#valet gallery

[housederiva]

I’m LIVING for these updates

I'm glad you enjoyed them! it was really fun to be able to be at the game awards, i'm glad I could be entertaining to you guys while I was there xx

[amazinglyashy]

Everybody at the bar getting tipsy!

LaDS men dragging you home after an over-indulgent evening out

Rafayel -

It was mostly his own fault.

He left you alone at one of his exhibits, when there was a dessert buffet and an open bar.

In his defense, he was so sure you would be too focused on the dessert buffet to even notice there was alcohol available, much less spend enough time over there to overdo it. But just his luck, turns out one of your old college friends was attending the gala, and you'd gotten swept up in the chatter.

He will leave his own party early just to get you home safely, but he is struggling. He had to pick you up to get you down the front steps of the gallery in order to get to the valet and his car, but you're squirming so badly, he's afraid he's going to drop you at this rate.

He manages to get you seated and buckled, but he is somewhat regretting not locating a bag or something for you before making it this far. He can't exactly leave you, so he just hopes your drinks and sweets won't make a reappearance on his car upholstery.

(He won't be mad or mean to you if it does, though. He knows you can't control it in this state.)

He has to try and guide you once the two of you make it home, so that he can prevent you from stumbling, get you water, and keep his hands hovering near you as you attempt to dance to nothing- all at the same time.

He'll make comments under his breath about your current state, just to keep his sanity. He's actually pretty worried about you, even though you're safe alone with him and this has happened before. It could happen another hundred times, and his reaction would still be the same.

Lord, he hopes you don't have a hangover tomorrow.

Sylus -

You had made the mistake of trying to drink the same thing Sylus was while helping him on a job.

It does not matter how much of a heavyweight you are when it comes to drinking. Regardless, Sylus can handle more. And that is where you screwed up.

The hit hurt going down, but it took a moment to start taking effect. In that time, you had grabbed a glass of wine to carry with you in addition, sipping on it as you spoke to other people around you, trying to gather intel as best as you could.

While it didn't have much alcohol content, it was still enough to help push you closer to the edge, and Sylus notices immediately.

He's making an excuse and ushering you out the door faster than you can say goodbye to whoever you had been conversing with, the fear of you spilling any important information or getting wrapped up with the wrong person noticing your state of inebriation stronger than his need to finish the mission right now.

His evol makes it easy to keep you upright on his bike as he drives you home, and luckily his main residence is close by, so he doesn't risk you blowing chunks on his back while behind him.

He will make sure you're drinking water and eating something small, but it becomes a bit difficult with you in your pajamas, clinging to him and nuzzling him, thanking him for taking you home and out of those ridiculously stuffy clothes.

When you're sober, he will show you a video of you snuggling against his arm, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he watches your eyes widen.

"Not beating the 'couple' allegations anymore, kitten."

Xavier -

There is one problem.

That problem is Xavier is also drunk.

The two of you had gone to the bar together with some coworkers after a long day, and had been foolish enough to stay out long after the rest of the group had decided to go home.

It had made for great conversation, but that same conversation had distracted the two of you from just how much you were both drinking. Now, you were balancing against each other as you tried to walk home.

It had to be quite the sight- two people stumbling home under the street lights, still in Hunter uniforms, but one was barefoot and holding a pair of slight heels, while the other was wearing shoes too big for their feet.

You couldn't help it! Your feet had hurt so bad in your work shoes, apparently now that you were extra sensitive from drinking. And Xavier was always such a gentleman, you couldn't stop yourself from mentioning it to him-

The walk is uneventful, no one would dare try and mess with two seasoned Hunters, even if they weren't currently in their right minds.

Once you're both home, the two of you are slurring through an argument as you try to get the other to drink water, bickering about who's the 'sober' one.

The answer is neither.

You both end up asleep on the couch together, and bonking your heads together upon waking up is not going to do wonders for either of your hangovers.

Thank goodness it's the weekend...

Zayne -

He didn't even mean to find you, walking by the bar you were in on his way back from picking up some pastries he had been craving, before the bakery closed for the evening. The only available parking had been just past the bar, and he had walked by the first time, hearing your cheerful, drunken shouts, not recognizing it the first time.

He recognized your voice on his way back though.

"Who's that idiot singing?"

"Oh, it's my idiot-"

He is slightly perturbed to be standing surrounded by drunken Hunters who had gone out together for some fun that night, singing around him and his little blue box of pastries.

He lets you all finish your song, before calmly taking your arm and dragging you out of the building, thanking the group for taking good care of you as you shout protests of being kidnapped by a mad doctor.

He has to wrestle the seatbelt on you after he gets you to sit in his passenger seat, and you will not be hearing the end of this once you're sober. He's had plenty of practice with unruly patients at the hospital, but this was just too much.

It was really hard trying to get you safely into his car when he was trying extremely hard not to laugh at your babbling and slurring protests at him, broken up by occasional song chorus.

What song? He had no idea.

But he was taking you to his place if this was the state you were going to be in. He didn't want to risk you getting hurt unsupervised.

That, and he wanted to hear more of your wonderful drunken singing voice.

[kendyzzlewp]

i just can’t stop thinking about husband!art and how protective he is over you. jfc, he will kill anyone who even looks at your direction

just imagine

you’re getting ready for a stupid work event, adjusting your dress in front of the mirror. art sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, a frown plastered on his face as he watches.

‘i wish you didn’t have to go’ he said, giving you the usual puppy dog eyes.

with a sad sigh you turn, walking over to him and standing in between his legs. ‘I know, but howard will kill me if i miss this one.”

at the mention of your sleazy boss he tenses, his frown turning into a scowl as you ran a hand through his short blonde locks

‘fucking hate that creep,’ he mutters, his hand softly caressing your bare legs. ‘if he tries anything, promise me you’ll call.’

with a soft smile, you nod bending down to plant a kiss on his furrowed brow. ‘I will,’ you promise.

you get to the art gallery that’s hosting the event, leaving your car in the valet and entering the building. it was already filled with newly rich influencers much to your annoyance. still you plaster on a smile.

spotting your boss from across the room, you made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. not in the mood to stand his advancements that teetered on the edge of harassment.

the night went on, your face hurt from smiling too much, the champagne in your hand already warm as you moved around the space

‘Y/N!’

you couldn’t help but physically cringe as the older man made his way over to you. the smell of whiskey and sweat making your stomach churn

‘howard,” you greet him, short and polite, looking around for a chance to escape.

but it’s too late because he’s already all up in your personal space, saying how beautiful you are and how art is a lucky man and how your dress hugs your curves but he takes it too far, pushing the boundary between inappropriate to straight up assault

his hand finds its way to the small of your back, slowly traveling down until it landed on your ass. you froze, heart racing, legs trembling and eyes opening in absolute panic. no one around you seems to notice your predicament.

“donaldson really is a lucky bastard,” he whispered into your eat, making your skin crawl.

with the smallest ounce of courage left in your body, you push him away. angry and shameful tears cascading down your cheeks in big fat globs.

“fuck you,” you hissed, running toward the nearest bathroom.

locking the door behind you, you fetch your phone from your purse, dialing with a trembling hand,

‘hey, baby. you almost home?”

art’s voice seems to bring you back down to reality, the feeling of shame settling in the pit as your stomach as you bite back sob

‘art,’ you manage to choke out, your breath coming in short burst. ‘I can’t, he…tried to…”

‘hey, hey,” he said, his concerned tone driving you over the edge. ‘what happened?’

letting out a big breath, your hands grip your hair in utter frustration. ‘Howard…he tried to, god. he grabbed my ass and he wanted…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“where are you?” his tone was urgent now, you could hear rustling of movement and keys.

“in the bathroom,” you whispered, your breath hitching between sobs.

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his voice firm and reassuring.

minutes felt like hours as you waited for your husband to arrive. surprised you didn’t create a hole in the marble floor with the amount of pacing you were doing.

a soft knock caught you by surprise, followed by a muffled. “its me.”

a wave of relief fell upon you like a soothing balm, rushing to the door, you unlocked it, opening it. art’s mouth fell into a frown, you must’ve looked like a mess but you didn’t care. he instantly pulled you against his chest as you fell apart, his presence a anchoring reality to what happened.

“let’s go home,” he whispered, pulling back slightly and cupping your face in his hands. “and you are not working again, do you understand me?”

you nod silently, grateful for his support and you let him lead you out of the bathroom. murmurs and whispers could be heard but it wasn’t anything new. you husband was art donaldson, tennis superstar and olympic gold medalist. he was used to the stares and the commentary.

“mr. donaldson,” the familiar voice sent your heart into a panicked frenzy. “what a nice surprise.”

ugh, that disgusting piece of shit.

art froze, his expression darkening as he looked over his shoulder. he spotted your boss, sporting a smug smile on his face as he lifted his glass. the bastard.

without a word, art dropped your hand and made his way over to him. it was all a blur, but you could recall his fist connecting with howard’s jaw, you remember barely hearing the gasps of the attendees over the sound of your beating heart.

howard effectively fell to the floor, his hand cradling his jaw in surprise. art stood over to him, his fit frame casting a shadow over the now small and cowardly man.

“if you ever come near my wife again, i will fucking kill you,” he growled. “you even breath near her and you are done.”

not waiting for a response, he turned and dragged you out of there.

[dpspcehntr]

Night and Day

Part One

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader, Xavier x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

You attend a gallery opening with Rafayel and spend the day with Xavier before a mission.

Warnings: polyamorous relationship (reader is solo poly), each party knows and is enthusiastic about it, sensitive reader, humiliation, exhibition kink (if you squint), nipple clamps, fingering (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), ruining clothes, humiliation kink (if you squint), edging, p in v, cream pie, squirting, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), not beta read

A/N: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! Once again I got carried away like big time 😭. I wrote this all this today so I could get this out, but also inspiration finally hit me. Yes they know about each other, just like part one there has to be something that connects them. I did have quite a bit of fun writing them meeting in the morning. This is so long and long overdue but I hope you enjoy! As always reblogs are deeply appreciated!

Rafayel asked you to attend a gallery opening with him this evening, not as his body guard but as his plus one. You take this as the perfect opportunity to wear a new accessory you’ve been working on for a while.

“There’s a piece in the gallery I think you’ll really like.”

He explains on the ride to the gallery from your apartment. He insisted on picking you up since it was closer to you. Once inside your eyes zero in on the piece in question. He walks you over to it. Rafayel leans down to capture your lips in his for a soft kiss. His kiss light but hungry and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. You whine softly before quickly pulling yourself together and putting your attention back to the room. He smirks as he moves away toward another group of people. Your cheeks are flushed with warmth when you realize how close you came to embarrassing yourself in front of a room of his peers. The humiliation should scare you but you feel your clit throbbing for attention. You secretly praise the powers at be for not getting carried away, the clamps on your nipples are doing just enough to keep you on the edge. You couldn’t wait for the moment he unwraps you and gives you the much needed relief you desired. You sit on the bench by one of your favorite pieces in this collection and nurse your drink. It feels like ages before he spots you again. You wondered how you looked to him but then quickly dismiss it , feeling overwhelmed. He strides over to you with his familiar smirk planted on his lips.

“Careful Ms. Bodyguard, you’re almost too obvious.”

Another throb pulses through you as he looks you up and down. You carefully stand up and look him in the eyes.

“Tell me the inspiration for this piece. I like this one quite the most.”

He immediately blushes a deep shade of red before clearing his throat. You knew exactly what this painting was inspired by but you loved teasing him.

“Well, this piece is inspired b-by someone very special. I uh like the forms and colors they remind me of. I took those and put them in this piece.”

His eyes nervously avoid yours as he continues to talk about this piece. He keeps going to save face for the other people in the room. You reminisce on the night he fucked you on the art studio floor while working on this piece. He cream pied you and finished the painting watching his cum leak out your aching hole. You were surprised he kept the piece in the show, then you remembered he loves being a tease. It was your favorite piece because of how excited he was to show you the finished piece the next time you visited him. When he finishes his explanation of the piece and makes eye contact with you and instantly you both know you’re not gonna stay much longer. After an introduction to the gallery and a short speech from the owner you feel his hand slip into yours and give it a squeeze. With no hesitation you lock fingers with him and quietly slip you both out to lobby of the gallery. The car was already pulled up by the valet and you waste no time getting in and heading to your apartment. Once inside your apartment his hands are all over you, pinning you to the door. His hand slides down your body, flipping your skirt up and feeling your underwear. He sighs in satisfaction as he pressed into your soaked core. You grip him for dear life as he rubs your clit lightly through your underwear.

“You’re so wet, we should’ve left sooner. Fuck.”

You hump into his hand desperate for any friction. He slides a finger underneath your underwear and presses into your dripping core. You arch into his touch as he slips two fingers in with ease. He holds them there for just a second, feeling your core fluttering against his digits. You and him both know you won’t last much longer like this but he presses on anyway fingering you at a brutally slow pace. Teetering right on the edge you whine and squirm trying to get him to move faster. Your body in torturous bliss as your release is just out of reach. He pulls both fingers out of you much to your displeasure.

“Please Raf. Please.”

He shushes you with a heated kiss and wraps both of his arms around you. You hook your arms behind his neck and pull him closer. Nothing will ever be close enough for the both of you, for now you settle with skin to skin contact. You press your chest into his and hiss into the kiss when you remember the clamps still on your nipples. He pulls away from the kiss and leads you to your living room. Your bedroom is simply too far away now, he needs you right now. He sits down on the couch and makes quick work of his belt and zipper. Before you straddle his thighs you take off your top to show off the clamps on your aching nipples. The clamps themselves were a work of art, with chains and jewels drape from them. The jewels were a deep red that reminded you of his fire evol, it took you months to complete them and you were so excited to see his reaction to them. You quickly discard your skirt and ruined underwear as he watches your naked form. He was still fully clothed, pumping himself in his hands waiting for you. The fun part was ruining his expensive clothes, he relished in the embarrassment of having to get them professionally cleaned.

“I’ll have to keep this image in my mind, I have a painting already in mind.”

You stride over to him and finally straddle his thighs. He lines himself up with your entrance and you slowly slide down till you bottom out. You throw your head back as a loud wail escapes your lips. He grips your hips and you begin to ride him. Slowly at first but you just couldn’t wait anymore. Your release was so close, your whole brain was fuzzy with need. His grip tightened as he thrusted back into you, leaving you a quivering mess teetering on the edge. The main connecting chain on the clamps very briefly got caught on a button on his shirt. The light tug it gave to your nipples was enough to have you seeing stars. You clench down on him in a vice grip as your orgasm crashes over you. Whines and groans leave your lips as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. His pace is brutal as one orgasm rolls into the next. A familiar pressure builds up in your body as another orgasm washes over you. You try to give him a warning but it’s too late, you gush and squirt on him leaving a huge wet spot on his pants and shirt. That doesn’t stop him though as he continues to thrust into you. His thrusts feel more erratic and you know he’s close.

“Cum inside me.”

Your voice is hoarse as you beg to feel him deeper inside you. He thrust as deep as he could and let out a groan. He painted your insides with his cum as you clenched down on him for another orgasm, milking him dry. You stay like this for a while, catching your breath as he goes soft inside you. After a while he pulls out of you with a pop, his cum leaking out of you onto his ruined pants. Another moment passes before you finally slide off of him onto the spot next to him. The mix of the both of you sits sticky on your inner thighs as he gets up to clean you both up. The chain of your clamps sits delicately between your breasts as you toy with it. Thankfully the piece is not damaged so you can put it away for another time. When he returns you’re lost in the inspection of the clamps to notice. He hooks a finger onto the main chain and gives it a tug. You cry out and look up at him. He reaches for the clamps and removes them carefully before setting the chain on the table next to the couch.

“It’s such a pretty piece of jewelry, I’d hate to damage it.”

He kneels down to clean you up as you slowly drift off to sleep, completely spent.

*the next morning*

Your alarm blares in your ears as you slowly come to. 7:00 in the morning, that means it’s time to get ready for work. You let a silent curse out your mouth for forgetting to take the day off. You groggily rub your eyes and pull the covers off of you. Rafayel is laying next to you deep in sleep, he must’ve carried you to bed last night. Before getting up you place a soft kiss on his cheek and ruffle his hair. Once out of bed you head to the bathroom to start getting ready. In the mirror you take inventory of last night’s damage. Your hips have bruises right where he gripped you, your nipples still sensitive to touch. Your makeup is smeared and your hair is a mess. Overall it could be worse. Once you removed your day old makeup and wash your face it’s time for a shower. After a quick wash up, you towel dry and come back into your bedroom. Rafayel is still in bed but looking over your naked frame. You brush him off and head to your dressing area.

“Can’t you just blow off work and stay with me?”

He muses from your bed. Oh how lovely it would be to stay in bed and fuck all day but alas you have rent and bills to pay. Once dressed for the day like clockwork you hear a key turning the lock on your front door. You enter the living room to see Xavier ready to walk to the Hunter’s Association with you.

“Good morning. You look like you need more sleep.”

Xavier nods to your tired demeanor and looks into your bedroom.

“Well I think I get it now. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Xavier makes a point to sit on the chair next to the couch, it clicks in your mind. He heard you last night. Heat radiates from your cheeks, the familiar slick forming in your underwear. It’s much too early to think about how much that turns you on. You quickly gather your composer and turn back to your bedroom.

“I’m almost ready. I won’t be long.”

Once inside Rafayel waves to Xavier and they exchange a look. You dismiss it before grabbing your bag, giving Rafayel a kiss goodbye, and turning back to the living room.

“Let’s go or we’ll be late.”

Xavier and Rafayel exchange goodbyes before you both leave for work. He seemed uncharacteristically alert today. Every shift and turn of your body was of interest to him. His hands lingered just a bit longer on your body, his eyes continuously watching your lips, all of which he denies when you ask him about it. Once you arrive, you and Xavier are assigned to stake out mission in the next city over to investigate a lead on illegal protocols trading. You’ll be there for the rest of the weekend, so in Jenna’s words, rest up today before your big day tomorrow. You both however will be doing no such thing. You exchange charged glances as Jenna explains the details of your mission and your undercover identities. Once in the parking garage you’re given clothes, IDs, and other things you might need for this trip.

“Looks like we’re married for this one. Look at the last names.”

You both take a glance at your IDs, clearly seeing you both didn’t pay attention nearly enough to Jenna’s instructions. You both pile into the car and make your way to the destination. His hand never left your thigh for the entire time there. Sometimes slipping it dangerously close to exactly where you wanted him. Once checked into your accommodation it was clear he had something on his mind. He seemed determined to get to your room. You didn’t complain, the way his hands felt on you had you wanting more. Once inside the room you bags were discarded and once again you were pushed into a door with someone’s hands all over you. You throw your head against the door and he kissed your jaw and neck. You feel overwhelmed as you cling to him for support. Raf must’ve given him the okay to ravish you and Xavier wasn’t gonna miss this opportunity. He lifts your leg up and presses more of himself into you. You feel his hard on as you try your best not to grind onto it.

“My turn.”

He whispers in his ear as he kisses down to your exposed chest. He ruts into your aching core, feeling how needy he is for you. Your underwear was already ruined as he presses harder into you. You try your best to meet his thrusts but you’re so overcome with want you can hardly stand up.

“Xavier, the bed. Let’s use the bed.”

With great effort he pulls away from you and you have to catch yourself. You both begin to quickly strip out of your clothes. The tension in the room has become palpable. You can’t help but feel a gush when you think about how wound up he is since last night. Hearing you whimper and moan as you were taken by someone else. You should be embarrassed but all you can do is melt into his arms in hopes he’ll fuck you just a little harder. You quickly make your way to the bed with him not far behind. You sit on the edge of the bed as he kneels down in front of you and spreads your legs. He wastes no time licking a stripe from your dripping core to your sore clit. The night before leaving you sensitive and full of want you shiver into his touch. His arms are hooked around your legs holding you in place as he licks and sucks you. You can barely move as he continues to devour you like a starved man You make a mental note to rile hm up more often. Your clit begins to throb as your orgasm approaches. You try to move away from his face but his grip on you tightened. He hums into you savoring your taste as you clench down onto his tongue. You collapse onto the bed as your release washes over you. The death grip he has on your thighs prevents you from squirming away as he continues to lick into you. Moans fall from your lips as your orgasm is extended. The pain of overstimulation only furthers your desire to cum again You stay like this for what feels like hours, orgasm after orgasm rolls over you. Your hips ache and your voice has gone hoarse. You feel the familiar pressure building up in your lower half. Your brain doesn’t have time to process a warning before it releases onto his face as another orgasm washes over you. He drinks every drop up before he finally lets up. He leans back and observes the mess he’s made of you and hums proudly. You take a moment to catch your breath and stretch out your legs. You sit up to take in the sight of him. HIs lips were swollen, a beautiful shade of bright pink. His face is glistening with your juices and his eyes are glazed over with desire. Your brain goes fuzzy with desire as you watch him take himself in his hands. Instinctively you scoot up onto the bed as he climbs in, settling himself on top of you.

“Are you okay? Do you want to continue?”

For a moment you’re lost in his eyes, mesmerized by the softness you see in them. It takes a moment for you to register he’s asked you a question, your mind once again fuzzy with desire. All you wanted right now was to feel in inside you as deep as he can go.

“Yes. Please fuck me, I need you.”

Without any delay he thrusts into you and bottoms out with ease. He buries his head into the nook of your shoulder, each grunt and moan he lets out right into your ear. You run your hands into his hair and tug lightly. He moans louder into your ear and you flutter around him. Your nipples still sensitive from last night rub lightly against his chest leaving you gasping and begging. He isn’t going to last much longer and neither are you. His thrusts become more desperate as you clench harder around him. Soon his hips still as he paints the inside of your walls white. You milk him for every drop as your release crashes down on you. You both stay like this for a while, letting him go soft inside you. When he finally pulls out you’re dangerously close to falling asleep. He rolls over into the empty spot next to you and pulls you close to his chest where you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Joseph Karl Stieler (German, 1781–1858) Portrait of Helene Sedlmayr, 1831 Gallery of Beauties, Nymphenburg Palace

She was the daughter of a shoemaker from Munich, and became known to King Ludwig when she supplied toys to his children. He had her portrait painted when she was 18. She is shown here wearing the traditional Munich headdress. Ludwig is said to have wooed her with the words, “Don’t have such a searching and inquiring glance. You cheeky, loveliest beauty, look at me and trust me.” Helene later married the king's valet, and together they had 10 children.

[cloakedsparrow]

Stately Wayne Manor -as it appears in my Bat Family AU -Redo

So it turns out that long galleries don't quite work the way I thought they did. it turns out, they usually only cover one side of the house rather than wrapping all the way around. In my defense, I have never been in a manor or mansion in my life. With this new knowledge, I have redesigned the Manor so more rooms get windows. I also had to shuffle some rooms around and even add a few because just making rooms bigger to fill in the extra space was going to make them ridiculously huge (as if half weren't already). The gym, library, theater, arcade, and kitchen are bigger as well though. Overall, I like this design better than the first.

The stairs in the kitchen go down to the cellar (not shown), which has a root cellar, wine cellar, vault, and survival bunker. I didn't redo the attic since it's just the one chimney that would be moved, so just pretend it's to the right a little more.

I thought Jason should have the office with windows due to his time on the streets and being beaten and blown up while trapped in a warehouse before waking up in a coffin buried underground. I figure he'd like to have an extra exit available. Plus, it's not like Bruce and Tim are used getting sunlight and it made sense for Alfred to be closer to both Bruce's office (since he's his valet) and the classroom (in case the kids needs schooling).

[fayes-fics]

Portrait: I

Masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The first portrait session.

Warnings (for this chapter): none

Word Count: 1.4k

Authors Note: Enjoy! <3

I

It's an early spring morning when you watch from the drawing-room window, heart in your mouth, as he descends gracefully from his carriage, so elegant in a navy jacket over a maroon waistcoat with a soft gold silk cravat. You listen as your family butler lets him in, and before you can arrange yourself on the setee, he strides in business-like. All he knows is that he is here to paint a portrait of a bride for her intended. He already has his hand out to shake yours… until he sees it's you. 

His whole stance changes, and you know in an instant that he recognises you from the gallery that night. Now, up close, you see how tall he is, the turn of his aristocratic nose and his eyes that are the haziest blue you have ever seen. It's impossible to look away. 

There is something charged in the air as, instead of shaking your hand, he delicately takes it up to his lips and brushes the lightest of kisses across your knuckles. There is no skin contact, seeing as you are wearing silk gloves, but even that simple gesture has you undone. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and his lips through the material, and you have to school your breathing; your stays suddenly too tight around your ribcage.

“Miss y/l/n,” his voice is a veritable rumble, and your body is aflame. You are his. Completely. There is no other man you wish to know, wish to marry. Ever. You want him to take your hand and run. Run far away until the name Thomas Baden-Smith is but a distant memory…. “Show me where you wish for this portrait to be painted.” he cuts into your yearning reverie.

You stumble, almost dazed, towards the chaise you have set up in front of the fireplace for this exact purpose. His gaze flits between you and then around the room.

“The light there is not quite right,” he opines with a head tilt. “I would like to move you,” he adds, drawing closer. You sit there dumbfounded for a second until you realise he is looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to get up so he can rearrange the furniture.

“Sorry, good sir,” you apologise and jump to your feet, stepping aside, not missing how his nostrils flare at the honorific title you bestow upon him.

He moves the chaise, so it is on a diagonal. Then asks you to sit again as he moves to stand in front of the window. All you see is his silhouette as the bright sunlight blazes behind him.

“Perfect!” he exclaims after a moment of consideration, gesturing for his valet to set up his easel where he stands.

The valet does so and then bustles quickly from the room. It is just you and Benedict now. And the grandfather clock in the corner, loudly announcing each second with its pendulum swing.

You decide it is good that you cannot see him so well with where he has chosen to stand. Perhaps you will be able to sit still. Not think about the tingle you still feel on your knuckles where he kissed you, barely a chaste brush as it was. Just last year, you shared a stolen kiss with your childhood friend Daniel behind the greenhouse, his tongue in your mouth, his hands grabbing your bottom. But that was nothing compared to the split-second Benedict Bridgerton’s lips burned a metaphorical hole through your glove and your heart. And indeed, the polar opposite of the disdain you feel every time you are within a few feet of your intended, albeit the very reason you are sitting here in the first place.

You have to force yourself to concentrate as Benedict details how the process will work, explaining it will take around five hours and that he will paint the portrait over the course of five sessions. Adding that he has heard from a good friend that this is the most successful approach, as after an hour, people tend to get restless about sitting still.

“Do you have a pose in mind, or would you like me to suggest one for you to adopt?” he asks, and your mind goes blank. You honestly had not even considered that.

“Nothing in particular. Just something acceptable for my future husband to hang in his hallway,” you answer quietly, reluctant to vocalise the reason he is here.

Something flashes in his eyes, and it dawns on you that perhaps your parents did not elucidate why they requested his services. 

“Right, well,” he bustles, seeming a little off-kilter, “we should endeavour to capture the very reason he fell in love with you….” 

“He does not love me,” you cut in, desperate to clarify, “and I certainly do not him. Not all people have the privilege of marrying for love, Mr Bridgerton,” you end, your voice brittle.

You see him nod and swallow heavily as if he has words he doesn't want to allow to escape. “Permit me a closer look to determine the best pose?” his request gentle and respectful. 

Suddenly he is kneeling in front of you as you perch on the chaise. You have to fix your gaze on a spot on the wall behind him; you dare not look at him as he seems to study your face.

“You have a face that captures the light perfectly,” he murmurs, and you know a blush stains your cheeks and creeps lower your collarbone feeling heated and prickled. A gasp catches in your throat as a long, elegant thumb and forefinger delicately grab your chin and move your face to be slightly in profile. It's his bare hand on your skin. Your body flushes hot, and there is a sudden pulse at the apex of your thighs; you have to swallow hard to tamp the saliva filling your mouth.

“That's it,” his tone triumphant, “don’t move.” 

Your eyes dart to meet his even as you keep your head where he requested. There is a split second where your gaze holds, and his pupils enlarge as you slowly draw your bottom lip under your teeth without realising. There it is again. That jolt that you ardently want to believe he feels too.

It's almost a relief when he clears his throat, stands up and walks back to his easel, puttering around with paints and brushes as you watch in your peripheral vision. Just as you think you are back to an even keel, he peels off his jacket and rolls up the frilled cuffs of his crisp white shirt, exposing his toned forearms. You feel a galloping tightness in your chest, yet again, you cannot look anywhere but him.

“This is to prevent charcoal or paint transferring,” he explains, erroneously assuming your intense stare is borne of confusion rather than abject enthrallment. 

“Of course…” you respond, shaking your head lightly to rid the reverie of thoughts your mind is supplying, tumbling images of your fingertips tracing over the vein that runs from his wrist to his elbow.

“At first, I like to sketch an outline as a guide for my painting,” he explains, and you just nod, unsure of what else to do.

And then all is quiet as he concentrates on the task at hand. It is a strange trance-like state you enter as the moments tick by. Holding the pose as you hear charcoal scratch over the canvas. Attempting to syncopate your heartbeat with the gentle dull rhythm of the grandfather clock. Anything to school your body’s reaction every time your eyes stray to him.

Half an hour has passed when the pins and needles start to creep into your limbs, your body more on an even keel as it adjusts to his continued presence. Your brain feels like it needs some stimulation, and alas, you cannot read a book, so decide conversation it must be.

“How many young lady’s portraits have you painted?” you ask as he seems to change for a different pencil.

“None,” he admits with mild contrite, “you are my first. My speciality is usually landscapes.”

“First of many, I am sure,” you affirm. “Once they see your work here, you will have a line of customers.”

“You flatter me, miss,” his cheeks heating a delightful shade of pink as he dips his head and continues his work. Not without his eyes twice darting to yours and then looking away. 

You pretend not to notice the ache in your chest his humility causes as the clock strikes the hour, signalling the end of your session.

And when he leaves a few moments later, wrapping up the canvas without letting you see it, you feel strangely bereft—as if he has taken a little piece of you with him out of the door. 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush

[art-portraits]

Portrait of Helene Sedlmayr

Artist: Joseph Karl Stieler (German, 1781–1858

Genre: Portrait

Date: 1831

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: Nymphenburg Palace, Munich, Germany

Helene Sedlmayr

Helene Kreszenz Sedlmayr (12 February 1813, Trostberg – 18 November 1898, Munich) was a German beauty of the 19th century, considered the epitome of Munich's beauties. A shoemaker's daughter, she became known to Ludwig I of Bavaria when (aged 15) she supplied toys to his children and he commissioned a portrait of her from Stieler for his Gallery of Beauties and her portrait is one of the most famous of the 36 portrait paintings of the Beauties.

In 1831 she married the king's valet Hermes Miller (1804–1871), with whom she had 10 children.

[theamityelf]

The painting is of Celeste's face, composed of many colors, in such short strokes that it almost resembles a mosaic, and yet still immediately recognizable as Celeste. Its dimensions are eight feet by five feet, and the sunlight pouring in from each window irradiates it with vibrancy. It instantly brought tears to Celeste's eyes the first time she saw it. And yet now, she has trouble keeping her eyes on it.

The painting is being hung high in her foyer– the first thing guests will see. The men hanging it are her valets. They're lean, strong. Their uniforms are tailored perfectly to accentuate their best features, and their handsome faces are slightly furrowed with concentration as they coordinate their efforts. No one who visits Celeste's mansion can ever help but to stare at her gorgeous house staff, and yet now, Celeste doesn't much care to look at them, either.

Her gaze keeps being drawn to the short, casually-dressed artist beside her. Angie is watching them hang the painting, holding her hands out in front of her with her fingers forming a pretend frame. She is barefoot, in shorts and a very paint-splattered t-shirt, and her hair is tied back in a ponytail that resembles the wool of a white sheep. Her head is slightly tilted, and her eyes are unfocused in that inscrutable way–

And suddenly she turns to look at her patron with serene smile. "Celeste must really like Angie's painting a lot," she says.

Celeste maintains a coy expression, despite feeling startled that she has been caught staring. "I beg your pardon?"

Angie giggles. "You've never hung me in the foyer before. You've kept the rest of Angie's paintings in the gallery, behind glass, with only the electric lights for company."

"Of course. The better to show off my collection to guests."

"I see, I see," she muses. "At least one of Angie's paintings gets to see the sun." The painter bats her eyes pitifully, accosting Celeste with the easeful prettiness of her probing smile.

Celeste affects a supercilious laugh and replies, "Paint another portrait of me, and we shall see where it goes." Hearing the double entendre in her own words, she adds, "There is space above the mantle, if your work merits it."

"So silly," Angie says, taking one of Celeste's hands between her own. (Celeste wishes she weren't wearing her lace gloves today.) "Painting a portrait of Celeste is no work at all! Will you come pose for Angie?"

"I, uh-" She loses her accent for a second, then quickly recovers it. "I am having friends over for spades, this evening. If you have need of a reference, I can be available tomorrow after teatime."

"Okie-dokie! I'll be sure to pray God closes Her eyes while you're gambling." A teasing smile, crinkling her nose and the corners of her eyes–

They're interrupted by the valets, asking Celeste if she's satisfied with how they've hung the painting.

"For now," Celeste answers them. "Though, if she paints many more, we may soon have to shift it a few feet to the left, to make room."

Angie's smile glows in the sunlight.

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Gifting your Husband Boudoir Photos

Featuring Schweiden Adlers

Schweiden Adlers x female(wife) reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, VERY suggestive

AN: of course I needed to give my Adler bbys some love 🫶🏻

Heiwajima

Biggest simp? Biggest simp 😌

Definitely beats about his GORGEOUS wife to his team all the time

“Hey look at this picture my wife just posted?” “She has a name you know-” “SHES MY WIFE!”

Literally Liberos would make the best partners, hype beast extraordinaries

Anyways, you and Toshiro have been married for almost a year now

You wanted to surprise your husband with the something you’d knew he’d love

🙌🏻 pictures of you 🙌🏻

See you casually replaced photos around your home with new sexy ones 🤪

You weren’t entirely sure your husband would notice

But like a dog smells good, your husband sniffed them out immediately

He walked in, stopped and looked at you

“Something’s different,” he said 🤨

You 👉🏻😙 🎶

Then he spots the first one, the one you replaced your wedding photo with

He walks over to it, picks it up and his eyes widen 😳

“YN what is this?” He asks

You just shrug and smirk 😏

He continues to walk around, finding all the photos and you start to hear groans emerging from your husband

“You good babe?” You ask as he turns to you

“You know we are never changing these photos back right?” He says as you giggle

“What about when the guys come over?” You question

“Ok maybe then but he do you maybe think you could recreate some of these for me? Perhaps for my digital gallery?” He questions

You giggle and shake your head, “well it’s a good thing I order digital prints too.”

Toshiro throws his head back, groaning and thanking whatever god gifted him such a beautiful wife!

Kageyama

The only two things Kags thinks about is volleyball and his gorgeous wife

Literally the fact that you can put up with him being the way he is

He is so blessed to have you as his spouse!

Now Kags is a workaholic and he’s constantly at the gym

So you often have to find creative and new ways to entice your husband to come home

Sometimes food works

But what really does the trick you ask 👀

Nudes 🙌🏻

You send this man a nude and it’s so long volleyball gym, hello bed for the next 8 hours 🥵

Man’s has stamina ok 👌

Kags has been at the gym for a solid week

Literally he’s home to eat and sleep

And honestly, you miss your husband

So what must we do? Send him something that makes him want to leave his volleyball forever

You: I miss you Tobio 🥺

Tobio: awe I miss you too baby, I’ll be home around 10

You: could you maybe make it a little sooner? *sends pic*

You: I’m waiting 😏

Tobio: 😳 are- are those new?

You: just got them back today

Tobio: is-is there more 👀

You: maybe 🙃

Tobio: I think I can probably be home by 7…

You: I’ll be waiting *sends pic*

Tobio: fuck this gym in omw baby!

You: good good excellent 😏

Prepare to be sore for the next few days Yn 🤪

Ushijima

Our stoic angel 😍

Oh how this giant bby adores you Yn!

Literally there’s nothing better than spending time with your husband

But oh do you LOVE to tease this man something fierce

Please he gets so flustered and blushes whenever you send him a risky picture

So you decide you haven’t tortured your husband enough for an entire lifetime so why not do the absolute most 💅

It was your 1 year wedding anniversary and you decided that you should gift your husband the first the keeps on giving

Pictures of you 😌

You wrap the photo album up and set it with his other gifts

This man always outdoes you in every way but this year, this time you will dominate!

So after opening all of your lavished gifts you finally gift Toshi the one thing nobody else can give him

When he opens it, he looks at the beautiful black valet cover inscribed with his name

He looks at you confused as you continue to urge him on

He opens the first page and immediately slams the book shut

His face turns best red as he avoids all eye contact with you

Toshi 👉🏻👀😳

You 👉🏻😏😏

He opens it again, gulping as he carefully thumbs through every single page, careful to not bend any pictures

It’s not until he gets to the picture of you in his Olympic jersey that he groans, adjusting himself as you continue to look smug

He closes the book, placing both hands on top of it and then looks at you

You 👉🏻 : D

“YN you know how much I love you right?” He says as you nodd

You 👉🏻 : D

“YN I’m going to say this and I mean it in the absolute most respectful way,” he continues

You 👉🏻: D

“I’m about about 2 seconds from breaking your back,” he finally says

You 👉🏻 : D 😐😳

And that, YN, was the story of how you spent an entire week recovering 😌

Hoshiumi

This man BEGS for nudes constantly

Literally he adores you and he keeps a running tab of your pictures

He even keeps a ✨tasteful✨ shot of you as his phones Lock Screen

But nobody can see it… he guards it with his life!!

When Korai’s away, he is always asking to see his pretty baby 🥹

Honestly he’ll take any photos of you

So you decide it’s time to ramp it up 👏🏻

Korai is at a few away games when you decide to make your move

You had some sexy photos done for your adoring husband and lucky you are just as cheeky as he is 😏

You send the first text, baiting him

You: Morning babe *sends picture*

Korai responds in .02 seconds

Korai: 👁️👄👁️

You: how are you? *sends pic*

Korai: 🥵 extremely frazzled right now…

You: oh really? *sends pic*

Korai: BABE IM IN A TEAM MEETING AND I JUST GOT IN TROUBLE FOR CHECKING MY PHONE

You: sounds like a you problem *sends pic*

Only Korai doesn’t respond after that one, instead you start a timer

Because you know your husband too well

10 minutes later, a new record 💅, your FaceTime is ringing as you casually answer it while cooking

“Hey babe! I thought you had a meeting?” You ask casually

Korai 👉🏻 >: ( you did this on purpose

“Did what?” You respond cluelessly

“Did you get those professionally done for me?” He asks

“Well your always asking for pics so I figured I should have a couple hundred built up,” you shrug

Korai 👉🏻👁️👄👁️ 100?!?!

Please Yn that man has never been happier to get home to you

Romero

This man ugh THIS MAN 🥵

Literally idk who’s the luckiest one in this relationship babe I’m sorry

It’s Romero, like look at the man!

But no matter what, you managed to get a good one

He’s an amazing husband and he absolutely worships you!

Literally he will open every door, present you to everyone like you are royalty

He talks about you like you are only woman in the entire word

He wears his wedding ring proudly!

And boy does he adore your body

Literally you could be wearing seat pants and he’s panting 😮‍💨

It’s your two year anniversary and your friend suggest you add some new “artwork” to your bedroom 😌

Mainly in the form of a giant photo of you over your bed

So you prepare, using your husbands favorite color lingerie in the photo in the sexiest pose allowed to be viewed

You manage to get it hung and boy are you excited, so excited that you ambush your husband the moment he walks in the door

You cover his eyes and say, “I have the biggest surprise babe!”

He smiles, “oh do you now?”

You giggle as you lead your 6’3” husband to your room and situate him just perfectly

You tear your hands away and shout “surprise!”

Romero 👉🏻😐😳

“What do you think?!?” You say, presenting your body

Please YN give your husband a second

His mouth has now fallen open and you are gonna need a mop in the bedroom ok 🤚🏻

“Holy shit baby!! You look fucking incredible!” He says getting on the bed and studying the photo up close

“You love it??” You gush

“Oh course! But I wish you would have put one in every room so I can just stare at you all damn day!” He chuckles

“Well lucky for you I got more!” You say, pulling out the other canvases

Please YN, you might need to inform the Adlers of your husbands sudden death 😅

Sokolov

6’7” simp? 6’7” simp 😌

Man’s literally worships the ground you walk on Yn

He adores you more than anything!

Another member of the “I wear my wedding ring and I’m proud club!”

He would wear a shirt that said “my wife is hotter than your wife”

Needless to say, this man will do anything for you YN

And since he travels so much, you have to keep things spicy right 😏

Which is why you decide that it’s important for you to show him exactly how much you miss him

So you decide to be a little butthole and send him cryptic messages all day to prepare him

Like first you send him an email that says, “I’m in your room at 9pm for a surprise ;)”

Of course the man’s is super curious like “👀 what does this chick have planned now?!?”

Then you continue the torment and send him little texts all day like “5 hours until your surprise!”

By 9pm the man is RUNNING 🏃‍♂️ to his hotel room

The team wanted to go out for drinks and suddenly your man’s has a migraine

Back in his hotel room, he texts you and says “ok babe I’m here!”

That’s when you drop that man an entire years work of spank bank material!

Like 200 pictures and that’s not even all of them!

At first he just stares like “holy crap! I shouldn’t be looking at these, I have a wife… WAIT THIS IS MY WIFE!!”

So instead he decides to pull out his computer and FaceTime you

You answer, casually sitting on your bed like “oh hello my love ✌🏻”

“Babe!! Holy crap!! You- you did this for me?!?” He shouts

You giggle and nod saying “I missed you Tatsu” 🥺

Damn Yn calm down, man’s is about .02 seconds away from getting on a plan back to you

“Baby I love them!! But umm now I’ve kind of got a little problem!” He blushes as you giggle

He knows he’s one lucky guy!

Hirugami

Ughhhhhh 😩😩😩 this man!! THIS MAN 👏🏻

He’s so hot it’s unreal!!!

And you get to be his wife?!? Dammnnn

Seriously he is such an attentive and sexy husband

Literally he walks around without his shirt on around the house and man 😮‍💨

Please YN clean your puddle of drool up!

Oh wait that’s me NE WAYS

he absolutely adores you and always talks about you

He knows how lucky he is to have the most supportive and fantastic wife

But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to tease him every once and a while 🤭

Specifically during practice

Because as the captain of the Adlers, he must remain stoic and attentive

So when he’s in the middle of a team meeting and his phone starts buzzing, he quickly checks it

And BAM NUDE

Fukuro rn 👉🏻😐😳

“Hey captain you good?” The guys ask as he snaps from his haze and shoves his phone back in his pocket

Unfortunately his phone keeps buzzing 😌

He’s already seen a few pictures and damn he wants to see more but he knows he won’t be able to contain his arousal

After the meeting, which he clumsily finishes he runs to the locker room and face times you

You answer, casually doing dishes like 😚 🎶

“Baby what was that??” He yells

You 👉🏻👀🤷🏻‍♀️ what-

“Baby those pictures! Those pictures!!! Are they new? Holy shit!” He whisper shouts as you smirk

“They might be new, maybe part of a photo shoot I did,” you answer coyly

Fukuro 👉🏻😳 so there’s more?

“A few hundred more,” you 😏

“Baby prepare yourself because when I get home, you’re all mine!” He growls before hanging up

You just giggle because wait until he sees the giant canvas of you naked hanging in your master bathroom 🙃

[viadangelo]

LOCATION: Westside Theatre. TIME: 08:30 OPEN FOR: All. (Syndicate only if on panel.)

In a month, Westside would have its grand re-opening. A timeline that for what it's worth, is pressurising, and exactly Via's brand of chaotic. There's been endless interviews, for new staff ⏤ re-contracting the majority of previous ones, out of the good of her heart.

But new faces, as handpicked by D'Angelo, are a necessity. Westside would operate for an array of things; shows; music; galleries; displays ⏤ laundering, and various tax illegalities. (those empty seats ⏤ if there are any ⏤ are sold, at least on paper.) She needs trustworthy, pretty ⏤ and those with a little razzamatazz.

She's filled slots for weeklies, and the occasional long running show that's a steady income. She's got a lot of ground to cover, even if in comparison to most, it's an awful lot less pressure given her backing, and personal circumstances.

But Via wants it all. And she'll bring a buzz to the place that has people talking ⏤ about her, D'Angelo; the magic that she'll resurrect on the extra special nights. But until then, Westside needs something different. Even if, she likes to think that's her.

So she's sat, a few members of her tailored panel (an odd selection, if anyone looks too deeply) of colleagues that might, or might not have a personal investment in the place. They're seated on the velvet seats of the second row, Via's got her lets kicked up on the seats in front of her, lazy scribbles on paper, as she flicks through applications for showrunners, or the odd valet ⏤ some off-tune singer that she's wondering might sound better if Via sliced her windpipe.

"Darling, do you have anything else ⏤" she's muttering it, to the stage ⏤ the people beside her: "⏤ I want drama, excitement, sugarpop." She glances once to those sat in the seats with her, watching. Assessing; offering opinions. And she chuckles, lipstick smile wide, turning back absently: "I want you to make the crowd wet, and wanting." Tears, or otherwise.

[hookedonapirate]

I’LL WAIT A LIFETIME OR TWO

Summary:

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry.

Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. She couldn’t ask for anything more. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

The Idea of You AU

Rated: M

AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6

CHAPTER SIX

Colors bleed into one another like a masterfully painted canvas—streaks of pink and orange fading to purple as the sun dips into the horizon. Killian and I are poring over the menus in a cozy booth tucked away in a recessed alcove on the terrace, the ocean waves crashing into the shore. Twinkling lights are strung through the trees, illuminating the lush gardens. Flames flicker in the fire pits dotting the landscape, and soft music drifts through the air, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

His eyes rove over my red dress before his gaze catches mine, and he flashes me one of those heart-stopping grins that has my stomach doing a somersault. “Swan, have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?”

I manage a laugh, the familiar warmth creeping into my cheeks. “About four times already.” Twice during the car ride, once after he handed the keys to the valet and once again when we were shown to our seats. Though, neither time failed to make my cheeks heat.

“Is this place okay?”

I set down the menu and sit back, resting my hands in my lap as my eyes sweep over the alcove, taking in the fairy tale setting—a perfect blend of elegance and intimacy, with dark wood accents, plush seating and candlelit tables, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers, sea salt and delicious food. “It’s perfect.” My eyes come back to his, lips twitching into a smirk. “But honestly, you could’ve taken me to Mcdonalds and I’d be happy as a clam.”

He chuckles, a deep, hearty sound that sends goosebumps over my skin.

He thinks I’m joking.

“I almost opted for Nobu, but I wasn’t sure if you liked sushi,” he says.

My eyes widen. “Are you kidding? I love sushi.”

His smile is a thing of beauty, lighting up his features in a way that rivals the setting sun. He extends his hand under the table, seeking mine, and when our fingers intertwine, electricity zips through me. His touch is warm, firm yet tender. “Good to know for next time.”

Next time?

There goes my stomach again, doing another somersault.

I love the idea of next time.

“I should’ve known you loved sushi. Henry gets his good taste from his beautiful mum.”

A blushing smile crosses my lips, and I squeeze his hand, my heart pounding as I fight off the urge to pull him closer and kiss him. Even though we’re cocooned in a pocket of privacy within the restaurant’s lush gardens, we’re not entirely invisible. A few of Killian’s acquaintances have already made their way over, each receiving a nod or a handshake from him.

When he introduced me as his art consultant, I played along, grateful for the anonymity the title afforded me. I have no desire to become tabloid fodder, especially not when my heart is tangled in a situation it shouldn’t be. I’m supposed to be on a date with a furniture shop owner, not dining with a rockstar.

As we chat, I’m acutely aware of Killian’s hand in mine, the warmth of his skin, the strength of his grip, and I’m imagining what it would be like to be alone with him—truly alone. The possibilities send a rush of heat through my veins. 

When his thumb traces gentle circles on my skin, tiny shivers shoot up my arm. The contact is tender, intimate, and I can’t help the way my breath catches just a little. Then he frees my hand briefly, making me miss his warmth, but it’s only long enough for the server to approach, jot down our orders and retrieve the menus from us.

“So, where is Henry tonight?” The softness in Killian’s voice matches the touch of his hand as he slips his palm into mine, threading our fingers together once more.

“He’s staying over at Roland’s house.” I take a sip of my pinot noir, savoring the rich bouquet of ripe cherries, a hint of spice and subtle earthy undertones. But the alcohol does nothing to soothe the fluttering in my chest.

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that the lad who was at Coachella with you?”

I nod, smiling. “Yeah, they’ve been best friends since elementary school.”

He leans back, a half-smirk playing on his lips as he watches me with an intensity that feels like it could pierce right through our casual facade. “That’s nice.” His eyes narrow slightly, a playful glint in them. “Did you tell Henry I was at your house for lunch the other day?”

I can’t help but laugh at the thought, picturing Henry’s reaction. His jaw would be on the floor, his expressive green eyes would grow impossibly wide and he’d launch into a barrage of questions, each one more incredulous than the last. “No way. He would lose his mind if he knew you were there. He’d probably also be furious with me for not including him.”

His thumb strokes the back of my hand beneath the table, a clandestine gesture that sends ripples of warmth through me. “Will you tell him you ditched your date to have dinner with me?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “No, probably not.” My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass, the truth settling heavy on my tongue. “I wouldn’t even know what to tell him at this point.” How could I possibly explain to my son that the man whose name alone would send him into a frenzy is the same man who turns my insides into liquid?

“Fair enough.” Killian squeezes my hand gently. He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers or declarations, and I’m grateful for it. Grateful for this moment of reprieve, where I can simply exist beside him without the weight of explanations hanging over us. “You don’t have to tell him anything right now. We’re just having dinner, right?” There’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice that makes his British accent even more pronounced, a wink accompanying his words.

I smile wryly, the tension easing from my shoulders. “Right. Just dinner.”

But we both know this isn’t just dinner. Just like lunch wasn’t just lunch.

“What about Elsa?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

I can picture her now, her raised eyebrow, the knowing look she’d give me if she were here, witnessing Killian’s thumb caress mine. She would see right through our charade of “just dinner” without missing a beat.

As I’m about to respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of warm bread and a dish of herb-infused olive oil. Killian thanks him and offers the basket to me before taking a piece.

I break mine in half, dipping it into the olive oil.

We take a bite, and I savor the warm, fluffy texture as I continue our conversation. “I told her we went out to lunch but that it was only business. I think she’s on to me.” I’ll have to figure out how to tell her and Henry about Killian later. For now, I let myself be swept away by the moment, the uncertainties of tomorrow fading into the background.

“So, when do I get to meet her?”

My heart flutters, betraying my calm exterior. The idea of him meeting Elsa, facing her scrutiny, her silver-blonde hair likely to bristle like an indignant cat’s fur, is both terrifying and exhilarating. “She won’t be happy when she finds out I ditched Walsh for you. She’ll probably interrogate you to find out what your intentions are. Henry will too, just so you know.”

Killian’s chuckle rumbles through the alcove, warm and rich. “Can’t wait.”

I arch a brow. “You’re really up for that? Elsa can be pretty fierce, and Henry—well, he’s very protective.”

“I can handle it.” He flashes a smile, one that says he’s faced tougher critics than my protective entourage. “Besides, I have nothing to hide. Just ask Google.” The twinkle in his eye tells me he relishes the challenge—a man used to the spotlight, unfazed by scrutiny. Yet beneath the bravado, there’s a sincerity that makes me believe he’s not just playing the part. Killian Jones might be an open book to the world, but he’s still full of stories yet to be told. And I find myself wanting to read every page.

I smirk, my finger tracing the rim of my wine glass. “I could…but what I want to know are the secrets I can’t find on Google.”

A smile, disarming and far too charming, stretches across his lips as he leans back in his seat and rubs his chin, thinking for a moment. “Alright, here’s one—my moniker as a kid was Hook.”

Laughter bubbles up from my chest as I picture a young Killian, a boy full of spirit and spunk, bearing that nickname. “Hook, huh? Like Captain Hook? How did you get that nickname?”

His eyes, those deep pools of blue, hold mine, and in them, there’s a flicker of the boy he once was. “From a fishing trip with my brother Liam. We were out on the lake, and I was determined to show off my fishing skills. When I finally caught a big one, I thought I’d impress him by handling it myself. But as I was trying to remove the hook, the fish gave a sudden flip of its tail, and the hook ended up in the back of my hand. Liam couldn’t stop laughing, and from that day on, I was ‘Hook’.”

“Oh my God, that sounds painful.”

“It wasn’t my finest moment, but it certainly left a mark.” He holds up his free hand, showing the small scar on the back of it. “And a nickname.”

I lean in, my fingers gently tracing the rugged scar. My brows knit together involuntarily as I look up at him with a teasing smile. “That’s your big, juicy secret?”

“Well, maybe not juicy by tabloid standards, but it’s a part of me you wouldn’t find in any magazine. Liam and I made a deal long ago to not share embarrassing stories with the world. Some things we like to have for ourselves.”

I shake my head and laugh. “You know, I was expecting something more...I don’t know, scandalous?”

A playful twinkle lights his eyes as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “If you want scandalous, I could tell you about the time my ex-girlfriend, Milah, a French actress, dumped me for Robert Gold.”

My eyes widen, my wineglass poised in the air before it can make it to my lips. “Wait, Robert Gold? As in the American singer and pianist?”

He nods regrettably, a shadow of some past hurt crossing his face. “Milah and I met before I became famous. She was friends with Mary Margaret, who had just started dating David at the time, and came to one of our gigs. We bonded over our love for music—she studied piano and classical music before going into acting.”

I nod, finally taking a sip of my wine.

“We kept our relationship a secret for a while.”

“But then she left you for Robert?”

“Aye.” His eyes meet mine, a storm brewing in their depths—a tempest that speaks of betrayal and heartache weathered and survived, like that of my own. “Apparently, I wasn’t mature or famous enough for her.” He lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s an edge to it that speaks volumes. “It stung, but then Midnight Moon started gaining popularity, we signed with a big record label and ended up outselling Robert in albums.” A sly grin returns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not that I was keeping track or anything.”

“Of course.” I smirk, understanding all too well the bittersweet triumph of proving oneself against the doubts of an ex.

Killian shrugs. “And it wasn’t until I became famous that Milah started reaching out to me again. But I haven’t responded to any of her calls or texts. Nor do I plan to.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Ah, becoming famous—the perfect revenge on your exes.”

He chuckles. “It really is.”

Then I think about something for a moment, recalling the last time I saw a picture of Robert Gold on social media. “But isn’t Gold like sixty?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I wince, hoping I haven’t prodded a tender wound too harshly. “Not that I’m one to judge someone’s age,” I add quickly.

“Aye, he is. But Milah…she’s a bit older than me. Thirty, to be exact. At the time we were dating, I was eighteen and she was twenty-four.”

I laugh, raising an eyebrow teasingly. “So, you have a type?”

“A type?” He shakes his head. “Not really. I actually liked Milah.” His expression softens as he leans in even closer, the distance between us diminishing further, and I’m caught in the gravitational pull. “But now I find myself drawn to blondes with eyes the color of emeralds.” He meets my gaze with a twinkle in his eye. “Okay, that’s a lie, there’s only one blonde—one woman—I’m interested in.”

My heart doesn’t just skip a beat—it falters, flutters, then thunders back to life with a ferocity that leaves me breathless. A wave of warmth cascades through me, pooling in my stomach and spreading to the tips of my fingers intertwined with his. His thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand.

“I hope I didn’t offend you that day at Coachella by mistaking you for Henry’s older sister.” He chuckles at himself. “I genuinely thought you were.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “No, not at all. I took it as a compliment.”

“Good. But don’t worry, I won’t ask how old you are because it’s impolite and also because it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, I just turned forty last month,” I admit, my cheeks heating. “Ready to run yet?” I ask, afraid he might think of me as a middle-aged woman clinging to the fringes of her youth.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not.” He graces me with a reassuring smile, his eyes full of warmth. “I told you, it doesn’t matter to me.”

My eyes lock with his, and I find myself ensnared in his cerulean depths that seem to hold galaxies of unspoken words. The air between us crackles, each second stretched taut with anticipation. I can’t help but wonder where the night will take us, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I just want to enjoy our time together, no matter how it ends.

Our server returns with sautéed lump crab cakes and a watermelon salad with feta and mint. After he leaves, we eat our food, falling back into easy conversation.

“My favorite place as a kid was this old lighthouse near our home,” Killian replies when I ask him about his childhood. “There was something about it—standing tall and resilient against the chaos of the sea. It always made me feel safe when I was inside it, like it could weather any storm. And now, I feel like that lighthouse sometimes. Trying to survive all the crowds and chaos. Trying to survive the storm.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing against my heart and leaving me speechless. His metaphor is profound, striking a chord deep within me. “That’s so beautiful,” I breathe, my voice almost a whisper. “I mean, it’s beautifully put. And I can definitely see how you would feel like a lighthouse braving the storm in your line of work. I could never do what you do. And you make it look so easy.”

He blushes, his lips quirking up into a smile. “Thank you, love.” He squeezes my hand, the tips of his ears just as red as his cheeks. “The lighthouse actually inspired a song I’m writing.”

My curiosity is piqued. “I’d love to hear it.”

“It’s still a work in progress. And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll share it with the band. It’s something I wrote for myself.”

I nod. “I get that. Some things are just too personal to share. But if you ever feel like letting someone else hear it, I’d be honored.”

His eyes soften. “That means a lot. Maybe one day, I’ll play it for you.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” I find myself even more drawn to him, wanting to pick the creative part of his brain, the artistic side of him. “So, is that where you did most of your writing? When you were at the lighthouse?” 

He chuckles, scratching behind his ear. “Actually, no. I do my best writing when I have the telly on in the background and an electric guitar in my hands. If someone saw me, they would think I was watching the telly while playing the guitar, but what I’m actually doing is coming up with song lyrics. Something about the noise helps me focus.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s so funny. That’s exactly how Henry does his homework. He always has the TV on, his laptop in front of him and his music blaring—your music blaring. But me? I can’t think if there’s a fan humming in the background. I need complete silence to concentrate.”

He nods, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “What about you, Emma? What was your childhood like?”

I take a deep breath, smiling softly as memories flood back. “Well, I grew up in a small town. My childhood was pretty normal, I guess. My parents were always supportive, but they were also pretty strict.” Their expectations were like the masterpieces they so loved—to be protected and preserved. “My father’s an art history professor at Harvard. My mother was a curator. She’s retired now.”

“Art is the family business, then?” he asks, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Sort of, yes.” My answer comes out softer than intended, a hint of nostalgia threading through the words. “Their worlds revolved around art, and I got swept up in it long before I knew how to walk.”

“Did you attend Harvard?”

“I went to Brown. Then Columbia for my master’s.”

“Brown and Columbia,” he muses, lips curling into a smile. “That’s quite impressive, Swan.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Thank you,” I murmur, the words almost lost to the soft music.

“Did that piss off the professor?” His eyebrow arches in playful curiosity, his voice low and smooth. “Not going to Harvard?”

“A little.” A smile finds its way to my lips at the memory of my father’s stunned silence when I told him about Brown. It had been my first step out of his shadow, my own declaration of independence.

Killian’s eyes lock with mine, gleaming with mirth and something more—understanding, perhaps. He gets it, the need to forge one’s path, even if it means disappointing those we love. He knows what it’s like to choose the unexpected road, to chase a dream no one else can see but you. “Probably not as much as blowing off Cambridge to join a rock band.”

I laugh. “No, probably not.”

Once our glasses are empty, he refills them from the bottle chilling in ice. “Did you have a favorite place as a kid? Somewhere you could hide from your parents?”

I nod. “I loved spending time outdoors, exploring the woods and fields near our house. And there was this old oak tree I used to climb up and sit on one of the sturdy branches, sketching the landscape. I was always drawing—anything and everything. ”

His eyes light up. “You draw?”

I nod, my cheeks warming. “I do.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Swan. Can I see some of your work?”

“Maybe someday. I haven’t drawn much lately, though. Running the gallery keeps me pretty busy.”

He eyes me thoughtfully. “You should make time for it. It’s important to keep doing what you love.”

His words hit me with an unexpected force, and I smile. “I’ll have more time this summer. Henry’s going to camp next month at Jameson Ranch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he goes there every year. He loves everything there, the horseback riding, the rock climbing, the archery. I waited for the year when he’d say he’s too old, but it never happened. Now, this is his last year.”

“Sounds like an amazing camp.”

I nod. “It really is. I’m glad he gets to enjoy it one last time before he graduates next year.”

“Does he have any plans after graduation?”

I chuckle, lightly teasing, “Hopefully, they don’t include ditching college to start a rock band.” I raise an eyebrow playfully at Killian, who feigns offense, his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I’m kidding. Honestly, I’d be proud of him no matter what he does after high school.”

He smiles, taking a sip of his wine.

“But to answer your question, he’s been talking about going to LA Film School.”

Killian raises his brows, his eyes lighting up like the stars that have begun to pepper the evening sky. “Film school? Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah. He’s always had a knack for storytelling.”

“I bet he’ll do amazing. And how do you feel about him moving away for school?”

“I’ll hate it,” I admit with a laugh. “But I want him to pursue his dreams. Besides, he won’t be too far.”

“He can always come back during breaks and summers,” Killian reassures me with a nod.

“Yeah, it’ll be an adjustment, but I’m sure he’ll be ready to get out on his own and not have to live with his mom anymore.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll miss you like crazy when he’s gone.”

The waiter arrives with our entrées—herb-crusted salmon for Killian and a ribeye steak for me.

As we take our first bites, the flavors burst on my tongue—rich and perfectly seasoned, a hum of contentment escaping my lips.

Killian watches me with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Delicious.”

We eat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, stealing glances between bites.

“So, Henry and film school,” Killian says, returning to our earlier conversation. “Do you think he knows what kind of films he wants to make?”

I take a sip of my wine, loving the fact he’s asking about Henry and not just me. And even though I easily got bored listening to Walsh go on about his furniture shop, I’d be happy if Killian only spoke about himself. I could listen to him talk all day. “He’s still figuring that out, but he loves sci-fi and fantasy.”

Killian nods and smiles. “Ah, my favorite genres.” He takes another bite of his fish. “Oh, and by the way, I Googled that Ghost scene you were telling me about.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“I just have one question.” He holds up a finger, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Do potters always stroke the mold like that when throwing?”

I almost choke on my wine and laugh. “Uh, no. I think they were going for a steamy scene without going all pornographic.”

He chuckles, his cheeks red. “I figured as much.”

Finally, we’re served crème brûlée for dessert. The top is perfectly caramelized, with a thin, crisp layer of sugar that cracks under the spoon to reveal the creamy custard underneath.

I take my first bite and let out a small moan. The combination of the crunchy caramel top and the smooth vanilla custard is heavenly. I feed him a bite, and the way his eyes roll back, the rough groan he makes, sends heat to my core. I have to squeeze my thighs together to curb the temptation to have him for my dessert. At least for now, while we’re in public.

When the bill is paid, there’s a knot of dread in my stomach at the thought our evening might be drawing to a close soon.

Killian moves closer to me, his voice low and husky. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” My stomach flutters with nerves at the prospect of what his question might be.

“Please, feel free to say no if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure here.” Hesitation flickers in his mesmerizing blue eyes, so I place my hand on his leg, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“I promise I’ll say no if I’m not up for it.”

“Would you want to come back to my hotel room? It’s just a little more private there…”

I pause, the final bite of the crème brûlée halfway to my lips as I turn my head to look at him, sincerity in his gaze. The air between us thickens, rich with unspoken possibilities, and something stirs inside me, a longing I’ve kept at bay, one that’s been restrained by caution and past pain. But Killian has a way of crumbling the walls I’ve built around myself.

I finish the bite of dessert, the spoon clinking against the porcelain as I set it down. I lean back, folding my arms. “Trying to get me alone, Jones?”

A rosy pink blush paints his cheeks. “Maybe I am.”

I can’t help but laugh as he gives me the same answer I gave him the other day when he asked me if I was flirting with him.

“And what are your intentions once you get me alone?”

He chuckles and wets his lips with his tongue, leaning closer. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, his voice dark, almost a whisper. “Well, I watched you eat that dessert…the way you licked your lips and made those sexy noises…the way you kissed me the other day…”—His gaze moves to my mouth, his eyes ablaze with desire, his thumb caressing my shoulder—“and I really want that wicked mouth of yours on mine again. But honestly, I’d be happy to simply continue chatting.” The easy grin fades, replaced by something far more telling—a seriousness that belies his usual charm. “So, my intentions are whatever you wish them to be, love.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I challenge, my teeth catching on my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the smirk that threatens to break free. “Whatever I wish?” My efforts are futile, it curls the edges of my lips regardless. “Alright then, how about you perform a song and dance number on this table?”

He arches a brow. “That’s your wish?”

“That’s my wish.”

He gives a nonchalant shrug, his cerulean eyes dancing with amusement. He launches from his seat, and before I know it, he’s halfway on the table. I reach out and grab his arm to stop him, giggles bubbling up from my throat at the thought of him actually going through with it. “I was kidding.” As he settles back into his seat, I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t believe you were actually going to do it.”

His head tilts back slightly, and those piercing blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Swan, you do realize you’re asking a rock star who’s used to outrageous requests and performing in public, right? You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to shock me.”

“Is that so?” I tease with a devilish smirk, placing my hand on his chest, feeling it beat under my palm.

He chuckles. “That is the most mischievous grin I’ve ever seen.”

My cheeks heat.

“What am I going to do with you, Swan?”

“Apparently, whatever I want you to do.” It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to be swept up like this—since I’ve let someone see the side of me that isn’t all business and pragmatism. Despite how flushed I am from all this flirtatious banter, I manage to make it out of the booth. I look over my shoulder. “You coming, Jones?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grabs his jacket and follows behind me.

When he catches up to me, I have to refrain from touching him until we get into his car. I can tell he’s just as tortured by the way he’s running a hand through his hair and looking over at me, a hunger sparking in those deep blue eyes.

Once we’re outside, the cool breeze sweeps around us, and I try to rub the goosebumps from my arms.

"Here, love.” Without missing a beat, Killian shrugs off his jacket and holds it open behind me, allowing me to slip my arms into the sleeves. He adjusts it on my shoulders and rubs my covered arms. The leather is warm from his body heat and smells faintly of his cologne, a comforting mix of spices and something uniquely him. "Can't have you freezing out here."

I pull the jacket closer around me, grateful for the warmth and the gesture. "Thanks, Killian." I smile at him. The jacket is a little big on me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but it's perfect. "Won't you be cold, though?"

He shakes his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry about me, Swan.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me a little closer. “If I get cold, you’ll keep me warm, right?”

I roll my eyes and laugh, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Ever the charmer," I reply, leaning into him as we wait for the valet to retrieve Killian’s car.

As soon as we’re in, his hand quickly finds its way under the skirt of my dress and around my thigh, and my hand finds its way onto his shoulder. But there’s too much distance between us.

He brings me back to my car at Blair’s, and I follow him on the twenty-minute drive to Sunset Tower, which stands tall against the cityscape. We agreed it’s better to arrive separately in case paparazzi are lurking around. I wait a few moments in my Bug after he disappears inside, my heart pounding. I check my hair in the mirror and make sure there's no food in my teeth about four times while I gather the courage. I want this, I know I want this, I’m just hoping he won’t take one look at me without my clothes on and run away. Or worse, give me a pity fuck.

I shake away the doubts clouding my mind. Killian is not like that, and I know this. Unlatching the car door, I step out and head inside the hotel. I may not know him very well, but each time we talk, it’s so easy, so comfortable. We don’t have to force the conversation, it just flows naturally. We’re not two people with sixteen years between us, we’re just two people drawn to each other. And the more I get to know him, the more I see the kindness in his heart. The man behind the rockstar persona.

Once inside, I step into the elevator and press the button for his floor. As I ascend to the top, my heart flutters with excitement and nerves. I check my reflection on the reverse camera setting on my phone and take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. When the doors part, I step out and make my way down the corridor.

Tiny, Killian’s loyal bodyguard, stands watch at the end of the hallway, his hawk-like eyes scanning me briefly before he nods in recognition. Whether he knows what might transpire beyond the door to Killian’s hotel suite, he gives no indication.

Returning his nod, I continue down the hall—my heart pounding like a drum against my chest with every step closer to the suite number Killian had shared earlier. Taking a fortifying breath, I rap lightly on the polished wooden door.

Before I have time to talk myself out of this, it swings open and he’s standing before me, flashing one of his heart-melting grins.

“Hi, Swan.” He steps aside to let me in.

“Hi.” I manage a smile of my own, a thrill shooting up my spine as I enter his room, my stilettos clicking on the shiny hardwood floor.

He closes the door behind me, shutting out the rest of the world.

Finally, we’re alone again.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since he left my house. I couldn’t actually believe our kiss was a one-time thing as I was saying it out loud. I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore my feelings for this man.

“Would you like something to drink, love?”

I shake my head and slip off his jacket, throwing it over a chair, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe.

All I want is him.

My heart races as we gravitate toward each other, closing the distance between us.

On the way here, I had questioned whether we would just chat or make out once we got here, or whether I’d even make it here at all, but now that he’s standing here in front of me, looking like he wants to devour me, I’m powerless to resist him—and truthfully, I don’t want to.

Our eyes are locked, the air crackling with a raw, electric charge that’s been building all night. I reach up, my hands finding the nape of his neck, pulling him down toward me. Our lips meet, a soft brush at first that quickly ignites into something more urgent, more demanding. The kiss deepens, and I taste the hint of the wine and crème brûlée we shared. I cup his cheeks in my hands, our mouths moving together with a familiarity that belies the short time we’ve known each other.

He wraps his arms around me as I snake mine around the back of his neck. My breath catches in my throat as his palms glide over the fabric of my dress, mapping the contours of my body as if committing it to memory. I’m already moaning softly into his mouth, lost in the sensations of him, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, the stubble on his jaw scratching softly at my skin, and the way his hands roam across my back, tracing the curve of my spine.

We break the kiss briefly, both of us sucking the same air into our lungs before reclaiming each other’s lips. I lean into him, deepening the kiss—his tongue hot and soft on mine, eager but not too much. It’s a dance we’re engaged in, and every move he makes only draws me in deeper.

He turns me around with a gentle insistence, and I gulp in air, my heart pounding against my ribcage, erratic and wild. His hands slip under the hem of my dress, his fingers brushing against my thighs, teasing, promising, until they find the silk barrier of my panties.

A gasp escapes me, unbidden, as he dips his hand beneath the fabric, his touch bold and unapologetic against my bare nub. I reach a hand behind him, cradling the back of his head as he kisses my earlobe, his breaths hot and heavy against my skin. Holding on to him is all I can do to not melt completely under the deft movements of his fingers, each stroke unraveling me even more. I feel like a teenager all over again.

“Swan…” His voice is low and seductive in my ear, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air of the hotel room. “Gods, you’re soaked.”

I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes as I arch into him, seeking more of the exquisite touch, my body betraying its eagerness for his skilled caresses. “Killian.” His name is a whispered plea, a prayer, on my lips as his fingers explore with an artist’s finesse.

It’s surreal, being here with him in his hotel room. Out there, in the real world, I’m Emma Swan—pragmatic, collected, an art dealer, a mother. But here, under Killian’s masterful touch, I’m coming undone, my usual poise giving way to raw desire. He’s young, magnetic, a rockstar used to captivating crowds, yet here, it’s just us, and he plays me like the strums of his guitar—each note building to a crescendo only he can command. The world falls away, leaving only the here and now, the heat of his touch, the pounding of my heart and the insatiable hunger that builds with every passing second.

He dips his head, his breath hot against the nape of my neck as he unclasps the strap of my dress with his free hand, letting the top fall away. He reaches under my bra cup, his hand shaping my breast, his thumb toying with my nipple as he kisses my neck. I tremble, caught in a web of sensations spun by his deft movements. My moans fill the room, unrestrained and foreign, like the sounds belong to another woman entirely—one unshackled by past fears or reservations. It’s been so long since I’ve moaned like this. In fact, I don’t think I ever moaned like this with Neal, yet Killian’s able to coax the sounds out with only his fingers.

Both of my hands are reaching behind us, fisting his hair for purchase as I completely give in to this man. He finds a rhythm, a dance of fingertips against the most sensitive parts of me, driving me wild, pushing me toward a precipice I’m all too willing to tumble over. The edge looms closer with each stroke, and I cling to him, lost in the storm he’s conjured inside me.

“Killian!” I scream toward the heavens as I ride his fingers, my walls pulsing around them. And I’m there, crumbling to pieces, coming all over his hand, and I’m gasping for air, my fingers tightening in his hair, clinging to him as he holds me sturdy in his arms.

Holy fuck.

That was…

My brain is too much like mushy oatmeal to put together the words to describe it.

Killian just holds me for a moment as I catch my breath, waiting for my heart to slow.

Once I’m able to move again, I manage to turn around and wrap my arms around the back of his neck, wanting to kiss the smug grin off his face. His arms encircle me, and he lifts me with an ease that sends another jolt of desire through my veins. The world tilts and spins around me, but I’m anchored by his gaze, his eyes holding mine. As he carries me across the room, our lips crash together again, a messy, perfect collision, his heartbeat thundering against mine, a mirror of my own escalating pulse.

My head hits the pillow as he sets me down gently, our bodies and lips still fused. I work at the buttons of his shirt, craving the warmth of his skin against mine. The fabric parts beneath my touch, revealing the taut muscles that ripple on his torso. His hands are on me now, skimming over my sides, each brush of his fingertips like a match struck against my skin, igniting a fire within me I had long forgotten could burn so fiercely. He reaches for my dress, and my breath catches in my throat as the red fabric and black bra falls away, leaving me vulnerable under his heated gaze. With trembling hands, I help him shed the rest of his clothes, each piece discarded like layers of ourselves peeling away.

I lie back on my elbows, allowing him to slide off my panties—the last piece of fabric separating us. There’s a pang of self-awareness as I think about how much my body has changed since I got pregnant with Henry. Stretch marks map across my lower belly like silver rivers, my breasts are fuller now, no longer pert like they once were.

But when I catch Killian’s eyes, darken with desire, and his cock standing at full attention, hard and throbbing, any lingering uncertainty evaporates. His hungry gaze roams over every inch of me—the stretch marks, the fullness of my breasts, every scar and imperfection—as if they’re elements in an exquisite artwork he can’t wait to explore further. He wants me. All of me—the woman who carried a child within her womb—every curve, every scar, every part of me life has shaped.

My nipples are hard peeks under his gaze, begging for the warmth of his touch. His mouth. His tongue.

Standing at the edge of the bed, he lifts my foot and unbuckles the straps of my shoes one by one, his ocean blues not even focused on his task but roving up my naked curves instead, my center spread and bare to him, glistening with a hunger I haven’t felt in years.

Once my shoes are gone, he climbs onto the bed and settles between my thighs with a devilish glint, hiking my legs over his shoulders. He leans in, leaving soft kisses over my thighs and nub leaving me shivering in anticipation, my breath catching. He traces my slick folds with his lips, his breaths warm over my flushed skin, my heart like a jackhammer. Our eyes are locked in a steely gaze, but once he parts my thighs further apart, his grip bruising my skin in the most delicious way, and he slides his tongue through my slit, all bets are off. My elbows collapse underneath me, and my eyes are rolling to the back of my head, his tongue exploring with slow deliberate strokes, eliciting gasps and moans that echo through the quiet room.

For some reason, I’d thought he might be overeager, given his age, and not used to giving pleasure as much as receiving it, and maybe that was just my previous experiences. But, boy, was I wrong. Because, there’s reverence in each stroke and nibble, his mouth worshiping me, coaxing me closer to the brink with each flick of his tongue over my aching clit, delving into my depths as if he could find every secret I’ve ever kept hidden there.

“Killian!” I can’t help but cry out, the words ripped from my throat as electrifying heat consumes me. A shuddering “Yesss!” escapes, my thighs clamping around his head like a vice, involuntary while my hands become entangled in the dark tresses of his hair.

Even as waves of ecstasy begin to ebb, he continues his ministrations, languid licks that draw out the lingering tremors of my orgasm. His tongue moves with an unhurried grace, a contrast to the rapid beating of my heart.

Heat lingers on my skin, a delicious aftershock that trembles through me.

His lips start a blazing hot path from the apex of my thighs to my stomach, his mouth a brand, searing his claim on me. Every kiss imprinted on my skin burns brighter than the last, leaving no part of me untouched or undiscovered. His lips trace delicate patterns across my abdomen, pausing to dip into my navel before continuing their ascent.

The curve of each rib becomes a stepping stone as he climbs closer to my breasts, where he lingers, lavishing each contour and peak with his tongue. His kisses are equally soft and demanding around the areolas before he draws my nipples into his hot mouth, pleasure jolting through me.

By the time he reaches my lips, I’m a panting, trembling mess underneath him, our bare skin meeting, the contact sparking a fire that threatens to consume us both.

“God, everything about you is perfect,” he breathes, his voice completely wrecked. His words are exactly what a forty-year-old woman wants to hear about her naked body, but I know it’s not empty flattery. It’s the truth etched in the lines of his face, in the fire in his eyes, the way he holds my gaze when he says it. 

His erection presses against my thigh, hard and insistent, ready to claim me.

And God, do I want him to claim me. Every inch.

“Should I wear a condom?” 

Right. A condom—something I hadn’t even thought about. God, it’s been too long, I feel like a virgin all over again. 

“Do you have anything I should be aware of?” I counter, my voice surprisingly steady.

He shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “No, and you? Have you been with anyone since Neal?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m on the pill.” I glide my hand between us, wrapping my fingers around his stiff shaft, stroking softly, his smooth, velvety length easily sliding through my fist. “And I want to feel you inside me.”

He groans as he kisses me sweetly on the lips, a grin spreading across his face. “I want to feel you, too.”

With that settled, I place him at my entrance, and the connection sends sparks flying through me. After thirteen years of Neal and three years of nothing, Killian feels incredible inside me. No, incredible is a colossal understatement. And he’s not even fully inside me yet.

Our breaths, heavy and ragged, mingle as he eases into me, claiming territory with slow, tender strokes that belie his strength. My legs are wrapped around his back, my hands resting on his shoulder blades as I arch into him, every nerve-ending alight with fire.

He responds in kind, his hips a perfect counterpoint to mine, as if we’re two parts of a whole finally clicking into place. “Swan,” he whispers against my lips, and I shiver at the sound of my name wrapped in his accent, heavy with lust. “Bloody hell…you feel so damn good.” He captures my lips before I can respond, his tongue moving against mine with the rhythm of his hips, and I can taste myself on his tongue, which I’ve never had the pleasure of doing before. Neal always used mouthwash afterward before kissing me.

I lose myself in the sensations—the heat of his body, the weight of him, the taste of his kiss, the sound of our unified gasps filling the room. His size, the smoothness of his back, the firmness of his ass as I take both perfect globes in my hands, pulling him in deeper. It’s a heady combination, intoxicating, dizzying, and I drink it all in greedily.

“Killian...” His name spills from my lips as he draws me closer to the edge. There’s no holding back, no fear or doubt, only the boundless expanse of sensation he alone can evoke. My body gives in to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatens to sweep me under, my fingernails clawing into his back.

Heat coils inside me, raw and all-consuming as Killian’s body drives into mine with a primal rhythm, his voice, rough like gravel, cutting through the haze of pleasure. “Let go, Emma.”

And I do. I let go, surrendering to the waves as they crash over me, and I happily drown in the bliss of it, my walls fluttering around his beautiful dick that has me coming undone.

He follows close behind, thrusting harder and faster, the crescendo building as he chases his impending release. His hips falter, movements growing erratic, his body shuddering. He dips his head, teeth grazing my skin, breath hot against my neck. His grip tightens around me, hands like steel bands, and I’m certain there will be marks—temporary souvenirs—imprinted on my skin I’ll probably admire in the mirror later.

“Emma…” My name is pure heaven as it tumbles from his lips, wrapped in a thick, broken accent as he pours his warmth inside me.

Pure heaven.

We reposition ourselves so he’s on his back and I’m beside him, boneless, draping an arm around his torso. My breath steadies, our bodies a tangle of limbs, the echo of his touch, his kiss, on every inch of my skin, his chest a relentless drumbeat against my ear. The sheets are twisted around our legs, our fingers are laced together as he presses a tender kiss against my forehead.

“Emma…you’re incredible.” His words vibrate against my skin, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back.

I look up at him, my gaze meeting those deep blue eyes that seem to hold galaxies within them. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiles, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Your beauty,” he whispers huskily, “it’s not just in the way you look, Swan. It’s everything about you. It’s the very essence of you.” His touch is reverent, as though each word he utters is etched into my skin.

A warmth blooms in my chest at his words, at the admiration that laces each syllable. It’s as if every wall I’ve ever built has not only been scaled but completely dismantled by the tenderness of his gaze. He sees me, truly sees me—not just the polished exterior, but the tangled, knotted threads of my soul.

A teasing smile pulls at my lips. “Do you say that to all the women you’re with?”

He chuckles, his body shaking with the deep, hearty sound. “I would only say it if I meant it…so no, I don’t.”

I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, taking in the jagged edge of his stubble, the warmth of his skin. His eyes lock with mine, a stormy blue that speaks volumes without a single word. My heart swells, full to bursting with an emotion I can neither name nor contain.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or forever.”

I laugh. “I’ll stay tonight…but I’ll have to go back early tomorrow. Henry will be back home around noon.”

He nods, despite the disappointment flashing in his eyes. “Of course, love.”

Lying here naked, pressed against him, I allow myself to bask in the afterglow, the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me into a state of serene bliss.

I don’t remember sex being so damn good before.

It’s never been that good.

Then it hits me. He’s the first, the only one who’s ever made me orgasm from sex alone. Sure, I’ve had orgasms but only from stimulation—a tongue, a finger or (mostly) a battery-operated friend. Never from penetration. I didn’t even think it was possible for me. And I’ve certainly never experienced multiple orgasms before tonight.

I always assumed I was the problem. That I was broken somehow.

But here I am, lying in Killian’s arms, fulfilled and sated in a way I never thought possible. It’s like he’s unlocked some secret part of me no one else could access before.

And maybe my history of being unsatisfied in bed is the reason I waited so long to be with someone else after Neal left.

Then again, if I had known it could be this good, I wouldn’t have waited.

But maybe it was Killian I was waiting for all along.

[windermeresimblr]

The Bachelor Beaumaris, 1.0 (Sunday Morning)

All of the ladies have arrived, and, in celebration of the event, everyone is...out on the lawn, doing their damnedest to get heatstroke and pass out.

Not previously introduced are the servants: Jeremiah Prince (brown waistcoat and breeches), Gregory's valet; his sister Tabitha (striped caraco and green skirt), the housekeeper; Kitty Fletcher, Venetia's lady's maid (striped caraco and floral stomacher and skirt), and Bridget O'Doyle, the maid-of-all-work (blue dress). We won't be seeing much of them; they're going to be living in the basement, for the most part.

But now, we have to have some socialization. First up is Amalie.

Amalie: (considering her past career in the Opera)

Gregory: (is this love? or is this mesmerism?)

Amalie: If we could see the world as a globe, what do you think it would look like?

Gregory: My sister, Ursula, will live with us forever, per the terms of my late father's will. I hope you don't mind that.

Demelza apparently finds this quite attractive, and Gregory found that attractive. (Most of his lines, apparently, were discussing either Ursula or Venetia. Interesting tack there, Gregory, but I suppose you do marry the family...)

Gregory: I like the moon!

Gabrielle: So, did we need to bring our own furniture?

Gregory: No, Ursula found some old bedsteads in the lumber-room in our townhouse in London...

Gregory: It's not the most stylish house, but it's really mine, so that counts for something?

Isadora: I think it's a wonderful way to remake everything in the most modish manner.

Gregory: Do you suppose David Garrick would share his builder's calling-card?

Marie-Claude and Gregory also had developing feelings; I suppose this was from Marie-Claude listening discreetly to Gregory's chats with the others. As for Gregory, I think he just falls in love easily.

Gregory: I do enjoy the theater, even if it is a bit scandalous.

Marie-Claude: Have you heard of "Lover's Vows?"

Mathilde also fell in love with Gregory instantaneously! (Even if he talks about his sisters all day long.)

Gregory: They say it's a great bear, but I've never seen a bear with a tail. I think it looks like a big chopping knife.

Vivian: I feel as though the house has suddenly collapsed in size tremendously! I'm going to count the bricks in the road until it goes back to normal.

Gregory: (continues to discuss his late father's provisions in his will)

Vivian: This is a good sign! If he likes his sisters, he'll be a good husband, right?

Vivian: I do love art--I have been hoping to examine the sculpture galleries in London. But paintings are lovely, too! It's so hard to decide!

Gregory: I think I can find us admission! Venetia knows someone who knows someone.

[quillsareswords]

omg for #QFWW with a vampire reader bc spooky season never ends, like a date gone wrong or something like that pls

A/N: I really know I've found my people when half of these were for my supernatural reader-characters. More vampire reader in my That Which Bleeds collection! WARNINGS: mentions of blood but no descriptions of consumption, mentions of food, language

MASTER LIST in BIO

   “For the record, this was not originally how I intended the night to end.”

   He glances down at the massive bloodstain on the front of his once crisp green button down for emphasis. “No? Were you aiming to have this stain a little higher up? My collar, perhaps?”

   You glare at him dejectedly. “Not funny.”

   He’s smiling anyway. He’s sitting on the curb outside of some swanky restaurant, with this huge dark blotch on his shirt, and he’s smiling at you like you’re finer than every piece of art in the gallery you took him to earlier in the afternoon.

   You bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry.”

   "What ever for?" he chuckles.

   You glare again. "You're joking, right?"

   Against the cold night air, the warmth of his arm wrapping around your shoulders feels more like a space heater kicking on next to you. “You don’t have to apologize,” he chuckles. “It was a good day.”

   Well, it had been. You'd spent most of the day flitting around the apartment, finding things to keep you busy while you waited for him to finish with his classes. You'd gotten ready together, and he went down and started the car before sunset so it would be warm for you.

   It was all downhill from there. When you finally got to the gallery venue, there was nowhere to park and the valet was nowhere to be seen. There was no choice but to park elsewhere and walk three blocks in your slightly uncomfortable fancy clothes. He'd insisted it was nice to be able to stretch his legs after being stuck in his home office all day, but you know he's still sore from his showdown with Riddler's biggest, baddest goon last week.

   Inside, none of the trays walking around were vegetarian friendly. It was all meat, or very obviously coss-contaminated. On top of that, none of the refreshments were to either of your liking. So, two hours of meandering around a winding exposition with nothing to eat and no drink—because why on earth would they offer water?

   When you finally finished, with a new piece under Damian's arm (a delightful reimagining of a lesser-known Van Gogh, apparently), it was raining. You'd checked the forecast every hour, on the hour all day and there hadn't been a cloud in sight until tomorrow night. So, just this once, you hadn't brought your umbrella. 

   Luckily, the artist he'd purchased from was more than happy to hold it for you until one of you could come back and safely pick it up. And neither of you wanted to walk in the rain, so you called over a cab and left the car to sit in a business lot for awhile longer.

   Finally, you'd thought things were looking up.

   And then the restaurant couldn't find your reservation. The reservation you made weeks ago, because The Stranger is the only nice restaurant in all of Gotham that caters to both vegetarians and vampires.

   Fortunately, they happened to have an open table, and because you had the foresight to bring along some proof of reservation (ensuring the entire mess was their fault), drinks were free.

   Finally, all was well. Damian loved his mushroom risotto, you were thrilled with your AB+ blend, and it really looked like you'd be able to pull this off.

   The whole night was your doing. He'd been so busy with his degree and his heroism and his internship, and you'd been finding a delicate balance between your own school work and playing mediator between any decent vampires in the city and privy law enforcement, while also making yourself a threat against any indecent vampires that didn't care for humanity anymore. You hadn't been able to do much of anything together, especially when he slept for six or so hours most nights and you didn't.

   You sat with him while he ate breakfast. You'd sit in his office while you both worked. He'd sit in the living room to work while you chipped away at hobbies or watched something. You'd sit closeby while he painted. You'd lie in bed and read while he slept, because he always sleeps better if you're around. If you're lucky, you may even doze off while you're there. You found ways to spend time together whenever you could, but it wasn't quite the same as getting out and going somewhere.

   Valentine's Day was the best excuse to do so. Two whole days cleared on both schedules. One night to stay out as late as he could bare. You'll make breakfast for him tomorrow, and whenever he decides to get up, you'll talk him into watching some ridiculous romance movie he'll roll his eyes at but end up teary-eyed by the end of.

   You can practically taste victory, despite all the mishaps leading up to dinner. The waiter is bringing over your second glass. Damian's almost finished. You're almost done with the artichoke dip he didn't like as much.

   And then, in a wretched turn of events that you swear only belong in shitty television dramas, the waiter trips. Over thin air or his shoelaces or your hopes and dreams, it doesn't matter. He falters, squeals, and the glass he's carrying goes flying like a targeted drone strike.

   Thinned red blood splatters against the wall behind your table and then—all over the front of Damian's shirt.

   You could have burst into tears right then and there. Instead, you waited patiently for Damian to assure the sputtering waiter that it was fine, he wasn't angry, he wouldn't have the poor kid fired. Then, you took Damian to the family bathroom and tried your best to rinse out as much of the blood as you could in the sink. 

   "A good night?" you ask incredulously. "Where have you been all night?"

   He raises one hand, the one not touching you, in mock-defense. "I didn't say it went perfectly, my love. Could things have gone a little smoother? Of course. But they didn't ruin the evening."

   You finally pull your face from your hands. "Yeah, they kind of did. Case in point," you grumble, gesturing to his shirt.

   "I don't care about the shirt," he tells you seriously. "I have dozens of them. I'll buy another one if I miss it. Look at me." His hand skims up the round of your back to the base of your neck to get you attention. It's pointless, because you never turn down an opportunity to look upon him. "I don't care about the shirt. Or the shoes."

   "What happened to your shoes?" you cry suddenly.

   He laughs tiredly and shakes his head. "Nothing important. Will you let me finish?"

   You bite down on your lip as your hand absently passes over your mouth, as if you're subconsciously trying to keep yourself quiet.

   "I was going to say, that I don't care about all these little things that happened." He rubs his thumb across the cool skin of your neck, mere inches away from a scar that's never quite going to heal. "All I wanted to do tonight was spend time with you. I didn't care what we did. I did enjoy the gallery, and dinner, and I do appreciate all the time and effort you put into planning all this: but you really didn't have to. I would have been perfectly content to sit at home and stare at you all night. I wanted to be with you tonight, and you gave me that. Everything else was secondary."

   The way he looks at you now almost brings tears to your eyes. He looks at you like you're the prettiest thing on Earth. Like you're the only thing worth looking at. Like he really would have been happy to do nothing but look at you until the world ended.

   "I just wanted it to be perfect," you tell him honestly, voice as wilted at you feel. "We don't get the chance to do this very often, so I wanted it to be special." You laugh wetly despite yourself. You're quick to wipe away one rogue tear. "Guess I should have known better. We do live in Gotham, afterall."

   "That's true," he chuckles. "On the bright side, it still wasn't as terrible as our New Year's dinner last year."

   You laugh just thinking about it, like you always do. He knows you always laugh about it. It's a trick he keeps tucked in his back pocket for just these occasions. "That was pretty awful," you agree. "Your brother tumbling through the window covered in blood wasn't exactly how I thought that night would end, either."

   He gently pulls you closer to him. Tucks you into his side while you wait for a cab to take you back to the car. "Well, to be fair, I expect most nights to end with at least a little blood. I am in love with a vampire, afterall."

   You rest your head on his shoulder and watch slow traffic pass. "I love you, too," you hum. "Even though you are the one who spilled my drink last night, and now you're trying to blame me."

   He rolls his eyes."I am not–"

   "Oh you so are–"

[jack-of-crowns]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

'Le Valet de Couronnes’ by @jack-of-crowns

"Où va-t-il, á votre avis, ce petit bonhomme?"she pondered, but all I noticed was how beautiful Véronique looked in that spectral light with the eclipse coming on, Marcel waves of brunette rustling in the warm Marghazi breeze coming up from the Bay of Bengal. She laughed to see that look in my eyes. "Really, Jack, that mouse I meant."

Sure enough, there was the yellowish flick of a chooha's tail, disappearing just around the white stucco facade of the café on Rue de la Compagnie, where we had perched to enjoy the Pongal festival unfolding on the streets of Pondicherry before us. The strange thing was, I hadn't noticed an alleyway there a moment ago. "Where the devil do you suppose he's off to," I softly answered her.

Setting my napkin to the side of the paneer ratatouille I'd been enjoying and donning my trusty fedora, I stood up to take a quick look. "Un instant, ma chérie." It must have been a trick of the light that I hadn't noticed the narrow lane of cobbles beforehand, but there was the little mouse scurrying on just ahead. It paused at the side of the building adjacent to the café, underneath a casement window shaded by a jali screen that fragmented the kerosene lamplight shining behind it.

The building was some sort of art gallery; hanging in the window was an exquisite work in the Cubist style, entitled 'Le Valet de Couronnes’. The subject was a portrait in bluish-grey tones, wearing an ornate headpiece, and eyes closed meditatively. The background was an intricate jumble of complex geometries and abstract mechanisms. There was a striking familarity to this man, I thought to myself as the eclipses' penumbra deepened overhead.

Distant temple bells began to toll the evening aarti to Ganesha; the clock tower in the French Quarter sounded the hour. The eyes of the painting flickered, dancing in the moonshadow. It was 1925, and a new year was beginning. The uttarayan was beginning, and the northern portal was opened...

It is 2025, and Veronica catches the eye of the gallery's clerk, who is just about to close shop for the night. "How much for this painting," she inquires.

"Ten thousand rupees," he replies. "A classic from the colonial era, amma. I believe that was a self-portrait of a British artist who used to live next door to here. Really takes one on a journey to another place and time, doesn't it?"

She nods and smiles, handing over the banknotes as he parcels up her belated Christmas present to herself. "Comment ça commence," she murmurs; that's how all the best stories begin.

[pers-books]

A familiar face is hanging around in Victorian England in

2.1. The Paternoster Gang: Rogues Gallery

AVAILABLE OCTOBER 2023

Victorian England is home to the Great Detective, Madame Vastra, her resourceful spouse, Jenny Flint, and their loyal valet, Strax. Solving conundrums, fighting injustice and capturing criminals are all in a day’s work for the Gang – but the most dangerous threat is one that takes up residence undetected.

There are trespassers in London, and they are coming to Paternoster Row…

1.1 The Ghost and the Potato Man by Barnaby Kay When a criminal gang pulls off a series of impossible heists, Inspector Cotton calls upon the talents of the Great Detective to crack the case. Tipped off by Ellie Higson, the Paternoster Gang uncover a link to a baffling music hall act.

While Jenny and Vastra chase down leads in London’s dangerous underworld, Strax finds a career on the stage is beckoning…

1.2 Symmetry of Death by Dan Starkey Cases are mounting for the Paternoster Gang. Three mysteries call for immediate attention: a murder, a locked room conundrum, and some acts of random vandalism. But is there a connection?

As Jenny goes undercover and Strax stakes out the suspects, Vastra finds an echo of the distant past which could be the key to the solution.

1.3 Till Death Us Do Part by Lisa McMullin Jenny has decided she wants a wedding – a real wedding with Vastra, before their family and friends. But the viewing of a dress leads to misunderstandings and confusions, becoming ever more serious. The owner of the dress claims to have been jilted years before by a man both familiar and unfamiliar… the Doctor!

As tempers flare, alien forces are at work – and what’s more, there could be a trespasser in Paternoster Row.

-- I'm just gonna go ahead and say 'Ooh!' at this news!