His Temptress

Sinclair

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Henry Winter, the cold hearted man who shot himself in the head to save his friends. Died a hero or lived a murderer? The city of romance, lust and wealth might have the answer and answer is called Odette Laurent. Betrothed to the son of her father’s awfully wealthy friend.

Prologue

Chapter One

Where are you my luv we miss you! Hope you’re well 🩷🩷

Aww thank you, this truly made my night:))

I am okay, school takes up most of my time so writing is kind of getting pushed away currently.

But I will try my best to suprise you doves soon with a little something<3

When are new fanfics coming? 🤓

Now:))

Hello, doves!

I am a really big fan of 'the secret history' and Henry Winter. I noticed that there are not many writings about them, so I am here to change that.

I will mostly write about Henry, but you will occasionally see Francis, Camilla, and Richard too, especially if you request.

Pretty please, don't be shy and request your heart's wish, I would be very happy to read it and write it.

I never actually wrote on Tumblr, so expect me to be a bit clumsy with it :)

A bit of warning, this blog will contain major spoilers and smut.

I wish you all the joy,

xoxo, Rosemary <3

More Henry fics 👹

Give me exact ideas👹

Prologue

Hello, my darling doves

Suprise! The fanfiction began.

Before you dig into it… Yes, it is in a different timeline than the actual book, and not all things are same as in the book, but you will find out eventually:)

I hope you will like it and I’m always open to hear your opinions on it!

xoxo, Rosemary<3

warnings: none:) maybe alcohol use, but this is tsh so nobody really cares

summary: just some warming up

word count: 1.3k

Richard Papen, 1953

Some nights, I am still at that hotel. We all are. Charles with a gun in his hand, Camilla sobbing, Francis and I frozen, and Henry… Nearly smiling at the gun. The next events happened barely in a mere second. The screaming, the gunshots, the warm feeling in my stomach, the red wine and blood splashing. Henry lay dead on the floor, his pale face covered in blood. He was pronounced dead on the scene when the police arrived, while they were on their way Francis put a blanket on him, I don’t remember those moments very well. I only remember the blood on his face and his closed eyes. Francis was the only one who attended the funeral, I would have gone with him to Missouri, where he was getting buried, but I was laying in the hospital with a gunshot.

I never saw the twins ever again. Charles ran away and Camilla went silent. We nearly couldn’t care less about Charles after what he had done, but Camilla was a hard pill to swallow.

Me and Francis tried everything we could for a good while, brought her to the best psychiatrist, and we stayed with her patiently. Until she finally spoke to us again. But only a few words, she kindly asked us to leave her alone to deal with her grief, Henry or Charles, we never knew. We understood and left her alone like she asked. We tried our best to get our friend back and figured that she would contact us if she wanted to.

—

Me and Francis kept in touch over the years, calls and visits were engraved in our daily routines. He visited me in Chicago and I visited him in Boston. I analyzed literature and sometimes gave lessons in big named schools. Francis wrote detective books, he started writing them as a distraction and they blew up, people loved him. In the end, both of us were steady on our feet. I wasn’t in possession of a family fortune, but I became a bit wealthy myself.

However, there was one name we never dared to speak. Until today.

We were at Francis’s huge apartment, on the couch, whiskey in hand. We already drank a bottle of Irish whiskey. Suddenly he laughed to himself in a drunken manner. “What is it?” I laughed to myself too at his odd manner, the whiskey really managed to get in my head, I felt dizzy and floaty.

His laughing slowly went away and he stared at the maroon wall dreamily. “You know what I think about sometimes?” He looked at me with a sly foxy smile. “What if Henry never died?” I suddenly sat up and a little part of me was relieved that he said Henry’s name, he might have been drunk out of his mind but still. He knew Henry for a longer time than I did and his death was harder for him, he is also a sensitive fellow so that was not the greatest mix. I started snickering at his foolish question, but I stopped it when I saw his serious face, he was lost in thought.

“Francis? Where did this come from? We both watched him fall to the floor.” I tried studying his face, he wouldn’t look in my eyes.

“I know, I know. But those parts are so blurry, I barely remember how we got out of there. What do you remember from it?” He finally looked at me.

“Oh yeah, I remember every single little detail that happened. Especially the gunshot wound in my stomach and the blood oozing out of it!” He angered me a bit, the alcohol made the moment more dramatic than it actually was.

“Okay, I see your point…” He bit his lip, as if he was in distress. “What if he didn’t actually die? That was the last time we saw him and we got ushered out so quickly that we didn’t even register what hap—“

“Aren’t you a detective murder mystery writing novelist? Your mind is more creative day by day.” I point to his shelf, where he displayed the awards his books and stories won, in a joking manner. He was really good at what he was doing, no wonder everyone always begged for the new novel of his, even my students who I eventually taught from time to time.

He was not laughing, not appreciating my joke. I could see it in his eyes that he really was thinking. “Richard, have you ever seen him after that?”

“Weren’t you the one who sat through his whole funeral?!”

“It was a closed casket.” He shrugged.

“Closed casket?” I straightened up at the new information. “Didn’t he always say that he was going to have an open casket funeral?”

Francis’s eyes widened. “He did, because he wanted people to really see that all of us end up in the same way.” It was silent for a few minutes, until Francis turned to me. “Richard, if he could write his car to your name, then he could have had an open casket funeral. He wrote what he wanted for it when he was like sixteen, and the way he was looking at the gun?” We turned more serious by the second.

“Maybe he had a closed casket to spare Camilla?” I brought up my only explanation, but even I barely believed it.

“Camilla is not as weak as you think, and Henry was or is not that soft to change what he always believed in for a girl.” My biggest problem was that he actually made some sense, there was something about what he had said.

“So, let me get this straight. Henry may be alive and we didn’t think of this for five years?” I scoffed and turned to Francis. I put my hands on both of his shoulders and sighed deeply, as if I was a father who is about to tell a life lesson to his child. “Look Francis, I know that this Henry being alive and well alternative is way more sweeter, but it is not the truth and not the one we live in.”

“I know, but what if—“ He tried to interrupt me.

“No, no more what if’s… Henry is dead. We watched him shoot himself in the head and drop to the floor. You sat through his funeral, closed casket or not, he was in there. He is gone, Francis. Fuck… I wish he wasn’t, I wish we found a better way to deal with everything going on without anyone dying. I wish that Charles never came in with a gun in hand…” He had tears in his eyes from my little speech, maybe I did too, but I needed him to open up his eyes and see our sad truth.

He smiled sadly, a fat tear running down his freckled cheek. “I wish for anything that could have kept our group together…” he said as he stared into the crunching fire in the fireplace. I believe that in that moment he tried really hard for the first time to accept what we came to.

“We’re here now. Maybe up there, Bunny could give that goddamn slap back to Henry and even bang him in the head with his stupid latin diary.” I nudged his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. What I didn’t expect was a proper laugh from him. Half a genuine laugh, half a grieving sob.

“Yeah, you’re right… Thank you, Richard. For everything.” He lifted his glass and we clicked them together.

“To new beginnings.”

“To new fucking beginnings.”

Wasn’t sure about this one, but I also have to feed my doves some content:)

My kind of Picturesque:

Richard Papen’s point of view:

Growing up poor gives people certain habits, some better, some worse.

I was so used to mine that I couldn’t even decide which one it was categorised into.

Ever since I could think, I always found myself longing. After everything I didn’t have or never could have. Expensive items, designer clothes, being an orphan and certain people.

I always found myself wishing I was someone else, someone classy and rich, like Francis Abernathy or Henry Winter, smart minds and big bank accounts.

There was one exception where I didn’t want to be a certain person, but longing to be with one. With her.

Sure, I always found certain people attractive or nice, and I even wished about being with them, but longing is a whole different thing. Longing consumes your mind and keeps you up at nights, daydreaming and lost in fantasies.

She lived in the dorm next to mine, I found that out the very first day I arrived at Hampden. I was in a rush to the office to deliver some papers and I forgot it in my dorm room, my head and thoughts were messy from being tired and just straight up nervous. I didn’t even notice that the room I barged to wasn’t mine.

That is when I first saw her, I stopped in my tracks and let out a loud gasp, she was dressing when I accidentally barged in.

I have never seen such perfection before, she was only wearing black cotton underwear, her chest area was completely bare for my wandering eyes to see. At first she looked like a deer in the headlights, then she began to smile slyly. “Howdy, neighbour?”

She was completely unbothered by the fact that her breasts were completely out.

“I-I’m sorry…” I said and I slammed the door shut.

In the office I couldn’t focus on anything and everyone had to repeat everything they said to me multiple times.

I always had trouble sleeping, but that night I found myself in a deep long sleep. I suppose masturbating all night tired me out, but I just couldn’t help myself. Her naked body was on my mind every second. The thought that she was in the room beside me aroused me even more. I fantasised that she was also doing the same thing I was, touching herself, maybe even thinking of me like I was thinking of her. Maybe she was groping her own breasts, those beautiful and tender, soft pink nippled breasts. I wanted to touch her, feel her and get a taste of her so bad, to run my hand along her soft stomach and bury my head between her thighs. I imagined her being so desperate for pleasure that she came knocking on my door, that didn’t happen.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of her voice. Not in the way I would have preferred, but it was her voice nonetheless. “Stupid motherfucking shoe!” That I heard after a thud.

My still dazed thinking from my sleep made me bolt out of bed and make my way to her room. To apologize to her for what happened the day before, and mostly to just get a chance to see and talk to her.

I knocked on her door and she opened it seconds later. She was getting ready. Her hair was a big mess, her pretty face had makeup on, she was wearing a raggedy old band t-shirt and some kind of shorts. She flashed me a toothy grin. “Morning, neighbour!” She turned on her heel and the door opened wider for me to step inside.

“Morning.” I felt somewhat awkward but she didn’t seem bothered by it.

“Did I wake you up? I am terribly sorry about it, it’s just that I was looking for something on the top of my wardrobe and a shoe fell right on my head.” She said while rummaging through her closet.

“No, you didn’t, don’t even mention it…” I leaned against her door frame with my arms crossed, I didn’t know how to hold them without being awkward. “Listen…?”

“Y/n, y/l/n.” She said as she threw herself down on her chair. “Carry on, Richard.” She began styling her hair.

“Y/n, right.” I was flattered that she knew my name already, her name tasted like honey on my tongue. “So, about yesterday… I am terribly sorry for barging in like that, I really thought it was my room, sorry.”

“Oh, please, it’s all good, don’t even mention it. I didn’t make you too uncomfortable did I?” She turned towards me with a foxy grin.

Her gaze made me nervous, I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. “N-no, I-, no of course not! Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” She stood up and came to me. “Wanna get breakfast?” She put her hand on her hip. I was beaming on the inside from her offer, it was one I could not decline for anything.

“Yeah, sure.”

She giggled excitedly. “Good, meet me in front of your door in half an hour, is that enough for you?”

“Of course, see you then, I guess.”

I turned on my heel and hurried back to my room. I barely found an outfit that was casual and didn’t reveal that I was trying to impress her. I brushed my teeth and got myself together. Half an hour later she was knocking on my door.

She was wearing a lace trimmed top and skirts, and what surprised me was that she was wearing cowboy boots. She looked absolutely beautiful.

We talked and talked at breakfast, she was the best company I ever had.

We have been friends ever since then.

We used to go over to each other’s rooms a lot, to talk, to borrow things, anything really. The more I saw her, the more I fell in love with her. She was everything. She loved golden age Hollywood, fashion and diet coke, there was always one or two can of them in her bag. She was also awfully fond of cowboy boots, had one of them in nearly every colour. It turned out that the day she woke me up with her cursing, it was a cowboy boot that fell onto her head.

Her and Judy were really good friends too, us three even did coke in a burger king parking lot one time.

Everyone liked her, to my biggest surprise, even the Greek class liked her. Everybody knew her, her wild hair and cowboy booted outfits.

Bunny always said what a fun chick she was. Henry never really said anything, but he always checked her out when she went by us. Camilla and Francis adored her.

There was one time I remember so vividly. Me, Camilla and Francis attended one of those college parties before going down to the country house. We had quite a few drinks and suddenly while we were talking in a quieter place, trying to sober up a bit before hitting the road, Francis’s eyes went wide and his face paled. We panicked that he was sick, but he just pointed his finger behind us. We were in the same state of shock moments later when we saw Judy and y/n making out wildly at the wall.

We might have been perverts for this but we watched it all. They kept on switching places and pushing the other up the wall in passion. Judy was in a skirt and a colourful blouse, while y/n had a black mini dress on, usual to herself she wore brown cowboy boots and even a hat, she was so sexy.

They gripped each other’s hair, Judy pushed her against the wall while kissing her neck, her chanel red nailed hands found their way under her dress and there was no sugarcoating what she was doing to y/n, nor there was no sugarcoating in the noises she was letting out, Judy was whispering in her ear and occasionally it made her moan.

Minutes later, they switched places again, y/n got on her knees and buried her head under Poovey’s skirt.

We watched her go down on her and based on Judy’s reaction, she was very good at it.

When she finished, she wiped her mouth seductively and kissed her one last time before dragging her back to the party.

This made the three of us sober up properly, and even aroused. We went to the car and didn’t say a word on the road, we didn’t need to, our body language told everything. Me and Francis trying to hide our excitement and Camilla blushing and fidgeting made it obvious that she was in no different state than we were.

When we arrived, we found Henry in the library, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of us. “Did something happen?”

The three of us needed another drink after that, we told Henry all we saw and he just kept his set face. “Interesting.” That was all he said.

“Sooo… she likes girls?” Said Francis after a somewhat comfortable pause. He looked at me, studying my expressions, he knew that I was fond of her. I wanted her every second, I knew that my chances with her were near zero, but this could make it a proper zero.

“She can like men, too. She’s young and wild, this doesn’t define her.” I was awfully surprised as Henry said this.

Later on I found out why Henry knew that she was attracted to men.

While in Hampden, they hooked up occasionally. They weren’t in a relationship, I don’t even know to this day how it started out. I was mad at Henry at first, that he got to touch and feel her, but it’s not like I made big efforts to get her. I always thought that she would come to me, she never did.

At the beginning of our last year of college, she got discovered. It turned out that she was a talented actress and a big director from Hollywood noticed it. She always had a certain sparkle to her, as well as timeless beauty. Her name was placed on billboards and movie credits.

Nonetheless, she finished her studies at Hampden, like she wasn’t one of the brightest actress of our generation. She was the same person, the wild haired cowboy booted girl next door. It was like nothing had changed.

When we graduated, I fell out of touch with everyone, except Francis, who I exchanged letters with from time to time. I had one last breakfast with her, we talked and had an emotional goodbye. I tried to hold my tears back while hugging her with all my might. I didn’t know at the time the secret she was carrying.

Many, many years later, I moved to New York, mostly for the job I got at a university, and in the city I could also keep an eye out for Francis, who was mostly bored all the time. Y/n really made a name for herself, she kept her life private mostly, so I didn’t know where she was or what she was up to these days.

One day while I was on my way to the university I was teaching at, I ran into Henry. It was refreshing to see him, we chatted for a while and he invited me over to dinner in his apartment.

I was glad that I could catch up with him, I didn’t expect that it wouldn’t be only the two of us at dinner, the discovery still makes my stomach knot.

I arrived and Henry greeted me, he lived in a huge apartment that was packed in antique furniture. Suddenly, two little boys in suits came to say hi. Claude and Vincent Winter were their names. They looked identical to Henry, pale skin, icy blue eyes and dark raven hair. They were well mannered smart children.

I was about to ask if he had a wife or something while we were sitting on the couch, sipping whiskey, until a little girl waddled out in her little pink dress. It made me smile, Henry being a father to twin boys and a little girl. At first she had her back to me, she sat in her father’s lap and nuzzled herself close to him. Until Henry gently cooed to her that it was impolite to not greet their guest.

When she turned her head, my breath got stuck in my throat. She was the perfect copy of the girl that lived next door to me. Her hair long and her eyes big. She smiled at me. “Good evening, mister.” I could only nod in my shocked state.

Henry stroked her hair gently. “Go get Mama, would you?” She catapulted out of his lap to do as she was told.

“You have three children?!” I downed my whiskey down in one swallow.

“I do, yes. That was Heidi.”

“When a-and how?” I stammered out.

“Well, Richard, I don’t think I have to explain the process of reproduction.” He gave a little chuckle.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Do you have a wife?”

He didn’t answer, he just looked to the side and smiled. I heard her before I saw her. “Howdy, neighbour.” My heart nearly stopped, I turned my head so fast in her direction that it was a miracle that I didn’t break my neck. She looked more mature and more like a mother, but still the biggest beauty I’ve seen. There were still some girlish features on her. Her once wild hair was cut off, now she had hair like Marilyn Monroe, it suited her.

She sat down next to Henry and leaned into his touch, her left hand was caressing his that was wrapped around her waist, a golden ring on both. It was no mystery, they were married and the three little clones were from her.

“Hold on a second, how old are your children?” That was the first thing I said after I told y/n that she looked good.

“Vincent and Claude are six, Heidi is three.”

We last saw each other in Hampden, six years ago.

“You were pregnant when we graduated, weren’t you?” I put the pieces together in my head. She smiled and nodded. I tilted my head for further explanation.

They did explain it all to me. While in Hampden, they hooked up occasionally, even after she got famous, nothing serious. Senior year it was, when in spring it turned out that y/n fell pregnant with Henry’s baby. She had no idea what to do, but Henry was there for her and he helped her make her choice, to keep his baby. He took her out, gave her gifts and cared for her. They fell in love, they married in the summer of our graduation and they kept it a secret. Y/n was in a big movie while her pregnancy wasn’t showing, and after it she took a break from Hollywood. They ran away to a little Italian villa and y/n gave birth to twin boys in Italy.

We sat down to dinner, and while I was awfully mad at them at first, I noticed how meant to be they were.

She suddenly spoke up. “Richard?” She snapped me out of my haze. “Remember our last breakfast together, on June 16th?”

“How could I ever forget?” I could never.

“Well, that is the day I realized I was having twins. When I hugged you I felt my bump against you, and I was convinced that you felt it too.” She giggled. “Did you?”

I didn’t remember, I was so focused on trying to say or do something that will make her mine that I didn’t even notice her pregnant belly poking at me, the pregnant belly that was carrying my friend’s babies.

“I didn’t, no.”

Dinners with the Winter’s became a usual thing, eventually, Francis started to tag along. Heidi adored him. I became Uncle Richard to their children, and I liked it.

Did I ever stop longing after her though? Never, she would always be the wild haired girl next door in cowboy boots to me.

Would you doves be interested in me writing more chapters for Sinclair?

Or perhaps some burning hot smut?:)

Give me requests freely, and don’t be shy to let the inner beast out;)

xoxo

Will you do any male x male fics or requests for tsh??

Male x male I am not sure about, but tsh requests I accept ALWAYS:)

Ideas for fanfics:

They argue and don’t talk for a few days. Henry is a nervous wreck and she seems like she is completely unbothered by it. A but of drama. And they make up at the end.

Him being jealous, would also be great.

And one about their first kiss or first time admitting to each other that they have feelings for each other.

Oh my god, I LOVE THESE and I love when you give me ideas:)

I will definitely see what I can do to make these ideas come true:) (look at me ryming and being a poet on tumblr)