by the lack of awareness in Josh’s words. He’s watched him ignore your obvious feelings for him, but he’s never acted like he couldn’t be bothered to care about you.

“Is she okay?”

“What do you care all of a sudden? She’s fine. She’ll be at the party. Hope she’s all rested up.”

Indignant at his twin’s words, Jake spits out, “I’m not gonna argue with you right before we go on, but just know that I think you’re an idiot. Superbly stupid. Get your shit together Josh.” He turns on his heel and leaves Josh to finish getting ready.

The show goes off without a hitch, a successful repeat of the night prior and after freshening up at the venue the guys and crew load up and make their way to the twins’ house.

You’re there before they are, quite a few people are actually. You’d watched them filter into the house and figured it must have been planned this way, so the guys can make a sort of grand entrance to the celebration of their return to the stage. You watch as they arrive and step out of your car, hoping to catch Josh for a moment alone before going inside.

“Hey! Josh, hi,” you offer a small smile as he turns to you and ushers the others to go in without him.

“Y/N. Feeling better?” His words are clipped. He still sounds irritated with you, so you lay on an apologetic tone.

“I am, I’m so sorry I missed the show. How was it?” You’re touching him now, having reached a hand out to grab onto his upper arm. He looks down at it before raising his eyes back to yours.

“The show must go on darling,” the lack of warmth behind his use of the nickname chills you. “And it went well. You should’ve been there.”

“I know, I really am sor-“

“Doesn’t matter.” He waves it off figuratively and literally, with a hand swirling through the air between you. After a heavy sigh, he shakes your hand off of him but then offers you his elbow. Linking your arm with his, you feel a small wave of relief. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You enter the house together, met with cheers and applause for Josh. Matching drinks are shoved into your hands and you take a long pull from yours, settling your anxious nerves and relaxing you enough to try and enjoy yourself.

Upon coming across Sam, you congratulate him genuinely and let go of Josh's arm to wrap yours around his younger brother, who returns the hug along with a smacking kiss to your cheek. Sammy takes a close second to your favorite Kiszka. He releases you with a laugh before he’s pulled in another direction.

You haven’t seen Jake since you watched them all walk into the house earlier, but you’re fine with that. You spent too much time the night before thinking about him and how strangely he had treated you. You shake the current thought of him from your head as someone offers you a fresh drink.

Glued to Josh’s side, you don’t have to do much weaving through the bodies filling the house. They’re either approaching him or clearing from his path, this is his celebration, he’s the star. He’s also pretty much ignoring you while he basks in the praise of his friends, family, acquaintances. As you smile and laugh appropriately during the frequent but brief interactions, you can feel the distance between the two of you. It isn’t physical, he’s right there, but he feels miles away. You realize he hasn’t said a word to you or really even acknowledged your presence in almost an hour.

When you excuse yourself to grab another drink, he shows no sign that he’s even heard you speak.

Instead of moving toward the kitchen, you head the opposite direction to the hallway that leads to a bathroom and the door that opens to the garage. Before you reach it you can see that the hall is thankfully empty and unlit at the moment, there’s no one there to see the way your eyes are glistening with unshed tears. Your frustration over your unrequited feelings for Josh, coupled with the cold shoulder he’s giving you have them threatening to spill over.

“Y/N, hey!”

You know the voice, and it’s the last person that you want to talk to right now. The last person you’d want to see you like this. Even as you feel your hands ball into fists, your body betrays you and turns back toward the source.

Walking straight at you, ignoring the people trying to congratulate him or get his attention, is Jake. His eye contact is intimidating, almost predatory, and as he gets closer you’re compelled to back away. The hallway is not all that long and as if by design, you’re met with a wall to your back that does nothing to stop him. He actually doesn’t stop moving until the tips of his boots are touching yours, the breaths leaving his flared nostrils landing on your face. By instinct, your hands meet his still bare chest, trying desperately to keep distance between you. People watched him stalk you down, follow you into the hall, and with the way you’re feeling right now you know you’d be mortified if anyone found you like this.

“What are you doing?” Just like the last time he’d been too close to you, it’s barely a whisper and he leans even closer to hear it.

His mouth is next to your ear, warm breath teasing your skin when he speaks. “He doesn’t want you, stop embarrassing yourself.”

“What?” You’re genuinely confused and the gears of your mind are moving slowly, his intensity and nearness are choking your thoughts.

“Josh. Doesn’t want you.

But I do.”

What?!

He lets you push him away, just barely, but his eyes don’t leave yours as they search his face in the dark for anything that will make what he’s just said make sense.

“Jake, I’m so not in the mood to be fucked with right now. I’m… I don’t know, I’m not having a good fucking time and I-“

Your words get stuck in your throat as he moves back in, your body pressed firmly to the wall again and one of his hands braced against it beside your head.

He runs the tip of his nose up your cheek, from your jaw to right beside your ear. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when he speaks again. “I’m not fucking with you. I’m not him.”

He’s not him.

“Get off of me. Jake, please.” You sound small, defeated. You can hear it in your voice and your face is hot with the shame of it. He does pull away but only far enough to let your back leave the wall again. He would’ve missed it if the ambient light coming from the room behind him hadn’t caught on it.

He brings his hand down from the wall to rub his thumb up and across your cheekbone where a single tear has made its escape, wiping it away gently. His touch burns your skin and you jerk your face from it.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Didn’t mean to what?” You cut him off, his change in demeanor is giving you whiplash and now you’re angry. “Trap me in this hallway long enough to humiliate me? Did it feel good, Jake?”

He’s shaking his head, his hair moving with it before he runs a hand through it to push it away from his face. He hadn’t meant to upset you, he’d wanted to just shake some sense into you, selfishly hoped that somehow you’d just accept the truth he was offering you.

His silence fuels your anger until it’s burning hot, bubbling inside you.

“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you all of a sudden? You won’t leave me alone and he’s… he’s acting like I’m not even here!” It leaves you on a furious sob, heated tears now rolling down your face.

Jake feels his heart crack, it actually hurts. This is not what he wanted. But it’s not his fault.

“C’mere, just… come here.”

He pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around your shoulders, feels your hands grip the back of his shirt when your own arms circle his waist and you tuck your face into him. Your tears are hitting his skin, traveling down his chest and he lets his hands pet over your hair and rub circles into your back that he hopes are comforting.

His only regret right now is that the only times he’s ever touched you like this, it hasn’t been because you wanted it.

You let yourself cry on him until you feel empty. As you sniffle and suck in regulated breaths, it registers that his hands haven’t stopped moving over you, he hasn’t grown tired of trying to console you. When you lift your head to face him again, you’re positive you can feel his hold on you get tighter. When your eyes meet, you find sadness and sympathy in his, a small smile on his lips.

“Jake…” your whisper lands across his smile and it stretches almost imperceptibly. “At the risk of making this even weirder…” You pause, knowing what you’re about to say is so far out of left field, even for this situation. His eyebrows lift in encouragement.

“Could you kiss me?” His eyebrows shoot up as far as they can probably go before being pulled back down and knitting together.

“I could… Are you sure?” He’s already moving in.

“Do it before I change my mind.”

He could just do exactly what you’re asking of him, your voice laced with heartache. He wants to. He knows you’re just seeking comfort, confused and hurt. But what he wants more is for you to remember this moment the way that he hopes to, as the moment when things changed.

Removing his arms from around you, he brings his hands to each side of your face and cups your jaw delicately. Your expression is slightly surprised but expectant so he continues. Rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks, a featherlight touch across your skin that’s damp and pinkened from crying, he watches your eyes flutter closed as you lift your face to him. He watches your lips fall open and hears the intake of a small gasping breath when he moves his hands back and slides his fingers into your hair. He has to resist crashing his mouth to yours when he brings one hand down to the side of your neck and your exhale comes out as a tiny whimper. The sound hits his ears and travels through his bloodstream, his dick twitches in his jeans.

“God damnit, sweetheart.” It’s the last thing you hear before the buzzing in your brain takes over as his lips touch yours. It’s soft, really just a caress as your skin meets, but he lets it linger for a moment before pulling away. He’s about to apologize, afraid that you’ll feel like he’s taken advantage of your vulnerability. You don’t give him the chance.

“Again.” Your hands have moved to his chest again and you’re gripping the edges of his unbuttoned shirt. Before he can argue, you’re using it to pull him back in and slotting your lips back together.

He kisses you back with purpose now, using his body to press you into the wall again as your mouths move against each other. He hesitates to deepen it as your hands release his shirt and move lower. He feels them land at his hips and your fingers seek out the belt loops of his jeans. When you use them to tug him flush against your hips, your mouth opens and a small oh escapes it, breaking the kiss.

You both look past heavy eyelids down to where your bodies are touching. He hadn’t expected you to pull him in, but the evidence of how you’re affecting him is clear and it’s hard and pressed into the front of your jeans almost directly over your core.

“Fuck Y/N, I’m sorry, I… it just happened.”

“Shh, stop.”

Sure that this is over now, he moves to step away from you but your hold on his belt loops remains and keeps him in place.

Confused, he looks up into your face and finds your eyes dark and your cheeks flushed, the pink hue has spread but you no longer look sad. When a smirk appears, he returns it with one of his own.

“You meant what you said.” It doesn’t lilt in question at the end because you’re not asking, you’re confirming. He doesn’t respond, unsure of what you’re referring to, but tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow.

“You want me. You meant that.” You push your hips against his, the pressure triggers a quiet groan to creep up his throat so you move against him again.

“Stop,” it sounds constricted, even to him but his self control is wavering as he brings a hand to your hip to put a halt to your movements. This is definitely not how he expected to wind up when he’d followed you into this hall. He’s actually not sure what he was after but he couldn’t have imagined he’d have you pinned against the wall and grinding on his cock while a party is in full swing just feet away.

“Don’t wanna stop. Want you to show me.” His pulse picks up and heat rushes through him. He’d love nothing more than to slink back through the party with you, tip toe up the stairs and fuck you through his mattress. But his conscience isn’t going to let that happen.

“I can’t, sweetheart.” Fuck. He can feel that crack in his heart spread, creep across it like a vine of ivy when your face drops. He reaches up with a knuckle under your chin to lift it back to him. “I want to. You honestly have no idea how badly… but if we do this now, you’ll regret it.” You’re shaking your head in disagreement, but he knows better. “You will. If it happens now. But if you wake up tomorrow and you still want me to show you exactly how you should be treated, exactly what you deserve… Then I promise I’ll fuck you until you forget he exists.”

The second the words pass his lips, he knows they’ll push you away. But he meant them and spoke them with conviction, and if you do decide to take the risk and let him in, he’ll also know that you actually considered the implications.

“I… I think I should go.”

The light above you flicks to life, both of your faces snap to the head of the hallway to find Josh leaning against the wall next to the light switch, arms and ankles crossed.

What Josh sees is his best friend pressed against a wall by his brother’s crotch, one of his hands wrapped around her hip and the other still hanging in the air between their faces where it had been cupping her chin. Her fingers are hooked through his belt loops.

“Yeah Y/N, I think that’s an excellent idea darling.”

Your hands drop from Jake’s hips and his drop from you as he takes a full step backwards and brings his eyes back to your face. He’s not worried about Josh, couldn’t be fucked to care about what he’s thinking right now. His concern is you, as it secretly always has been.

“I’ll walk you out Y/N, it’s okay.”

“Ah yes, another great idea. Try not to accidentally stick your dick in her on your way out.” Josh is pissed and you’re not sure why, as if he has a right to be angry with you after the way he’s treated you today. Jake is already pulling you by your hand to pass his brother, muttering as he reaches him, “Don’t fucking talk about her like that. Fuck you, Josh.”

“Ohh fuck me?” His hands are gesturing wildly, not uncommon for him, but his next words shock all three of you. “No fucking thank you, I thought I’d made it pretty clear that I’m not interested. She just can’t take a hint.”

It feels worse than if he’d physically slapped you. You stop in your tracks right as you’ve come to pass him, stopping Jake with your hands that are still connected.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

You stay there until Josh meets your eyes with his. The instant regret is etched deep into his features, his mouth turned down into an remorseful frown. His face softens when he takes in your expression. You’re sure there’s embarrassment there, your cheeks are hot with it. Rage, probably. That bubbling feeling has returned deep in your belly. But what he sees, what Jake can see too, written all over you and seeping from your pores, is pain.

Quietly, as he reaches for your free hand, he says, “I’m so sorry, you know I didn’t mean to say that darling, I-“

You snatch both hands away from the men standing in front of you. “Don’t call me that. You don’t ever get to call me that again. In fact, can you give Jacob my phone number and then delete it? I don’t want you to call me at all. Bye, Josh.”

You leave them both behind you, matching shock on their faces, set apart only by their difference in hair style. When you reach the front door and wrap your fingers around the handle, you turn to look back over your shoulder. “Jake? I believe you offered to walk me out.” He doesn’t hesitate to move in your direction, and under Josh’s gaze he slides his palm across your lower back then uses it to guide you out the door.

Outside, Jake begins to apologize for his brother’s behavior. Something Josh has never done when Jake caused you any kind of offense. That fact doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you stop him from trying.

“It’s fine.” It’s not, but you’re beyond ready to get home to a bath and an entire bottle of wine, and probably a crying session. “I don’t trust him to do it, so I’m gonna give you my number. It’s weird that you’ve never had it, after all this time.”

A smile eerily similar to the first one he’d graced you with from the stage, just last night, stretches across his closed lips. Again it seems shy, too reserved for everything that’s just taken place.

“Text me, so I have yours. And when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll let you know how I feel.”

His smile grows, stretches until all of his teeth are on display and practically glowing in the low light that’s barely reaching you from the house. Taking a chance, he reaches out to place his hands on either side of the small of your waist. You think he’s going to pull you in but your eyes go wide as he pushes your backside against the driver’s side door of your car and then pins you there with his body.

“Let me kiss you goodnight, sweetheart.” He just wants to, but he also hopes it’ll help to sway any decisions you make about him tonight. You lift your arms to wrap around the back of his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair for the first time. You like the soft feel of it on your fingertips.

You whisper into the small amount of space he’s left between your faces, “Let me have it then.”

He moves in and kisses you softly, just a simple press of his lips to yours, but his hold on your waist tightens and he sucks a sharp breath in through his nose when your hand at the base of his neck grips his hair and tugs it gently. You use it to pull his mouth from yours and he looks a little dazed when he opens his eyes.

“I’ll talk to you soon. Maybe.” You place a palm to the center of his chest and push him away to climb into your car.

He stood in the driveway, hands shoved into his pockets and watched you drive until he couldn’t see your taillights any longer.

Josh avoided him when he made it back inside. After a few more drinks, and a couple of excuses given as to where he’d disappeared to, he left his own party to attempt sleep.

At home, you’d done exactly as you’d wanted. You ran a bath that was a touch too hot, nearly finished the bottle of wine you’d brought in with you, and let your thoughts drift to Jake. Then to Josh. And back to Jake. You didn’t let tears fall until you were buried beneath your blanket.

It was Jake that snuck his way into your dreams once sleep found you.

Likewise, you’d made another appearance in his. This dream version of you was beneath him, laid out over his bedsheets, hair spread over his pillows and tits bouncing as he fucked into you. Instead of praise for his talents spilling from your lips, in between gasps and moans of his name you were whispering words he couldn’t make out. He leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the soft sounds you were making. When he pulled back, he breathed out…

I love you too, sweetheart. I love you.

He’d jerked awake, sweating. The clock read 3:27am. What the fuck.

When he managed to fall back into sleep, it was dreamless.

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