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pedgito · 3 months

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MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Five: Mr. Miller

Chapter Summary: Years later, you find yourself with choices that feel impossible. And of course, Joel Miller is there at the root of them. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (formerly), time jump, joel is a successfully published writer, reunions, drinking, semi-public sex in a bathroom, m!oral, unprotected piv, job proposals, ambiguous endings

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Word doesn’t travel, thankfully. It’s handled swiftly, quietly. Mostly be the discrepancies of Joel, who allows himself to take the full responsibility—for you, for him, and definitely not for Tess.

You’re not sure what expels in the office after you leave that night, other than the gradually rising voices of the troubled couple and Joel–he sounds tired, exasperated, done before Tess can get a word in edgewise. But, you don’t linger much longer.

Joel, however, can’t seem to grasp something to anchor him down, feeling himself slip into a quiet rage. Tess forces the ultimatum on him that night. Either he owns up to, tells her everything, or she would make the divorce hell. He knew she was capable of being vindictive, but he never thought it would be aimed at him. And he knew it all boiled down to him never forgiving her own undue and unjust actions. A bitterness that lingered, festered, and now that she had caught him in his own mess, like he had to her, it was too poetic for her to let things go.

Joel resigns a few weeks later, your interaction minimal—he doesn’t even speak directly to you anymore. He feels like he’s being watched, judged, under constant scrutiny. The reality was that no one knew what had transpired, but it felt louder than ever. The rest of the year is quiet and dull, but you manage.

And the months that follow, they’re fine. But, the spark you had for literature then, even if slightly skewed by Joel and his nefarious obsession with you, never really returns.

The divorce comes several months later for Joel—it isn’t quiet. It’s messy, it’s difficult. Despite his willingness to comply with Tess’s conditions over his pseudo-fling with you, she goes back on her word. Eventually though, he cuts his ties and moves on. And it shouldn’t freak him out that he sees your face in his mind every night after nearly a year of knowing you, but it’s the way he’s memorized every detail about you that paints itself in vivid pictures.

Eventually things get easier and you move on, but Joel can’t bring himself to forget.

He leaves a voicemail on the day of your graduation, a couple years passed, and he still knows—he memorized the day and even if it was without intention, he still feels the pull. To explain or apologize. Something.

He can’t explain why he’s so hung up on the moments he shared with you until the words begin to pour out. And you find yourself curled up on your bed the night of graduation, exhausted mentally, emotionally, physically—but then you see his name on your phone and you break.

You press play on the voicemail and place the phone on the bed.

‘I really…don’t know if you’ll even listen to this. I don’t expect you to, but I wanted to apologize. I manipulated a shitty situation to my advantage to forget my own problems. The shit going on within my own marriage. That wasn’t your fault…and you’re young. I shouldn’t have entertained it and I did. I liked the attention. The attention you gave me and it was wrong. If you ever want to…I don’t know, talk things out? I would like that, but I understand if you ignore this completely. I would too. A long, drawn out breath that delves into a sigh. Uh, congratulations on the graduation. I’m sorry this took so long for me to say. Yeah…anyways, goodbye.”

The abrupt ending is bittersweet, rolling your eyes at his tone. It’s clipped, void of emotion. He’s masking and you can hear it. It only pisses you off further, unable to believe the genuineness in his message or tone so no—you don’t give him the chance to talk it out. And Joel Miller fades from your mind from then on, a distant and bitter memory.

Three Years Later

Working at a local publication company in Austin was never the plan, but it was the fastest thing you could grasp after graduation and several failed internships later—and the money was decent. You had an apartment in the city, close to work, and an easier turnaround time when you needed to get something to the office on an emergency or whim.

You were a lower level employee, editing and working around the simpler marketing for author’s that—most of the time, you didn’t even know the name of. You were meant to take the brunt of the work before it was delivered to the actual team of publication for everything that they didn’t want to handle. Which often included lunch as well, daily, coffee orders every morning, and tasks that felt never ending.

But the one time you did receive a break was the publishing parties. Authors would throw a nice party for the team and a long, never-ending list of connections that led for it to be more of a schmoozy get together than anything.

You went for the alcohol, the food, and the entertainment.

Which, thankfully—they all proved to have a ton of.

So, it should be any other Friday when you walk into the bar downtown, filled to the brim with patrons and company people who were there in attendance and support of the author, who you still had yet to meet. You’d been working on the book for months now, getting small snippets of things to correct and proofread when you weren’t running around to fetch things, but sometimes the curiosity is really just too much.

You grab a drink first, sipping on the sweet mix of liquor and syrup as the people filter in and spread, conversing in a low hum that quickly divulges into a cheer as someone makes their way through the door. They’re muffled by the crowd, loud pats of congratulation and claps that aren’t entirely necessary—but everyone had been anticipating the book to be a best-seller in record time. A book of delicate poetry, beautiful and thoughtful. It was something that brought you back to a time long forgotten, sitting in your bed during your freshman year of college, flitting through the recommendations of a professor that had nearly disappeared off the face of the earth.

So, when your eyes land on Joel Miller as he pushes through the crowd, the pit in your stomach grows and swells to an unbearable size.

He’s different in every way but still inexplicably him—he seemed softer, relaxed. His hair was grown out and curling over his ears and down his forehead, curls tickling against his skin and he sported a full beard, more than he ever allowed himself while he worked as your professor the interim year he was there, patchy in places you don’t realize until he comes closer, still unaware of your presence.

You recognize the suit, though—he’s worn it a million times, week after week and it feels too overwhelming now, knowing you both had left things unfinished.

Your intentions then weren’t the same as now and you’re almost positive he could say the same—even if you did keep your vindictive streak to get things you wanted, Joel was the only person who had managed to push you in a way that brought out that side of you.

You turn on your heels as a woman catches his attention, smiling brightly and too touchy to be considered a stranger, your back facing him now. You wave and smile at a few passing co-workers, also giving a small murmur of congratulations to Joel before you feel a hand on your back, half ready with your hand balled into a fist before you hear his voice over your shoulder.

It’s a soft whisper of your name, irreverent fondness in his tone, “How’s the open bar?”

He’s folding a jacket over his arm as he squeezes into the small space between you and another person, palm flattened out against the bar as he awaits your answer.

And for once, you don’t have anything to say.

Your mouth opens once, twice, before quietly snapping shut.

Joel breaks out into a slight smile, “I saw your name on the guest list—I just thought I’d say hi.”

“I didn’t—” You take a shallow breath and press the half-empty glass against the surface, “I don’t usually know anything about who we’re working on publication for, if I had known…I just—”

His hand is a gentle press against your clothed arm, curling around your bicep, “Hey—no harm, no foul. Did you…like my book, at least?”

You chuckle softly, “Uh—yeah, of course. I think that goes without saying. I almost got fired for not providing enough notes when they asked, but I didn’t feel like anything needed to be changed.”

Joel smiles brighter, but his lack of response is palpable.

He nods, pointing at your drink, “Take advantage—seein’ as it’s paid for.”

And you feel the moment fleeing as he turns away for a brief moment and orders his own drink, thankful for the short moment of calm as he didn’t have to constantly talk shop, so your curiosity gets the better of you. You didn’t know when you would ever see him again now that he was standing in front of you—unfinished business and all.

“How are things?” You ask—it’s a vague question that without your past would seem harmless. But, Joel understands. He spots the worry in your brow where it creases subtly in the middle and he chews at his bottom lip, taking the drink that is slipped into his hand.

His ring finger is still bare and he raises the hand up, curled around the glass with eyes that peek over the rim, squinting at your playfully, feigning innocence.

“Good,” He tells you when brings his drink down to his chest, “Uh—some roadblocks trying to get back into writing but…it’s been alright. And Tess, she’s—I don’t really know how she is but we also haven’t spoken in over two years. Last thing I heard was that she was getting engaged.”

Your eyes widen by the sudden influx of information, surprised by how forthright and open Joel was being, “Oh—that’s…good? For her, I guess.”

Joel chuckles softly and raises his eyebrows in response, agreeing with the uncertainty in your statement. You had grown so accustomed to his small quirks and body language that it was coming back to you in waves, like they had never left. But, the booming voice of a few men on the other side of the bar grab Joel’s attention and he looks slightly disturbed of his peace but offers a quiet apology before leaving you alone, left to process what the fuck was happening.

For someone you haven’t seen in a few years, it shouldn’t make you feel so at ease in their presence and you hate the way it lingers and aches the moment he leaves. The same push and pull that you felt so long ago, it’s overwhelming.

You finish your drink quietly, watching the warm, orange sky morph into nightfall and you attempt to slink out quietly, having had your fill on alcohol and surprises for the night. And the activity in the bar had only ramped up more in the lingering time—but the fingers around your wrist stop you, stretching through the crowd as you spin slowly on your heels.

“Follow me?” Joel asks lowly in the space between you when you turn to him, difficult to hear under the roar of the crowd but he nudges his head in a far off direction and you nod, feet moving before your brain can process.

Joel yanks you gently into a small, unisex bathroom with a stall in the corner. It’s big enough that you can rest against an opposite wall while he presses up against the door, looking slightly flushed from the alcohol but calm—it’s strange seeing him now, outside of the setting of his work.

Also, time had passed and he’s grown and processed things in the interim.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask about you,” He begins—Joel had only wanted a quiet place to talk to you, bothered by the idea of you the entire night for more than a few reasons, but most importantly, he just needed to know, “how…things have really been?”

“I graduated, but I’m sure you know that,” You tell him, his gaze trailing down as he remembers the half-assed message and apology he left you, “got a job after way too many attempts and failing and I’m living in an apartment here in Austin, it’s a few blocks away from the publishing company. It’s not bad—I thought things would be easier. But… I can’t complain. I mean, I could—there’s really no point, though.”

Joel’s nostrils flair in amusement as his chest vibrates with a laugh, hands tucked behind him as he leaned against the surface, suit jacket having disappeared…somewhere. Now, it was the tight pull of his chest under his shirt, the gaps in his buttons covered by the long stretch of his tie.

You cross your arms gently, one leg hooking over the other as you lean the weight of your shoulder into the wall similarly, the cold breeze of the unheated bathroom brushing against your thighs and you were silently cursing yourself for wearing such a short skirt in the biting cold weather at the end of fall, rolling into winter with a force.

“I can see that hasn’t changed.” Joel comments slyly and you squint your eyes in his direction, wondering his angle. Truthfully, he didn’t have one.

You roll your eyes momentarily, biting away the smile that creeps onto your face as you look away briefly, distracted by the buzzing, overly luminescent light above your head. The tension between you two had never left, that much was apparent.

“So, how has single life been?” You ask, feeling silly at the way you word it, but given his openness to tease you so easily, you felt the need to do it back.

Joel begins with a subtle warning of your name that has you huffing out a laugh of indifference.

“What?” You say in playful defense, “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer it.”

Joel shakes his head fondly, though the bitter memories begin to flood back.

“I’m not your student anymore,” You point out, “it’s not like you’re breaking any rules by talking to me. It’s been…years, Joel. I think we’re both different people by now.”

Were you? That was entirely debatable.

“It’s been fine.” Joel gives you as little detail as possible, which is a telltale sign that he was masking, but you can’t ignore the way his eyes drag over your figure even if for a brief second.

You nod in response, not pushing the topic any longer.

“So, what’s this about?”

Joel makes a small noise in question and you tilt your head accusingly, lips pursed into a sneaky smile.

“I was on my way out,” You tell him, “now I’m here—with you. So, what’s the deal?”

“I wanted to catch up,” Joel admits–though it’s mostly a lie, “is that a crime?”

“Mmm, but here’s the problem,” You counter him, “you’re not really doing much talking. You ask some lame, basic question to cover up whatever excuse you had to get me in here. Seriously, Joel—what’s up?”

Joel sighs, chin touching his chest as he stares at the floor, “Still so goddamn stubborn.”

It’s like a trigger, soles patting against the ground as you approach him. His gaze pulls up slowly, first at your feet, then your chest, until he lands on your face. Delicate fingers press against his chest, his arms falling to his side as you press in closer and trace your fingers upwards, brush against his jawline.

You grin at the way Joel swallows tensley under your gaze, opposite hand wrapping into the length of his tie and pulling him into you, pressing your lips against his without another thought.

This kiss was new, different. Like pressing lips against a stranger with a renewed interest, not entwined in the throes of his divorce and a shitty marriage that kept him tied down and riddled with guilt, he kisses back with a force, boring conversation long forgotten.

Deft fingers turn the lock silently, a faint click of recognition as Joel leads you toward the empty stall with roaming hands, coat brushed down your shoulders and draped over a nearby hand dryer as he huddles you into the small space and watches as you pull away briefly to lock it with a giddy smile, lip pulled between your teeth as the lock slips into place and he stares at you openly, an unhinged hunger behind his eyes that he attempted to keep it bay so long ago.

“I have an idea.” Your voice is creeping suspicion in Joel’s mind and he sees your smile soften, an undertone in the wait as your fingers stretch along the expanse of his neck, leaning into him fully as he presses against the opposite wall of the stall, faces only a few millimeters apart as you breathe into him, noses brushing gently.

“That sounds like trouble.” Joel admits, your eyes dilating under his gaze as your excitement reaches your eyes, skin wrinkling slightly at the corners as you laugh.

“I don’t know,” You reply airily, “I think you’ll like this one.”

Joel’s game, eyebrows raised in question as you descend slowly—for anyone else, offering up a blowjob on the floor of a shoddy, questionable bathroom, you’d immediately decline and foremost, wouldn’t even offer. But, this was Joel.

The Joel that, despite years of time between his company, still culminated at the forefront of your mind all of the sudden. Fleeting memories, things that threatened to remind you of him, a bitter afterthought. But now, it was sweet—tangible and finally within reach. You were seizing the opportunity to close things out, even if you knew you would never see him again.

And damn his months of unintentional abstinence, Joel is unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants at an embarrassing speed with the assistance of your eager hands, instantly cradling your head as you wrestle with the few layers of fabric before his cock is heavy in your hands and hardening with even the minimalist of touch, his mouth hung open slightly as your tongue press flat against the underside of his cock, tracing along the jut of a vein that leads to his head, circling as you pull taut at his shaft and reacting openly to the tight squeeze he gives to your jaw, eyes falling shut with a gasp as he urges with silence for you to put him out of his misery and take his cock into your mouth.

Enough teasing. He knew you were both far beyond that.

There’s a lightness to your movements, inhibitions slightly skewed. You suck at his cock greedily, hollowing out your cheeks and allowing your hand to cover the length of his shaft that your mouth can’t reach and the hand that isn’t cradling your face is pressed against the stall door for leverage. There’s a crease in his forehead from how hard he’s scrunching his face up, willing himself to focus albeit how overwhelming you are in the moment and then you’re speaking to him, needy and soft.

“Look at me Joel,” You plead, tip brushing against your lips as you kiss the head and take him once more, bobbing your head slowly as he opens his eyes, and that familiar heat sets in his gaze, “there’s nothing to worry about this time—it’s just us.”

His hand is a soothing touch against your jaw, slowly trailing until his palm is cradling your head, “That’s—hm, that’s the problem. Don’t have much time.” Oh, right. This was his party after all.

“Riiiight,” You reply snarkily when you pull, feeling the gentle squeeze of his fingers against your neck as his hand settles there and rests, “guest of honor and all that, I suppose.”

Joel wasn’t letting you go that easy, though. He pushes you away gently and helps you rise to your feet, a slow progress of crowding you against the corner adjoining the stall door and the wall and his fingers slip under your skirt, digging into the supple skin of your thighs and he breathes, takes in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and he groans, so soft you almost don’t hear it. Almost.

“You still like fucking college girls? Or was that a one time thing?” You tease, earning another less than gentle squeeze before his hand is traveling down your center and over the wet fabric of your panties, covered with your slick and you moan out—guilty, and he settles with pulling them to the side for quick access, dipping a finger inside of you and chuckling at how familiar it feels, walls squeezing around the digit and you huff, “Dirty old man, Mr. Miller.”

“Just one. Annoying little brat that she is.” Joel admits, his stiff cock prodding at your thigh as he slips another finger inside of you, your grip tightening against the fabric stretched over his shoulders, head banging deftly against the surface behind you as you moan, “And just so we’re clear—don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

It never really fit him anyways.

“Got it.” You reply softly, staring at him half-lidded as his thumb brushes over your clit and he’s so close—right fucking there, dick pressed against your thigh but he won’t cross that line, not unless you ask. Luckily, you’re selfish even under a time crunch, “Joel—need it.”

“Need what, baby?” His breath is hot against your ear as he mouths at your skin sloppily, fingers leaving you empty as they rub collectively over your sensitive clit, “Such a beautiful way with words, let me hear you say it.”

“Fuck—” You breath rough, a sharp breath, “your cock, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Fortunately, Joel’s never been more impatient as he pulls your thigh up and over his hip, his fingers holding the fabric of your panties to the side as he presses inside of you steadily, selfishly watching your reaction as he splits you open—a stark difference from the first time. He was disconnected, emotionless, trying to prove a point. But, this was so much more.

It was everything he couldn’t say before.

“Stop—stop that,” You laugh softly, fingers gripping over the edge of the stall as he Joel fucks into you with sharp, precise thrusts. He was searching, determined that no time was wasted, but still admiring the catch of a gasp or moan in your throat every time he hit a particular spot inside of you that rendered you nearly speechless, “stop looking—at me like that.”

And Joel has the gull to smirk, lip pulling between his teeth as he angles you back and hikes your thigh up a fraction and that—oh, that was perfect and your grip slips and falls to his chest, wrinkling the fabric under your tight grasp as he leans in, lips pressed unmoving against your own as he thrusts into you wildly, the deafening sound of skin against skin and noises breathed into each other’s mouths.

“Touch yourself, baby,” He pleads and you thought the first time was a one off, a slip of the tongue in such a heated moment but it rings in your ears and warms your body with a faint buzz of adoration and allowed yourself to feel special and reserved only to him for that moment, “come with me?”

You reply with a shaky nod, feeling his hand guide yours between your bodies and settle over your cunt, rubbing over your clit in quick and determined circles as he spoke soft praises against your skin.

Good girl, sweet thing, look so pretty like this while you’re taking my cock.

And you’re hit with an immense rush of emotion as you come around him, his thrusts faltering in time with your cunt as you squeeze around him, “Fuck—I’m gonna come, gonna—” He pulls his hips back slightly but you’re reeling him back in with your heel, offering a small head shake.

Inside, you plead wordlessly.

It does him in—hand grazing over your breasts, tongue dipping into your mouth as he squeezes at the flesh and snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a long, drawn out groan that precedes a long moment of silence as you both come down in synchronized breaths.

Joel hasn’t moved either, cock still buried inside of you but slowly softening.

“Work for me,” He says suddenly, head resting against the wall as he looks at you, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his fingers massaging the sore muscles in your thigh, “please?”

Your brow furrows tiredly, “What?”

“Come and work for me,” He asks once more, “I can offer you a job.”

“Joel, that’s—”

You whine softly at the loss of him as he slips out of you, but silently thankful for your achy muscles—and you think Joel will leave it at that, but he’s taking your face between his hands, urging you to look at him, “Look at me and tell me you’re happy there.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and look back at him, the words perched on your tongue.

You couldn’t lie to him. Not about this.

“I saw your name weeks ago—” Joel removes his hands and redresses slowly, watching as you adjust yourself to a more presentable manner, despite the feeling of his cum dampening your panties even more than they were before, “thought I was fuckin’ hallucinating.”

Still, you’re not sure where it’s coming from. Three years of silence and now this, his cum dripping down your legs and a proposition that sounds far too good to be true.

“I need an assistant,” He admits, “Someone to help me keep track of all this shit. Everyone I’ve hired, it just doesn’t stick.

You unlock the door behind your back and file out, watching Joel stuff his shirt back into his pants with a little too much force, shifting from heel to heel as he walks, “So, you’re desperate? And you thought fucking me would help your chances?”

You’re teasing him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Immediately, his head snaps up, eyes full of concern that you misconstrued his intentions and he knows he’s fucked up again—again. He fucks up everything.

“I’m fucking with you.” You crack a gentle smile and his hammering heart slows.

“I need someone who won’t bullshit me about my writing,” Joel tells you, “real—honest feedback. Someone that knows me.”

Your hands fall behind your back, fingers interlocking as you step toward him again, playfully kicking your foot out at him, “So, the whole blind worship thing, kissing ass—it’s not for you? Because…that can be arranged too, I don’t mind.”

He says your name in warning and you pull back with a soft laugh, “I can give you a bigger picture tomorrow, after…all this. We can work things out. You can sign an official contract. I’m not trying to play you on this.”

And maybe history was repeating itself, something Joel refused to acknowledge.

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess?” You ask, allowing Joel to adjust the flap of your jacket over your chest as you slip it back onto your body, “Teacher…student…boss…”

You don’t have to fill in the rest. Joel’s pointer finger trails up the center of your chest, nudging at your chin and pulling your attention in, lips parted slightly.

“I can keep things professional,” Joel lies, “can you?”

You mouth a silent no as you shake your head and his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to write a few stipulations into the agreement.”

“I never said I agreed,” You retorted playfully, “did I?”

“Suppose I’ve got a bit of convincing to do then,” Joel smirks, “—is your number still the same?”

You shrug innocently—of course it was and truthfully, Joel never had the thought to delete it. Letting it gather dust in his contacts, finger hovering over it from time to time. Wondering.

“You still have my email,” Joel laughs at that, barely, cracking a gentle smile, “send me the details—I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”

“And if there’s any way I can sweeten that interest—”

You lean in mockingly, eyes looking over his facial expression, clearly amused with himself as your nose brushes against each other and you speak into the quiet space between you both.

“Keep it in your pants, alright? I’ll consider it.”

Joel couldn’t let you slip through his fingers, not again.

But, you knew you were doomed from the moment he set eyes on you.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #professor!joel miller #miller's girl #my writing

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emeritusemeritus · 4 months

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No Good Deed. [George Weasley x Reader]

Title: No Good Deed. Part 1.

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

"How dare they! It's all I have left of him! I've already lost him once and now I have to lose him all over again?!"

You'd never seen George so angry as he stepped into the office, kicking a cardboard restore box under the table that stored this quarter's paperwork in sheer frustration. He tugged off his tie and ran his fingers through his flame red hair, trying to calm himself, his face downcast despite his anger. You silently stood in the doorway of the office, just observing him, not quite knowing what to say or how to comfort him after what had happened earlier that day in the meeting you'd both attended.

"Mr Weasley, there is one final notion on the mandate which must be discussed," the balding, sour-faced man says from the other side of the table, briefly looking up from his typed paperwork as he strains his neck once again, a habit you'd noticed him doing frequently during your hour long meeting which was thankfully coming to a close.

You'd accompanied George to a meeting with his investors in London, notetaking for him and assisting him with the figures that the investors required to see periodically throughout the year as per their contract. You'd always had an affinity for bookkeeping and had found your skills utilised upon employment at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes just after you left Hogwarts, immediately taken onboard by your childhood best friends Fred and George Weasley.

After Fred's death and the end of the war, funds had been low due to the long store closure despite their best efforts at an owl postage service and once George was ready to reopen the shop, he had needed to take on investors in order to get the money to replenish products and reopen the store, giving them shares in the company and the overall profits. Fortunately, the business had immediately boomed once again when the store reopened, only increasing in popularity and therefore profit when Hogwarts reopened and Diagon Alley bloomed with old and new shops opening seemingly every day. The investors were largely silent, providing money without any input to the business, proud to be associated with the more popular store in Diagon Alley, at least until today.

"It has come to our attention that you are providing services under a false pretence which we must discuss," another man says, much harder in his expression.

Your eyes flick to George who looks rightly offended and confused at the vague notion, seeing him shift in his seat somewhat uncomfortably.

"As there are no longer two of you, the name 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' is redundant, incorrect and therefore unmarketable as it stands. We propose that changes must be made to change the name to 'Weasley's', moving the apostrophe so that it denotes the true ownership. Mr Weasley, you have 30 days to make the necessary change or else our shares will be pulled and we will no longer be investing in your business."

The meeting had come to an abrupt end as the investors exited, leaving you with a seething George who had surprisingly held it together until you both apparated to the outside of the shop. You'd struggled to keep up with George as he bounded up the stairs towards the office, completely ignoring Ron and a few regular customers who had greeted him. You shot them apologetic smiles, wordlessly trying to excuse his uncharacteristic behaviour as you followed him to the office.

He threw down his jacket onto your chair as you entered behind him and immediately began tugging at his tie in frustration.

"I can't change the name! It was always me and Fred, I've already lost him once I can't lose him again, not like this," his tone was no longer filled with anger or rage but rather deep sadness and heartbreak at the thought. You closed your eyes for a moment, unable to watch any longer as his words hit you like a freight train, the pain overwhelming you not only at the mention of Fred but of George's evident sadness.

You hear him throw himself down into his chair and you open your eyes again to see him looking completely defeated as he clearly plays out his options in his mind to prevent this from happening.

"Ginny's about to become a Potter, Bill and Charlie aren't in the bloody country, Percy's… well, Percy and Ron can't join in as a co-owner, the deeds are in mine and Fred's name. Six, well, five siblings and not one of them can help. Unless there's a way of bringing Fred back through the bloody veil, which I've exhausted all options in my bloody mind believe me, then I'm fucked. Everything Fred and I built is ruined."

You watch as his long fingers run over his face, rubbing his eyes which you suspect are brimming with unshed tears judging by his emotion filled voice.

Your words flew out of you before you could even comprehend what you were saying, surprising even yourself for a moment.

"I'll marry you."

George looks utterly astounded by your words as his eyes shoot up to yours, confusion evident over every single one of his features as your words sink in.

"Eh?" His brief reply conveys every inch of perplexity that his features show and at any other time the look on his face would have made you double over with laughter.

"Angel, I don't think now's the time," he says with a gentle frown, clearly treading carefully with his words despite his confusion. You fight to get the words out to explain yourself, knowing that somewhere before your unexpected outburst there was solid reasoning in your mind.

"You need another Weasley and the only way you can override the shared deed is by entitlement, like by marriage," you say, moving forward to stand in front of him before taking a seat on his wooden desk. Your leg brushes against his as you hop up and you don't miss how his eyes briefly flicker to the point where your legs touched just for a second.

"I've seen it with my parents, when my mum and dad divorced she was entitled to the interest of his business as a matrimonial asset. We'd have to check if there's a time limit on that but with Fred gone, it's the only way you'd be able to get another shareholder in his place."

You were trying to keep your explanation simple, pulling from your firsthand experience in similar matters but as you fought to explain yourself, you found yourself rambling a little under George's intense gaze.

"If we got married you wouldn't have to change the name, I'd take your name and we'd both be Weasley by law, cancelling out their demands. You'd have to put me on the business documents but we could draw up some sort of contract that doesn't actually entitle me to any money or profit from the business, but they don't need to know that."

Your words hang in the air for a few moments, tense silence lingering between you as your words replay over and over in your mind, wondering if you'd gone too far and made things too awkward.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," George says quietly, averting his eyes.

"Georgie I'd do it for you without a second thought, it might be the only way you could keep the business exactly as it is," you say, reaching out to touch his shoulder, trying to urge him to listen to you.

He fell silent again for a few more tense moments and you could see the conflict on his face as he considered his options, allowing your proposal to sink in. He's quiet again when he replies and if anything he looks a little timid as he speaks.

"But you and Fred," he weakly argues, his words making your stomach lurch painfully. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You hadn't considered this part, the mental and emotional conflict of your proposal. You and Fred had been something throughout your later school years and a little while after, but had never wanted to make anything official, a secret shared between you both that never allowed you to commit to each other.

"Are in the past," you unwillingly admit with a sad sigh, "Fred's gone, it's taken me a really long time to mostly accept it, but if this means keeping his memory alive just as it is then I'd do anything, for him and for you."

Things were a little awkward for a couple of days following your outburst and each time you saw or crossed paths with George you inwardly cringed. You'd shut yourself in the office most of the time, trying only to see him before store opening and packing up and rushing off just before close, ensuring you wouldn't have to spend any prolonged time together.

"I know you're avoiding me," A familiar voice behind you says as you gather your bag and mug off the desk just before the end of the day, 3 days after your outburst. You turn slowly and see him leaning on the door frame with a little knowing smirk on his face, though his eyes look sad. You bite your lip, knowing you'd been caught out and flick your eyes to your bag, to the clock on the wall and then back to George, not really knowing how to respond.

"It's okay, I understand," he says, taking a slow step into the office, "but there's no need to feel awkward, not with me, I don't take it personally that you regret offering."

"I don't regret it," you reply quickly with a frown, effectively cutting him off. Your words make his eyebrows shoot you a little in surprise, or maybe it was the conviction in your voice that surprised him. "I've been avoiding you because it's been painfully awkward to offer yourself like that and be rejected."

"I didn't reject you," he replies quickly but with a gentle tone, now cutting you off. Your eyes widen a little at the quickness of the reply and you can't help but look into his eyes, seeing his tongue poke out and wet his lip as he looks nervously back at you.

You both look at each other for a moment as a little tense silence falls and you both breathe out a chuckle at the awkwardness in the room.

"So to make it clear, I could still marry you?" He asks, walking forwards towards you.

"I think the agreement was that I'd marry you," you teased, smirk tugging at your lips which earned you a roll of his eyes. "But yes," you said, now with a more serious and honest tone. "My offer to get married is still very much open, for the sake of the business."

He stands before you and you crane your neck upwards towards his familiar height and there's an intimacy that passes between you both that had never existed before as you look at each other, communicating only with your eyes.

"Then I accept your proposal," George says, taking your hand mockingly and you gasp at him, pulling your hand away to smack his arm lightly.

"I didn't propose to you!"

"That's not what I'm going to tell our grandkids," he jokes, pulling you into a hug. You can't deny that even though his words were mocking, your tummy did a little nervous and excited flip at his words.

"Thank you, so much," he says as you pull apart, completely serious as he looks at you with such intensity if makes your knees a little weak. "This means so much to me."

"And me."

It was Saturday night and you'd invited George around to your flat after work, to talk over your agreement. You'd opened a bottle of wine and ordered a takeaway, a benefit of living in muggle London that you loved, and started writing out some plans to your agreement as you both sat on the sofa beside eachother, the coffee table littered with notebooks and paper.

"We should move in together, make it believable," George says, taking a sip of his wine. You look at him in surprise, not having expected those words to fall from his lips.

"Who are we trying to convince?" You ask, a little confused at how deep this was going.

"Oh yeah, right," he says, looking away, taking another sip of wine. You immediately felt a little bad seeing his apparent negative reaction to your words and considered his idea for a moment, thinking of the implications.

"Unless the investors ask for character references," you said, picking up your own glass. "I suppose it's possible, we'd have to tell your family wouldn't we."

George nods slowly, on the same wavelength as you.

"Would your family be able to lie if they were questioned?" You ask, looking up at George.

George snorts into his glass and shakes his head in reply, "About hiding Harry, yeah, about this? No way."

"Then we'll have to convince your family that we're actually married," you say, feeling a little uneasy at the thought of lying to the family you cared very deeply for. George made a vague noise of agreement and placed his empty glass down onto the coaster on the coffee table, smoothing the creases in his trousers out with his long fingers.

"How long would we have to be married for?" George asks with a frown and you can't help but feel a little stab in your chest at his words, as silly as it was.

"Oh I don't know, until the investors drop the demand? Or maybe get new investors?" You ask, placing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen into your face. George watches your every move and you can't help but stare back at him, seeing him paying close attention to you.

"How far away would we be from being able to do away with the investors? Business is good right, maybe I could cash in their shares and become sole owner," he says, flicking his eyes down to your work bag by the door, knowing that there's his accounting documents in there.

"Good idea," you say, placing down your glass and moving over to reach for your bag. You begin calculating the investors shares against the profits of the business and try and work out a timeline for how long it would take for George to earn the money to buy out the investors, assuming business stayed as good as it was now.

"Looks like two years, based on the projections," you say, placing down your pen. "If business stays at the rate it is, you'd be clear from all investors in just under two years."

"Is that, is that okay with you?" George says, looking up into your eyes, his voice suddenly quieter and a little more timid.

You smile at him and nod in reply, genuinely okay with that. "What about you?"

"Of course," he smiles, chuckling to himself a little as he picks at the tweed of his trousers, "you're doing me the biggest favour imaginable, I have the easy deal."

"You have to be married to me, I'd say that's not easy," you tease, picking up your glass and drinking the last sip of wine left.

"I don't know, I can think of many worse things than being married to you," he says with a grin, reaching out to refill both of your glasses. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you bite back a smile.

"I have to admit," George says, handing you back your glass, "I feel as if I'm treading on Fred's toes a little, he'd probably be conspiring to turn my eyebrows purple if he knew I was stealing his woman, that or he'd shave them off whilst I slept," he says with a laugh. You chuckle, picturing the scene in your mind but it doesn't stop the little pang of sadness running through you. You wanted to tell George the whole truth but you couldn't, especially not now and so you simply allowed yourself to laugh and took another sip of wine.

"He'd understand," you say, perhaps a little quietly as you try to tell yourself that it was the truth, trying to justify your actions in your mind. George makes a sound of agreement and just as his glass reaches his lips, the buzzer rings out alerting you that the food had arrived.

"So, we have to convince your family that we're getting married, without dating beforehand?" You say, both of you still chatting as you eat your Chinese food. At this point you were feeling a little buzzed from the wine and everything felt a little easier to get out, the hesitation and trepidation of your words no longer bothering you.

"Good point, though we've always been really close so I don't think they'd think it was too out of the ordinary," George says, taking a huge bite of fried rice. "Did anyone know about you and Fred?"

"I don't think so," you replied, thinking of all the time you'd spent at the Burrow and of each family member, "I think Ginny had her suspicions but she never asked me about it. Thank god you were identical, we could always lie and say it was you if anyone did notice something," you chuckled, earning an enthusiastic laugh from George.

"How do we explain the divorce though?" You asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence, your thoughts drifting into all possible outcomes. "I don't want to lose your family because I become your horrible ex-wife," you say, feeling sad about the potential of that.

"You'd never be horrible, not to me and not to them," George says, reaching out to touch your hand. "We could always say we were just better off as friends? That marriage was too constricting for both of us? That way no ones to blame."

"Yeah that could work," you say, feeling a weird sense of sadness at the concept of divorcing George.

"On a serious note though," he says, temporarily placing down his cutlery as he looks at you, his eyes staring intensely into yours. "If you don't want to do this, I completely understand. It's asking too much of you and I'm very aware of that. It would mean no open dating or seeing anyone else until everything was over," he says carefully. You hadn't really considered that but it was a price you were willing to pay. The fact that George had said no open dating had made you feel a little off, knowing he intended to still date even though you were married, which of course was normal in the circumstances but it still made you feel a little funny.

"You'd still want to date?" You asked, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them, immediately mentally cursing the wine you'd drank that had apparently released your filter.

"Merlin no," he says with a little self deprecating chuckle, "I meant for you."

"I don't want to," you said, perhaps a little too quickly as it earned you a confused flicker of a look from George. "I mean, everyone would think I was cheating on you and I couldn't do that, not to you."

He seems to understand as he nods his head, once again picking up his fork and loading it up with the food.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," he says, with a determination in his voice that seemed to settle your anxious thoughts. "So, I suppose we really should move in together."

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley #George Weasley x you #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut

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elissanatok · 4 months

Text

-𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄

part 3

pairing: Aemond targaryen x velaryon! (strong!) reader

summary: Aemond has loved and secretly claimed you for himself since the day you were born. losing his eye changed him, but maybe it did not affect his feelings for you as much as he thought it had

warnings: english is not my first language, angsty , shy reader, unclexniece, possesive aemond, everybody adores reader in this

let me know what you think!! reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback are highly appreciated <33

the air in the dining hall had been suffocating you. you could see the smug look in the eyes of your oldest uncle. he used to look at you differently and you had questioned before if it were his feelings for you that changed, or he himself. and if Aegon changed that much, did the others do too?

you had been late, much to your mothers dismay. your uncle Daemon had not expected anything else. he always knew the days when it was time for a nightmare. maybe that was because he cared so much, or maybe because he liked to know all of the people surrounding him. you had forgotten your jewelry too, making your neck and shoulders bare. your deep red dress contrasted with the one of heleana who was sitting next to your brother.

you deeply regretted arriving late - because at the end of the table, to your left, sat the one eyed prince. his gaze burned holes into your skull and except from the smile you send him when you arrived you did not dare to look in his direction again, too afraid he would look at you the same way he did when you arrived.

you had hoped things would be different and he still held the same love for you he had when you were children. but this was different.

having you avoid his gaze angered him even more than the pig placed in front of him. he could not care for that damn pig because he already felt disgusted of himself. he thought your feelings for him could not change, you could not change, but there you were avoiding his gaze like never before. Now that you were of age, you would probably want a good looking man, a kind one too. hearing his mother ask about the lord in the north made him choke on his wine, and made you finally look at him.

your lavender eyes looked at him with concern, the line between your eyebrows deepening. “Are you alright prince aemond?”, you asked quiet and kindly. he nodded, humming as an answer, which definitely did not satisfy you. you wanted to hear his voice. he realized when you looked down at your lap, biting your lip embarrassed and playing with your fingers. but still, he did not know what to say.

His mother eyed him and the pig warily. She truly did not wish for something bad to occur, but she could literally feel the anger radiating of her youngest son. She tried changing the topic “But he has not made a proposal yet? Has he?”, but failed miserably.

Aemond felt lucerys smirk before he saw it. Not only could he now laugh at his dumb pig but at the obvious distress he felt over the possible marriage of his princess.

You shook your head no while chewing your dinner slowly. You did not wish to move to the north, to leave your family behind and be lady of house Winterfell. You just wanted to stay here. With him.

And after Heleana made her toast about marriage life and “he mostly ignores you”, it sounded like a death trap to her.

Aemonds abrupt standing up and hitting the table made you flinch. You could see it in his eyes. He truly did change and when he openend his mouth to make his horrible speech, you could feel it in every bone.

Although he did not take your name in his mouth, you could clearly hear the insult he threw at your siblings and you.

While everybody stood up, Aegon pushing lucerys head on the table and Aemond throwing Jace to the ground, you looked down at your lap. Tears that dropped down your cheeks pathetically were wiped away by your sleeves. This was not what you hoped for when they told you of your return but it was exactly what you feared.

Daemon saw it first, calling out your name to check on you and pulling the attention of the rest of your family towards you. You shook your head at him, while you tried to come up with anything helpful to say but found nothing that would make this situation better - so you left.

You did not see Aemonds smug smile fall because you did not turn around to look at him again.

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I’m not continuing the tag list Sorry guys :(

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sunlightmurdock · 8 months

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The Odyssey | 0.6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

In Verona, you’re an outcast. Bradley’s determined to make up for the day before.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance, professor / student relationship, age gap ( 22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, them actually getting along for once?, kissing, bradley has a corruption kink and doesn’t know it. wc: 7.35k

…

“I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.” His voice grew agitated on the other end of the line. Understandably, he expected a delightful update on your sunny summer in Italy and was blindsided by you bringing up a fight from last year. “It’s been months. We’ve moved on.”

The phone pinned between your cheek and your shoulder, you fidgetted nervously with the band around your finger, inspecting the expensive diamond that sits on top of it. Hearing the annoyance in his voice, you should have stopped there, and told him that it didn’t matter. You hadn’t.

“I know, I know we have,” Your voice trembled. Your fiancé sighed hard on the other end of the line. “But the last thing I remember is being at that party with you. If I hurt you, Malcolm—“

“I asked you to marry me.” He blurted out, abrupt and biting. There was no point lying to you. There never had been, you would never let something like this go. He was upset. You could tell. You had continued anyway.

Your brows knitted together. “No… you proposed to me at my parents’ house. O-On Christmas Eve.”

“I did,” Malcolm breathed out through gritted teeth. Thinking of how you had humiliated him that night isn’t a fond memory. “But I asked you to marry me that night, at that party, without a ring. I told you that you’re the love of my life and I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me.”

You had closed your eyes, trying to force yourself to think. You still don’t know how anyone is supposed to reply to that.

“And you cried your eyes out, then left me standing there like an idiot.”

This morning, you’re sitting silently in a library with a notebook in front of you, trying to fathom how you could have done that to him. You wonder if he told anyone but you about that. You had spoken with your mother about marriage not long before he had proposed on Christmas Eve — you had agreed to marry him enthusiastically that day.

How is it that less than a month before, he could have asked you the same question, and your instinct was to run? — Not only to run, but to kiss another man. To spite Malcolm maybe. To act out. Whatever it was, you can’t pretend that it isn’t a relief to know that Bradley wasn’t the reason.

You hadn’t kissed him because he mattered, just because you were drunk and scared.

He’s standing at the end of the table now. Is long and wooden, not dissimilar to the one in the university library. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and faded blue jeans, speaking confidently in Italian to the restoration technician that you’re here to work with today.

This is one of the first pieces of actual research that the students have been allowed to engage in so far on this trip. You’re not thrilled about it. Trying to piece together some old man’s memoirs so that Bradley can write about it.

Bradley’s in a world of his own anyway, deep in conversation about what’s in front of him. Since he got here this morning, all that he has done in terms of being a teacher was to list eight roles and tell you to decide amongst each other who would be doing what.

Deemed the least intelligent by all of your peers simultaneously, you’re just the scribe. Taking notes on observations that they have, that Bradley could one day use when he writes about this. It’s bullshit, and it doesn’t seem fair, but you won’t argue with them on it. They already dislike you enough.

And you’re still reeling from last night. No wonder Malcolm wouldn’t speak to you for three days. No wonder he hadn’t followed you out into the snow. You’d just broken his heart.

The day of no work passes by exceptionally slowly. Your only reprieve is Pasquale, telling you stories about his mother’s farm. It’s not something that you would care much about if you were back home, but here, it’ll do.

“So, what do you think of Verona?” Pasquale asks as he flicks through an anthology. His role is more important than yours and he isn’t even here for a grade.

You shoot a look towards the end of the table and watch Bradley pull a loose pair of glasses from his pocket, setting them on the bridge of his nose and leaning closer to examine a text. He doesn’t even have a case for his glasses.

“I, uh — haven’t seen too much of it yet. I stayed in last night, and I’ve been here all day today.” You explain to him, tapping the end of your pen absently against the page.

Bradley takes the page carefully from the technician and frowns as he brings it closer to his face. When he’s serious, faint creases appear between his brows, his lips point down. His eyes narrow slightly.

“You really should. It’s the city of love, you know. You could find your husband a souvenir, maybe. When we have time off tomorrow.” Pasquale tells you with a big grin. You offer him a weak grin in return. You’re lucky to even have someone that wants to be your husband after what you did. Either way, Pasquale seems to like you.

He’s about the only person here that does.

That’s only confirmed later when Bradley steps out of the bathroom in a towel and finds Luke buttoning a salmon coloured Ralph Lauren button up.

“Going out?” Bradley questions, walking over to the desk for his cigarettes before he thinks about his clothes.

“Uh-huh. We’re all going for dinner in the city.” Luke confirms as Bradley scrunches his nose at the obnoxious cologne smell coming from that side of the room.

“All of you?” Bradley checks as he puts the cigarette between his lips and lights it. Luke scoffs, angling himself towards the awkwardly short mirror on their vanity. He rolls one sleeve up to his elbow and squints.

“I’m not inviting her. They’ll kill me.” He shakes his head, glancing over at Bradley and trying to remember how Bradley wears his button ups. Sleeves rolled, definitely.

“She wouldn’t be as bad if she had friends to keep her occupied.” Bradley notes, stepping into a pair of blue boxers and draping the damp towel over his shoulder, exhaling through the corner of his mouth.

“And I wish her the best of luck in finding some. It’s not gonna be me. Anyway, I have to go. See you later!” Luke pats Bradley’s bare shoulder and steps around him, heading for the door before they can discuss this further. It swings shut behind him.

Bradley sighs, leaning his head back towards the ceiling, the lit cigarette dangling between his index and middle fingers.

As much as he would like to avoid you after you’d thrown him off of you last night, the thought of you eating alone in your room just doesn’t sit right with him. Or, even worse, you venturing out by yourself.

The thought of last night makes him want to drive to the nearest beach, dig a reasonably sized hole, and bury his head in the sand. He’s never felt dirtier. The thought that he went further than you wanted him to.

The fact that you’re his student. He doesn’t do that. He isn’t one of the creeps that drools over the girls on campus. Christ, you’re the first girl he’s ever kissed that’s more than a year younger than him. He just needs to put it behind him.

So, he pulls on a pair of faded, light blue Levi’s 501s and a white button up that’s tolerably ironed, then heads up a flight of stairs and down the hall.

You flinch at the knocking on your door.

Bradley blinks as you tug it open moments later. Then, looks you slowly up and down. You’re wearing a cute button up pyjama set. He furrows his brows at you.

“It’s 6pm.” He points out disapprovingly. He really can’t help it. He could have told you that he actually thinks the little hearts on them are kind of cute.

“So? I don’t have anywhere to be.” You answer back, frowning up at him as always.

“Yeah. About that, uh — me either,” He’s trying not to be patronizing about this. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking pity on you. This isn’t necessarily pity. You also just started trying in his class and it would be a shame if you quit now. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“With you?” You gawk.

He shrugs. This is more awkward than he hoped it would be, but he can’t blame you after the way things went yesterday. “Yeah. Unless you know anyone else who’d like to join us.”

“I’ll get ready.” You decide quietly. He gives you a small nod and starts to step back.

“Alright. I’ll meet you in the lobby in… twenty?”

It’s a good thing that he gets down there early, because so do you. You’re more dressed up than he was expecting, but then, so is he. His shirt doesn’t even have any wrinkles in it today.

Bradley looks you slowly up and down as you walk towards him. He doesn’t know what to call the style of dress you’re wearing. Thin straps that tie at the shoulders, a sweetheart neckline and a lightweight georgette fabric. You’re wearing a pretty necklace that compliments the neckline, elegantly small hoop earrings with pearl drops. Those are probably real pearls.

You’ve dressed the outfit down slightly with summery loafers instead of heels. All that does is make Bradley have to tip his chin down to look you in the eye when you’re up close.

“So. Do you know a place?” You exhale, hugging your purse closer to your body. It matches your shoes.

Bradley shakes his head dumbly.

“No,” He answers quietly. Then, he realizes he’s being ridiculous. He’s been on plenty of dates, there’s no reason to be nervous. Except this isn’t a date. Because you’re getting married. And you’re his student. He clears his throat like that will help clear the momentary fog in his brain. “No. But there are a tonne of places around here. We’ll find somewhere.”

The two of you step out into the still warm evening, the sun still pretty high overhead. It’s quiet out, quieter than when you had first arrived. It makes you feel exceptionally alone next to Bradley.

As the two of you walk in a painstakingly heavy silence, you consider briefly if you should apologize for calling him an animal yesterday. After all, you were the one to kiss him. But his hands are big, and they’re heavy, and you could feel them starting to trail along your skin.

You swallow at the thought, shooting a quick glance at the back of his head. His shoulders look wide, and strong, when he’s not wearing a shirt that’s a size too big. Not only could you feel his hands starting to roam, but his tongue too. That, you remember well.

It hadn’t been forceful, or even really too intrusive. Just like he would push his tongue out to wet his lips, he had pressed close to you and gently trailed his tongue along the seam of your lips. That hadn’t ever happened before. Malcolm doesn’t kiss like that. Really, he’s your only point of reference.

So, when Bradley’s tongue had flicked knowingly against your bottom lip, maybe you had parted them. Just a little bit. But then his tongue was in your mouth, trailing against your own and — nice girls don’t kiss like that. Not any nice girl that you’ve ever known anyway.

“How’s this place look?”

You’ve been following him blindly and daydreaming about his tongue long enough now that he has led you down a side street. Peach coloured stone buildings on either side, lanterns on the walls that aren’t lit yet and a string of mostly empty restaurants.

Bradley’s standing by one covered in plants. The awning is practically entirely green with foliage. The railings outside are the same, flowers tucked into small vases on each table. You’re surprised, honestly, that he picked it. It’s pretty.

You turn your head and he’s looking right at you. The first thing to cross your mind is his hands flexing around your waist, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

“This is fine.”

He doesn’t untuck your chair for you, but you wouldn’t have expected him too. This is the same man that would have happily had sex with a married woman on a balcony on a work trip. God, and you let him kiss you.

Bradley catches you grimacing at your menu. “What? — Not a fan of Italian food?”

You look quickly back up at him. There’s a caught look on your face that he can’t quite place. Like you’re waiting for him to tell you that you’re in trouble. “Huh? — No. I like Italian food. What are you getting?”

Bradley looks between you and the menu, wondering if he’ll ever get to a point where he understands you.

“Uh…” He has no idea. He hasn’t even read the menu, he’s just been looking at it so that he doesn’t have to look at you. He exhales. “Do you drink wine?”

Whether the wine helps is debatable. In terms of loosening the two of you up to the point that you can actually have a conversation without burning with embarrassment, it’s a great success. In terms of professionalism and keeping up with boundaries, it is not.

You’ve both eaten, you’ve finished an entire bottle of Malbec and you’re a glass and a have into the second bottle — and Bradley’s a lot funnier tonight than he is normally. There’s a connection between those two things, you’re sure.

Even if it’s just that he’s feeling relaxed enough to actually tell you something interesting about himself for once.

“I was taking a still life art class in Tuscany,” He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a drink of the sweet, red liquid. Relaxed back into the chair, it’s like you’re watching a movie star give an interview when he smiles at you. “Staying with a family outside of Siena. They had a daughter, Maria. She was about a year and a half older than I was, and um…”

He trails, biting his cheek as he sets the glass down on the white table cloth again. The candle flickers in its glass jar between you. With one leg crossed over the other, you’re watching him with your own glass sitting in your hand and a smile on your face. The pale blue of your dress makes your skin glow, your hair is tucked back on one side with a pearl barrette. Verona looks good on you.

Bradley chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, she — she taught me a lot.”

There’s a brief moment of sense where he sits back and pushes fingers through his curls, shaking his head. Where you can see it in his face that he’s telling himself that this isn’t right. You’re his student.. He exhales amusedly, “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

He shouldn’t have had his tongue in your mouth yesterday.

“You can’t leave it on that cliffhanger! Come on, I won’t tell.” You grin across the table at him and he bites his lip, visibly grimacing at the memory.

You laugh at him, watching his cheeks turn red on the other side of the table. Breeze catches your hair and brushes it back off of your shoulders. Bradley feels himself grimacing as he thinks back to that time. He can’t believe he’s sharing this with you.

“Y’know, I was in the middle of the Italian countryside but this girl was… she was experienced enough long before I met her. But her father was the town’s butcher, and he had some livestock of his own, and one day Maria and I were… fooling around in the granary…”

“Oh my god, Bradley, no.” Your eyes go wide and you sit upright, breaking into a fit of laughter again. Red faced and reliving every moment of the embarrassment he had felt on that August day eleven years ago, he can’t help but laugh with you as he covers his face with his hands.

“He came after me with a meat cleaver, screaming about how I’d, uh, deflowered his little angioletto.” Bradley admits finally from behind his hands. Even with his face covered, that red blush is already spreading down his neck and onto his chest. You watch it go between the open buttons at the top of his white button up.

The sound of your laughter in front of him is the only thing that makes him pull his hands away from his face. He’s got to see the smile that goes with it. Blinking, he’s quiet for a moment. Candlelight from the lanterns overhead and from the table bathe you in a warm light. The centuries old buildings behind you. The smile on your face. He smiles back at you.

“You know what I find hardest to believe about that story?” You ask him, smiling as you lean forwards and set the wine glass down, propping your chin against your palm.

“What’s that?”

“That you were taking an art class for an entire summer.” It just seems so out of character. He’s all about facts and analysis, using sources to come to a conclusion. Sure, his focus is literature, but so far he hasn’t seemed especially creative.

Bradley chuckles, giving a quick shrug of his broad shoulders. “I can draw. I learned some interesting stuff, got kind of good. Painting… not so much. I failed that class.”

The admission makes your jaw go slack, eyes widening in excitement. He just sits back, lips quirked in amusement as you hit the table and point across at him.

“You hypocrite! Putting love before your studies!” You accuse, grinning at him. He laughs, really laughs, leaning his head back and shaking it at you. Your mind starts to wander in the absence of his eyes on you. Him, at your age. Here in this place, taking an art class.

Maybe the two of you would have liked each other. Maybe in another universe, you would be the kind of girl to be kissing him hard in a granary on a summer day.

“I wouldn’t call what Maria and I had love.” He’s still smiling as he makes the decision. If there was ever much of a decision to make in the first place. Bradley knows what being in love feels like, both in written fact and in personal terms. Head over heels, heart-thudding devotion.

“Sex. Putting sex before your studies.” You correct yourself, still grinning as you take a sip of the wine. Bradley watches your tongue leave your mouth to catch a droplet of the aged red intoxicant from your bottom lip. He studies you from the short distance between you. Sun kissed and with the kind of smile on your face that threatens to have you spilling over into laughter again any minute now.

There’s a small silence between the two of you. The bustle of Verona at night just a few streets away. The two of you, tucked away here. It feels private. Even with the wait staff, the few other guests, Bradley hasn’t looked at anything but you in a while now.

“I just don’t get it,” Bradley says softly, staring across at you like he’s searching for his answer on your face. On a good track to finishing this second bottle of wine, you take another drink from your glass and simply raise your eyebrows at him. “Why you’re waiting until you marry this guy.”

The wine sits on your tongue, still, as you blink at him. Shit. Bradley lifts his palm in defense. This is nice, the last thing he wants is to argue with you.

“It’s none of my business, I know — and it’s your decision. I just don’t get it.”

He watches you swallow the wine in your mouth and look down at your knees, silent for a moment. While you’re thinking, Bradley’s thinking too, of a million ways to apologize and change the topic as quickly as possible.

“There are two reasons.” You tell him quietly, sounding uncertain in yourself already. Bradley’s watching you intently when you look up. “But if you tell anyone then I’ll call you a liar to your face and make this entire trip hell for you. Understood?”

His lips twitch, almost smiling. “Understood.”

“The first reason is that it’s what’s expected of me. I’m a nice girl, from a nice family and nice girls don’t have bad reputations.”

“Having sex with your long-term boyfriend would give you a bad reputation?” Bradley questions, brows drawing together. It’s times like these that you believe he grew up in California. He doesn’t understand the social lives of these North-Eastern socialite mothers.

“Yes.” You deadpan, sitting up a little bit straighter. “And the second reason is that we tried, once. And never again since.”

“Tried.” Bradley repeats to you, squinting his eyes slightly. He mulls over the word, then wets his lips with his tongue. He’s preparing to speak again.

You beat him to it, giving a calm shrug. “We were eighteen. I wasn’t the problem. That’s all I’ll say.”

His lips quirk upwards into a small smile. Your hot shit boyfriend couldn’t keep it up. Bradley’s smart enough not to say anything else on the matter, and instead asks you how you’re liking the book that Pasquale gave you. The two of you finish the bottle of wine in polite conversation.

Bradley calls the waiter over and asks for the bill. It sounds like he’s polite about it. Once it has been set down between the two of you, you’re both quick to reach for your wallets.

“I’ve got it.” Bradley waves you off, opening up a brown leather wallet. You look at him through your lashes, squinting dubiously.

“Since when are you a gentleman?” You play, lips quirked. A week ago, this would have started an argument. Maybe you’re growing on him. He just smiles and shoots you a quick wink, dropping the notes onto the bill.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He jokes back, starting to close his wallet on the other side of the table.

“What’s that picture in your wallet?” Your eyes linger on the black and white photo booth picture in his phone. Bradley’s gaze shoots between the picture and you. He pulls it from the sleeve and passes it across the table to you.

Briefly, your eyes widen. The man in the picture looks so much like Bradley that you think the woman in the picture must be an ex. And then you look across to the woman, and somehow he looks even more like her than he does the man.

He watches your lips quirk softly into a smile as you inspect the grainy picture. No explanation needed, you know exactly who they are.

“You look like your mom.” You tell him gently. Her blonde hair is settled into short curls in the picture, the man at her side is practically beaming. He looks happy in a way you’ve never seen Bradley match, maybe that’s it.

“Really? — Most people say I look like my dad.” He comments, resting his forearms on the table to lean over and examine the photo for himself. You smile at him, lifting the picture up and holding it next to his face.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of you. Bradley’s still, trying to keep his face neutral as you study the differences. His lips twitch. The serious look on your face just makes him smile. Once he’s smiling, your decision is made.

“You do,” You nod, glancing between him and the picture. “You’ve got your mom’s lips. And her eyes, I think. She’s really pretty.”

You look up, picture still between your index and thumb. He’s pretty. Tanned from days strolling around northern Italy, the golden colour to his skin just makes his freckles more pronounced. It makes his eyes less dark, more of a golden honey colour. Everything, just a little bit warmer.

Bradley’s silent for a moment, watching you watch him. You can see the idea cross his mind. He smiles and reaches out for his picture back, pushing up from the table as he sets it into the wallet.

“You want to see something cool?” He pushes the wallet back into the pocket of his faded blue jeans and the look in his eye tells you that this night is far from over.

Your instinct should probably be to reconcile with your fiancé. To apologize, maybe. But, Malcolm told you to come back with stories to tell, and hiding in your hotel room isn’t much of a story.

The smile on your face is answer enough, Bradley nudges his elbow into yours and rests his hand against the small of your back to guide you in the right direction.

“It’s not that far, I promise. Across the bridge and up some steps.” Bradley tells you, dropping his hand from your back once you’re walking at his side.

He’s right. It’s really not that long of a walk at all. Not with him being your tour guide every step of the way. He walks you across the Ponte Pietra, which is a stone bridge built in 100 BC, making it the oldest bridge in Verona.

From there, it’s a short walk through some more paved streets and up some steps to the Castel San Pietro. Of course, not without first hearing a brief recount of its history. Bradley doesn’t really know much about this spot, much more than he has picked up as a visitor in past visits anyway.

Still, he’s a firm believer in leaving a girl impressed on the first date. He’s able to answer every single one of your questions with ease. As he had hoped, you sit at his side on a stone wall, facing the city, impressed.

It’s after a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you that you ask him a question of your own.

“Do you believe in fate?” Your cheek presses into the muscle of his shoulder, staring out over the lights of the city. Bradley exhales an amused noise from beside you. Like the notion itself is something to laugh at.

“No. Do you?”

“I haven’t made my mind up yet,” You tell him, kicking your feet just slightly. There’s more of a breeze up here, a slight chill now that the sun is down. “Plenty of intelligent people believe in fate.”

He nods at your side. “Of course.”

“Shakespeare did. Romeo and Juliet’s all about fate.”

He makes a sound, but doesn’t shake his head. “It’s about human will and making the wrong choice.”

Bradley has a way of replying when it comes to discussions like this that makes it sound like he’s correcting you when he’s just stating his opinion. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and instead lift your head to look at him.

“Okay, so the prologue of the play tells the audience exactly what’s going to happen. It doesn’t just foreshadow, it explicitly tells us that the two families hate each other and that the lovers will die. Right?”

“Right.” He confirms to you with a brief nod.

“‘Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife’. The feud would never have ended if they weren’t to fall in love and die. The entire structure of the play is this tragic fate that neither one can escape from.”

Bradley’s eyes flicker over your face. He turns his head towards the city and smiles. “I know. I wanted you to explain it and I feel like I can’t get a straight answer from you unless I piss you off sometimes.”

Your mouth gapes. Bradley flinches as you jab a finger into his ribs and laugh at his side, making him turn back towards you grinning. He chuckles along, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you just quoted Shakespeare at me. I’ve been busting my balls trying to get you a C in my class and you’ve got passages from Shakespeare memorized.” He muses. When he turns his attention back to the city this time, he leans back on his palms to observe it. Your cheek presses softly into his shoulder once more.

He feels you squeeze closer to him for warmth.

“My grades weren’t ever bad. I still got into an Ivy League. I’m not dumb.” It’s playful in the way that you say it, but you’re not joking.

“No, you’re not dumb.” Bradley agrees. You’re just wasting your potential on being nothing but that kid’s wife. He keeps his mouth shut. Even though the two bottles of wine are telling him that you need to hear it, he’s got enough sense not to.

Bradley lifts his palm and drapes his arm around your shoulder. You shift closer, pressing into the warmth of his torso. Silently, the two of you look out over the city.

You set the curve in your English literature classes once upon a time. Back when you were still trying. Your work was showcased at school fundraisers. It’s easy to convince yourself that you have wholeheartedly believed in every decision you have made so far. That at this age, you have no regrets.

If that were true, you would have been happy the first time that Malcolm had proposed. You wouldn’t have kissed Bradley. You wouldn’t have done it again yesterday.

This doesn’t feel like the right decision either. It can’t be, when it would cost you everything back home.

A light turning on in a bedroom across the river catches your eye. From here, you can’t see much other than her silhouette. A woman, changing alone in her room.

Turning your attention instead towards the sky, you think about the fate Shakespeare wrote about. Ill-fated love that ultimately leads to death, but is inevitable.

Malcolm wouldn’t lead you to your death. Life with him would be safe and comfortable. Close to home with a pleasant income — in-laws that get along with your parents just fine. And yet, that fate does nothing but make your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“You know that Shakespeare wasn’t the first to write about the Montagues and the Capulets?” Bradley interrupts the silence and almost makes you jump out of your skin. Your fiddle with your cuticles, staring down at your knees.

“Really?”

“Dante.” Bradley answers quietly. “This poem he wrote in the fourteenth century that he wrote, the Divine Comedy, he wrote about two warring Italian families. The Montagues and the Capulets.”

His thumb strokes softly at your shoulder as he nods his head. “Like two hundred and fifty years before Shakespeare did.”

“So?”

“So?” Bradley scoffs, pulling his arm back from your shoulder and squeezing playfully at the nape of your neck. You turn and find him looking at you. Your lips twitch. “So, I’m sharing a fun fact with you. So. You’ve got an attitude, you know that?”

The sun is down now and the thin tie straps, the soft georgette fabric, neither does much to ward the chill of the evening air from up where you’re sitting. Even pressed into Bradley’s side, the cold grazes you suddenly and makes you shiver.

“Come on. Let’s go.” He squeezes your nape playfully once more and gestures his head back the way you had come. Standing up, he almost drapes his arm around your shoulder again out of instinct. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his faded Levi’s.

Neither one of you really says anything, but the walk is far from quiet. It’s like he can hear you thinking. The soles of your cream coloured loafers are quiet along the paved streets, you trail just slightly behind him. He knows you’re just taking in the scenery, but it’s not in his nature to let someone walk alone in a foreign city after dark. He finds himself slowing to the point that he’s dawdling by your side.

“You know we have three more days here, right?” He tells you.

“I know, it’s just pretty,” You answer back, not bothering to turn your gaze back towards him. He watches you taking everything in. “Why, you have somewhere to be?”

“No, but you’re cold.” Bradley points out.

You just roll your eyes and stop walking to correct him. He bumps his shoulder into yours and grabs either side of your waist with both hands, guiding you abruptly forwards.

“Don’t argue. You’re shivering.” He leans forward to tell you softly. Biting your cheek, you push your elbow back into his stomach. He scoffs and nudges you forwards again. His hands are still on your waist when he’s guiding you through the hotel lobby and up the stairs.

Your floor is one up from his, but neither one of you says a word when he skips his all together and keeps walking. Bradley wouldn’t dare call this a date, but he has never let a woman walk home alone after a first date. He walks you to your door wordlessly.

As he opens his mouth to thank you, and tell you goodnight, he watches you pluck the silver key from your bag and push it into the lock. The latch clicks compliantly and you walk inside, leaving it open behind you. Bradley glances down at the threshold, and back at you.

“Here,” You breathe out, crossing to the small dressing table in the corner and picking up the sheets of lined paper there. Bradley rests his forearm against the doorframe, apparently taking the vampire approach after his overstep yesterday. “I finished the practice exam.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He blinks. The expectation is that you’ll turn and bring the paper over to him any second now. Instead, you turn your head and look at him over your shoulder.

“Are you going to come look?”

Fuck. Bradley nods. He swallows and dips his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans as he walks inside, a silent reminder to keep his hands to himself. You had told him no yesterday, and one mistake is more than enough. He’s old enough to know better.

His shoulder brushes yours as he leans around you to get a look at the paper. Reaching out, he rests his thumb beside the line that the first question begins. Glancing back, you watch his eyes scan the paper for a few moments.

“The first three are right.” Bradley notes. All that he can focus on is your perfume. The sweet notes, the expensive, layered undertones. You turn towards him, sitting down on the edge of the vanity. He swallows.

“When you failed that art class, did you know you were going to fail it?” You ask him. It’s eating you up, the thought that this might all be for nothing. You don’t know what you’ll do if you fail again. This time, it’ll hurt that much more. It’s one thing to fail because you hadn’t even attended. To fail after you have actually tried, that’s another thing entirely.

“Yeah.” Bradley breathes out, offering you a smile. He nods his head just to provide additional confirmation. “I couldn’t even paint a sunflower. I knew.”

For once, he doesn’t take a shot at the effort you’ve put into this class. You’re trying. He sees that.

“But you could draw.” You recite back to him.

“Yeah.” Bradley smiles. The top three buttons on his shirt are undone, you can see that he’s still wearing that gold necklace. His father’s necklace, his dad is wearing it in that photo. His cheeks are terracotta red, warm.

“Could you draw me?” Maybe it’s not the best effort at flirting, but you don’t have much experience with that. Your first kiss was with the man that you intend to marry. You shouldn’t flirt with him. Most days you’d rather hit him than kiss him.

But, your bed is right behind him and yesterday he had you pressed into that mattress by a fraction of his weight, and his hands on your waist, in your hair. You inhale softly, met with the increasingly familiar scent of his cologne.

Bradley doesn’t touch you, but he might as well have. His hand curls around the vanity beside your knee. He leans in just a little closer and gives a small shake of his head, smiling like something’s funny. “Sorry, honey, my specialty was human form. Posing nude.”

He’s just trying to get under your skin, see how old-fashioned you really are. Maybe you’re growing used to that by now, it doesn’t take you a second to come up with a comeback.

“Did Maria teach you that?”

Bradley’s eyes don’t move, staring right at you with that smirk on his face still. He chuckles softly, then taps your knee softly. “Alright. I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you—“

“Wait,” You close your eyes and ransack your brain looking for what comes next. You know he’s still standing there, you can’t hear him moving. “What, um, what did she teach you?”

Bradley’s not stupid. Nor is he oblivious to the fact that for one reason or another, women seem to like him. He’s used to being flirted with. And he knows exactly what you’re asking of him. He’s smart enough not to tell you that the things he did with Maria would have you clutching your pearls.

Still, he’s not going to tell you no. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he looks downwards at your knees politely pressed together. Bradley reaches out tentatively, glancing up at your face as he curls his fingers into the hollow of your knee. Your eyes are just on his face, compliant as he tugs your leg just slightly to the side to make room for him to step closer.

Between your knees now, Bradley’s hand abandons your leg. He brings both up to cup your jaw, angling your head so that you’re looking up at him. He exhales softly. You close your eyes in anticipation. He doesn’t keep you waiting long.

He leans in close and kisses you softly, tenderly. Nothing like yesterday. It’s slow, just his lips on yours. Once more, another. Then, he pulls back and gently strokes his thumbs across each of your cheeks.

He swallows softly, opening his eyes. His intention is to search your face for doubt, annoyance — whatever had caused your freak out yesterday. His mouth twitches. Your eyes remain closed, lips pursed ever so slightly, waiting for him to kiss you again.

You lift your hands cautiously from your sides, resting them against his stomach over the cotton of his button up. Bradley kisses you again, just as soft. Building into it with gradually modern generous pecks. His hands keep your face exactly where he wants it as yours ball loosely into the fabric of his shirt.

This time when he pulls back, you chase after him, a small sound slipping your lips. Bradley bites his cheek, tenderly tracing over your jaw, reminding himself to be polite.

“You really want me to show you more?” He murmurs, lips grazing your cheek. Your daren’t open your eyes, fearing that it will give away your entire being. If you look at him, he’ll be able to tell how much your heart is pounding in your chest.

He’s already got a good idea, given the fact that you still haven’t uncurled your hands from his shirt.

“Mhm.” You manage, quiet.

He leans forwards once more and kisses you again, soft, slow. You lean into him, fighting a frown as he pulls away all too soon.

“Open your mouth, just a little, sit still.” With your eyes closed, all you’ve got is his voice. You’re okay with that. It still makes you shiver. You obey, parting your lips just a fraction.

Bradley’s eyes fall down to your lips. He blinks, studying the plush skin. But again, he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He presses closer, as close as he can get to the vanity, and tilts his head just slightly. He kisses your bottom lip, trailing it with his tongue this time.

Your thighs bracket his as you try to press them together. The next kiss he comes in for, it’s the same thing. His tongue doesn’t dare venture into your mouth, or brush yours. He’s just teasing you.

His hands are still cupping your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Then, finally, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His tongue dips just a bit further, slowly, gradually.

You’re taking the sit still instruction a little bit too literally.

“Copy what I’m doing. Just slowly, like that.” He mumbles against your mouth, his lips on yours again the second that he’s done speaking. Slowly, gradually, and his tongue touches yours once more.

It strokes along the tip of yours and curls just slightly. Nothing to complex to keep up with. One of his hands slides from your jaw to the nape of your neck, sliding his fingers into your roots.

Your tongue lets his do most of the work. He’s surprised when you’re brave enough to actually copy him and curl the tip of your tongue into his. All too soon, he pulls back and goes right back to the pecking. More urgent this time, still he finds time to be tender. Soft, with you.

And yet, you pull away from him with a soft frown.

“What? — What’s the matter?” Bradley’s face creases with concern, his thumb swiping softly over your jaw as he looks for the answer on your face.

“You stopped. Was I doing it wrong?” You ask meekly.

He almost smiles, but decides against it. A sincere shake of his head works instead. He leans in and kisses you once. “No. No, you weren’t doing it wrong. I just… like to go between tongue and no tongue, I guess.”

Bradley sounds uncertain. He hasn’t ever had to explain himself like this before. This is clearly a foreign process to the both of you.

“Okay.” You breathe out. As long as you’ve got the hang of it, you like the sound of that too. You sit upright, stretching up to kiss him again. Bradley leans down. You are rendered silent once more as he kisses your forehead.

“I should go.” Before this goes any further. Before you ask me for more, because I’m really not sure I could say no. Bradley blinks as you look up at him. He almost leans in one last time.

“Yeah,” You breathe out, barely a whisper. He’s more than close enough to hear you perfectly. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest. “Okay.”

He swallows. “I… I had a really nice time with you tonight. Thank you.”

You’re acutely aware that he still has one of those giant paws of his on the back of your neck. That he’s still standing between your knees. That he’s close enough to kiss if you reached for him.

“So did I.” You answer.

Bradley trails his thumb down until he reaches the top of your spine. He finally lets go, dropping his hand back down to his side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Right.” You agree, curling your fingers around the edge of the vanity as he takes a step away from you. Bradley offers you a small smile, and takes another big step.

And you leave it at that. He leaves, closing the door to your hotel room behind him, wandering back down to his own room. He should probably feel guilty.

Any guilt that he should feel hasn’t hit him yet. It won’t. If it doesn’t go any further than teaching you what french kissing is — then, what’s there to be guilty about?

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x female reader #Bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #the odyssey #professor bradley

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shadowbriar · 9 months

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James Potter - Call It Fate, Call It Karma

Pairing : James Potter x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 3k Warning : Plenty of curse words. Synopsis : James' world was flipped upside down as the engagement ring now sits on the wrong girl's finger. Notes : Post no 4 for my 1 Year Anniversary Celebration. Don't forget to fill the form here if you'd like to be tagged for my future works. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ James Potter's Masterlist click here. Taglist : @jsjcue @ell0ra-br3kk3r @sofiacblair @coffeehurricanes @ineedmentalhelp123

James stares at his own reflection, whispering silent prayers as if they were a magic spell to help ground himself, tame the loud beating of his heart and provide the least bit of tranquillity for his troubled mind. It has been days since he’s got a good sleep. The days coming to Remus’ wedding have acted like a ticking time bomb, building anticipation of the apocalypse bound to happen once it explodes.

He wasn’t sure exactly the cause of his consternation. He supposed, wanting to get on your knees and ask your lover for their hand in marriage will surely cause you waves of jitters. The black velvet box in his pocket feels heavier each time he tries to silently reach for it. But could that be it? Could his nervousness to propose to Lily be the sole cause of his distress?

“You’re going to be alright,” James mutters to himself, taking deep breaths between his words “She’s not going to be here.”

A hard slap to his own cheek was done at the realisation of his words. Why would he say that? Why would he even think of her? He has Lily and his mother’s diamond ring to think about. How could she even slip herself in his mind at times like this?

Now James hates to admit it, but the little voice in his heart knew that Remus’ wedding and his plan to propose to Lily was nothing as terrifying as the idea of meeting his Hogwarts’ sweetheart after what seems to be forever. Their abrupt separation before graduation has left scars that James knew would never heal. The kind of marks that will always haunt your nights, making you ponder the unanswered what if scenarios.

The fear of meeting her has always been so grand that James never had the heart to ask Remus if he’s invited her to his wedding. They all have been great friends back in school, it would be more of an appalling fact to know that Remus didn’t invite her, so he remained quiet, letting time to provide him his answer.

“She’s going to be there,” James whispered quietly “And you’re going to be okay with it because she’s no one now. She’s a nobody.”

James nods to himself. The feigned determined expression on his face was fooling no one but it was the only thing he could do for himself. He can’t discuss this with Remus, Remus certainly has a lot on his plate already to prepare for the wedding. He can’t talk about this to Peter or Sirius either because he’s always acted as if he’s completely buried the thought of her though he always wondered if any of his best friends were ever convinced of such an act. And surely, James can’t share this with Lily because what would she think about him then?

The loud banging of his hotel door rudely breaks his train of thoughts. He could tell that the man standing behind the door would be none other than Sirius. There’s no one in this entire universe that is more loud and obnoxious than him.

“Prongs!” Sirius greets once the door is opened for him “Ah, you look grand, mate!”

James forced a smile, letting Sirius to get inside his suite.

“So I’ve got news for you. Good news and bad news. Which do you prefer to hear first?” Sirius asks, rubbing his hands together in an apprehensive manner “Knowing you, I’d go with the good news first. So the good news is, you, me, Remus, and Peter are going to go spend the night at the bar close by and live our life as if we never left that dreary dormitory room back in Hogwarts.”

“Tonight?” James asked “I don’t know mate, I’ve been feeling under the weather lately. I’m afraid I have to sit this one out. I might skip Remus’ wedding tomorrow if I don’t.”

“Nonsense! It’s the groom’s request and you’re one of his groom’s men so you have no other choice but to obliged.”

James rolled his eyes, groaning, “Fine. What’s the bad news, then?”

“Uh, right, the bad news.” Sirius says, now placing an arm around the bespectacled boy in an attempt of consolation “She’s going to join us tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely sit this one out.” James says as he pushes Sirius’ arm and walks away.

“No, no, no, no! It’s going to be fine. You see, me and Peter have crafted this plan to keep the two of you separate. I’ll be your wingman and Peter will watch over her so the two of you won’t meet unless it's absolutely necessary.” Sirius explains, trying to coax James to give in “You can’t seriously think that we’ll allow you to miss the last night before Remus is married.”

“Yes, but it’s her, Pads!” James argues, running his hand through his hair in desperation “Meeting her would essentially end me, quite literally!”

“No, no it won’t! Me and Peter will be there, remember?” Sirius lures “And you’ll be busy with Lily too, won't you? She’ll tether you to the ground.”

James groans once more, “Lily won’t be here until tomorrow morning. She’s stuck with her sister.”

“Oh,” Sirius grimaced.

James wasn’t sure if such a response was due to the fact that Lily’s sister is a terrible person to be stuck with or that Lily’s absence would cause greater chance of him to plummet back to the darkness. Either way it proved to be a better reason for him to skip this night out.

“Look, I love Remus and I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but I really don’t think I should come.” James says, his hand reaching to the velvet box in his pocket and showing it to Sirius “I can’t afford to make any mistake.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, staring at the box, “You’re planning to propose?”

“Not at Remus’ wedding, no,” James answers “But yeah.”

“To Lily?”

“Well, yeah. Who else?”

Sirius frowns and James wasn’t sure if that was solely caused by his surprise or was there any other underlying reason as to why he wasn’t ecstatic to hear this. James expected him to be as delighted as when Remus announced his engagement. He could clearly remember the expressions plastered on each of his friends’ faces that night. Now such joy seems to be void of Sirius’ face.

“I— We’ll talk more about this later but you need to come with us tonight. You have to!” Sirius says again “I swear on my parents’ name that you won’t talk to her tonight. Like I said, I’ll be your wingman.”

“You have no regards for your parents’ Sirius. That’s not a very convincing swear.”

“Well who else do you want me to swear their name upon? My Death Eater brother?”

“Ex-Death Eater.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, “Fine, I swear on Regulus’ name that you won’t talk to her tonight. Now will you please hurry and change out of your ugly shirt? Wear something more decent, won’t you?”

—-

It was comforting. The layers of blanket wrapping her body, soft pillows around her head and the warmth it brought to her were something she wished she could keep in a bottle. Waking up in hotel beds has always been something she adores. It reminds her of her own bed back in Hogwarts, familiar and comfortable.

Her eyes were still half opened, trying to adjust to the brightness the sunlight was peeking through the sheer curtain. She must have forgotten to properly close it last night. Hell, she couldn’t even recall how she managed to get back to her hotel room. The last she could remember was meeting Remus and his fiancé before being whisked away by Peter to take shots by the bar.

The rest of the night felt like a complete skip of nothingness. She hoped that whatever happened last night wouldn’t cause Remus any trouble or embarrassment for herself. She does have the tendency to cause problems whenever she’s taken one too many drinks.

Her brows were knitted when a foreign object was felt as she rubbed her eyes. She stares at the solitaire ring now sitting beautifully on her left ring finger. It was gleaming under the limited light of the room. Whose ring was this?

“Good morning,” She heard a man’s voice greet her.

The sound was very pleasant to her ear. Like a warm cosy home you haven’t visited in a while but managed to return to after a while. It fills her heart with contentment, joy, and tranquillity. As if her heart was ready to implode from the satisfactory feeling. But the more her senses awake, the more consciousness she gained, she recognises whose voice this beautiful sound belongs to.

“Potter?!” She screams, pushing him who had his arms around her waist out of the bed “What are you doing in my room?!”

“I— What?!” James woke up from the scream, frantic to find the situation he’s in “What the— What’s going on?! I thought you were Lily!”

“I should be asking you that question! What are you doing in my room?!”

James grabs his glasses that were sitting by the bedside table, assessing the suite with half sleepy eyes, “This is my room! Those are my coat and shoes by the door, see?”

“I— Then what the hell am I doing here?!”

“I don’t know! You’re the one trespassing!”

“I did no such thing! I was at the bar with Peter and then— I just— What?!”

Her chest was heaving in panic. Her eyes crazed, looking around the suite to understand the setting better. She wasn’t supposed to be in this room. She wasn’t supposed to be in James Potter’s room. Hell, she wasn’t even supposed to meet him. She’s sworn to steer clear of his presence and it was the only condition she gave to Remus before agreeing to come to his wedding, that she would be placed as furthest as possible from him. So how is it that she’s finding herself on his bed right now?

“What is that?” James asked, pointing at the ring on her finger “Why do you have my mother’s ring on you?”

“I don’t fucking know, Potter. It found itself sitting there the moment I opened my eyes.” She spat, trying to take the ring off of her but proved to have such an action failing “What the hell?”

“Take it off!”

“I’m trying!” She yells “It won’t come off!”

“I— Shit, why do I have this on me too?” James questions as he notices a matching ring on his finger “Where was this from?”

“You’re asking me? Do I look like I know anything about rings?!” She says irritatedly, still trying to get the ring off of her “I can’t take this off unless we cut my finger.”

“Well, that’s an idea.”

She glares at him, not saying a word.

“This is bad.” James mutters as he begins to pace, feeling the anxiety to sink in “That was supposed to be on Lily’s finger, not yours!”

“Lily? Lily Evans?”

“Which other Lily do you know?”

“You’re planning to propose to Lily?” She asks, looking baffled now “How did you even manage to date her? She’s way beyond your league.”

James blinks, offended by her comment, “Mind you, I am in the same league as her. We’ve been happily together for years now.”

“Wait, you’re planning to propose to her at Remus’ wedding?” She questions “Talk about stealing your best friend’s thunder.”

“I— No, I wasn’t planning to propose to her today, okay! I only have the ring with me as an anchor so can you please take it off and return it before I’m losing my last strands of sanity.”

“It’s not coming off, I told you!”

James groans in despair, running his hand through his hair. He could feel his pillars crumbling down. That demon is finally claiming his soul once more. He has to force himself to walk further from the bed, pacing around the empty space so he could stop himself from staring at her. Even with such effort to create distance between them, James knows that he couldn’t fool himself. The crazy beating of his heart when he saw her have done more damage than he could ever afford to face.

Then suddenly, a loud banging on the door was heard. James turned his eyes to see her, seeing that panic on her face at the demanding sound. Sirius was persistent with his knocking.

“Don’t open it,” She warns “Don’t let anyone in. We can’t talk to anyone until we figure out what happened to us.”

“Nothing happened between us.” James says, not wanting to yield to reality just yet “You were just drunk and you mistakenly thought that my suite was yours.”

“Oh, I was drunk? How about you, do you remember anything then?” She challenges, pointing to the engagement ring on her finger “Have any clue as to why this ring of yours is on my finger?”

“I— Fuck!” James cruses, rubbing the bridge of his nose to calm himself “I have to open the door. Sirius won’t stop knocking unless I do.”

“Sirius’ knocking is the least of our troubles. What we need to do now is to trace down what happened to us last night. I refuse to go out of this door wearing this stupid ring. What am I to say if others ask?!”

“Well, I can’t remember shit from last night so we’ll only be running in circles, Sweetheart.” James retorts “And mind you, it’s not a stupid ring. It’s my mother’s.”

Her expression softens a little. Memories of how sweet and loving Euphemia Potter was came rushing in like a tidal wave. James’ mother has always been so fond of her, treating her as if she was her own daughter. She would always remember how his mother would compliment them two, saying that they remind her of how in love she was with James’ father back in the day. Now such memories only do more harm than good for her sanity.

Taking her silence as staleness in their argument, James walks himself to the door. His steps were wide and angry. Irritated by the persisting banging done by Sirius, his lack of understanding of the trouble he finds himself in, and the crazy beating of his heart from being in her presence.

“What?!” James spat at Sirius as he opened the door, barely so that Sirius won’t be able to peek inside.

“I— Geez mate, woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” Sirius asked with a raised brow “I was just worried you’ll miss the wedding. You disappeared last night, I thought something happened.”

Something did happen, James thought, but found himself shaking his head instead, “No, nothing happened. I was just about to take a shower and get ready. Thanks for checking up on me.”

Sirius nods, unimpressed by his words but takes it in anyway. He opens his mouth before closing it once again. Looking as if he has something to ask but decides to not to. Whatever that question might be, James was glad that it was never uttered. He has plenty on his plate already at the moment.

“Right,” Sirius says instead “I’ll see you at the venue, then.”

James nods, closing the door as Sirius turns his heels away.

He let out a relieved sigh once the clicking sound of the door was heard. James closes his eyes before turning to see her again. She was still on his bed, buried under the many blankets and pillows around her. If this wasn’t reality, James would’ve enjoyed such sight and count this as his family friendly wet dream.

“Who was it?”

“Sirius,” James answered “He wanted to check up on me. Said I disappeared last night. I didn’t tell him anything, don’t worry.”

She nodded, “So what are we to do now?”

“I don’t know.” James says, defeated that he has no proper answer to give her “I— Lily and I were supposed to meet at the venue. She doesn’t know that I was planning to propose. I guess I can just bullshit my way and say that this is just a dress ring and it’s stuck on me for the moment.”

“Alright,” She bobs her head in understanding “Then what about me? What am I to tell people? Cause people will ask.”

“Well, maybe you can just lie and say that you recently got engaged? At least until we can figure out a way to get that ring out of your finger.”

“But I don’t have a partner. If I do and I just recently got engaged, shouldn’t my fiancé be my plus one? People will ask more questions about his wherebeing.”

“Well, do you have any better excuse? Fire away, I’m open for suggestions.”

She rolls her eyes, finding his sarcastic response to be the very least helpful, “Fine, I’ll do that.”

James watches as she begins to collect her purse and jacket that was scattered on the carpeted floor. He tries to bite down the slight satisfaction of hearing that she was single. He knew that it was wrong to feel this way and it has been years since they met, surely she’s dated other people after their separation, but to know that she wasn’t bound with anyone the moment they had their reunion sparked something inside him. Something that he knew was so sinful that he would never be able to atone.

“Can you check if the hallway is clear? I don’t want to meet anyone as I come out of your door.”

James nods, peeking out of the empty hall before turning back to her with a nod.

“Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even breathe my way at the venue.” She said to him, finger firmly pointing at him in a threatening manner “I will hex you to death right on the spot if you do.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She gave him a glare one last time before leaving his suite. James could finally let out the breath he unconsciously held once he was left alone. He walks back to his bed, sitting on it and hating the fact that her perfume lingers on its cover. Now he wouldn’t be able to shake the sweet scent off of his mind, even if he was to obliviate himself to it. But then again, what is a wedding without some drama, right?

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter imagines #james potter scenario #james potter scenarios #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x oc #james potter x y/n

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arcielee · 8 months

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At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name.

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.”

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response.

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again.

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow.

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed.

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense.

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away.

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust.

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns.

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again.

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed.

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow.

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see.

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity.

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige.

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair.

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Please,” his voice was thick.

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.”

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him.

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched.

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.”

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim.

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips.

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again.

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his.

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight.

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?”

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

arcielee's masterlist

#ser erryk x you #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smutty smut

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

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The Winter Sun (4)

4. An Icy road

MASTERLIST

Summary: You come face to face to Cregan Stark again, and to ask no small thing out of him

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoif customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, talks about having sex, might miss some warnings +18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.8k

Notes: IT’S HERE PEOPLEEEEEE, THEY ARE MEETING UP AGAINNNNNN

Stunned was the word that described more properly the face of the Warden of the North.

Your proposal had been so blunt, and unabashed that it was completely out of guard.

“My Princess…”, he started, but cut himself off, he looked behind him and they were all stunned as him was

That had been an hour ago, now, he had invited you in while he took counsel with members of his Winterfell court. And you walked aimlessly through a room that you guessed was to receive people.

The castle, unlike their outside, was comfortable and warm on the inside, every room held a big fireplace, tapestries in the walls, and warm color dressed each room you had been in, it was pretty.

The Red Keep was the most luxurious place, but this was… homey.

“Psst”, someone tried to catch your attention, and as you looked at the corner of the room, you saw a girl, the same one that cheered after your abrupt proposal.

“Come this way”, she said, and you followed her, she guided you through a small corridor, in the middle of it, there was a vent, from where you could hear what was happening in the main room.

“I’m Sara Snow by the way, Cregan’s half sister”, she whispered, and you smiled

“I’m (Y/N)”, you introduced, “Is nice to meet you”

“I was waiting for you”, she whispered

“What?”, and then she shushed you, and you both listened in

“Nobody will discuss it, that she is a nice, beautiful Princess, but, my lord, what you need to do is marry a Northerner girl, with blood of the first men pumping through her veins!”, said Lord Karstark, palming his forearms

“Someone like your own daughter?”, mocked the Lady of the Dreadfort, “your motivations are so transparent”

“We all heard the rumors about the princess, that she is dismissed from her own family, unwanted, a pariah… her own birth, if not for King Viserys, she would be a bastard, technically…”

“That’s enough”, sentenced Cregan

“She traveled half the continent to offer herself to you my lord, she has no shame”

“I said enough”, he said again.

“Say thank you, but no thank you”, reasoned another, “send the princess back to King’s Landing, she is a Targaryen, dragons don’t fair well when they come North”

“She might not be what we expected from a princess, but she was sent by the King, refusing her would be refusing the King himself”, fighted another

“She is the daughter to Aegon Targaryen!”, interrupted one voice, the maester of arms of Winterfell, “I don’t like the Targaryens more than any of us, but “the conciliator” was the kind of man that shows up once in a lifetime!”, he continued, making you smile, “he improved the roads throughout the North, he managed to lower our taxes during winter, and created bonds with the Tyrells for us to get more and better grains…And they sent us his only child to marry our Lord Stark, we should be honored”. Your eyes filled with tears, there he was again, your father, taking care of you even if he was gone

“I agree”, relented the other, “But she is more lamb than dragon, I’m afraid”

“Perhaps that is just what we need”, said the maester

There was a silence, a good silence

“She is just a child”, muttered Cregan, and your heart broke a little bit

“She has been of age for the last two years”, said the maester, “she is a woman”

“I’ve known her since she was a child”, corrected Cregan. “She follows other gods, other cultures, she…their houses go against our beliefs…”

“She was born a natural daughter from Falena Stokeworth and Aegon Targaryen, she was not born off of incest”, reminded one, and you knew that he was looking for excuses.

“We could never afford feeding her dragon especially in winter”

“But we would have a dragon as an ally to the North, the greatest ally”

“My Lord”, sounded the same similar voice, Lady Bolton, “you are the one that is going to marry her, sleep by her side every night, and give her your children, it's your decision, and we will support you, no matter what you decide”

You didn’t want to hear anymore, Sara watched your face and followed out of the passageways.

You came back to the same room they asked you to wait in, and Sara accompanied you

“It was nice to meet you but I think they will send me back to King’s Landing”, you said bitterly

“I don’t know about that”, she said, as Cregan came out of the hallways and walked towards you, you took a step towards him with a scared look on your face.

“Your grace”, he said solemnly

“My Lord”, and as he looked at you he pondered, about you, about the first time he ever saw you, about the second one, and that he hadn't seen you in five long years. “Please my Lord”, you whispered, “don’t send me back…”, you begged him with your eyes and to him, you turned to be that thirteen year old again, hiding from her own family, and that turned his legs to jelly. You were begging, but you didn’t care.

You might have been desperate, you might beg, but this was your only shot, you need to make it count.

You didn't want to go back to King’s Landing, and he didn’t want to be pestered anymore about taking another wife, this… might work

But you were a young southern girl, did he have the patience to teach you, to guide you through the wilderness? The North wasn’t like King’s Landing, it was cold, and inhospitable.

As wolves didn’t fare well in the south, dragons didn’t do it in the North.

“I beg your grace to give me a day to think about it”, he said solemnly, “in the meantime you will be our guest here, in Winterfell”, he muttered

“Of course”, you muttered with a shy smile. “All the time you need, I will happy to spend the day here, I have never traveled so far North”, you said with a shy smile, and he drew one small one as well

“Good”, he then with his eyes looked for Sara, and nodded, “I trust than my dear sister can show you and tell you everything you need to know, and see”, he said with a smile, a fake one.

“What about you?”, you asked without even thinking

“I have meetings with the Lords, have come to discuss measures to be taken throughout the winter”, you nodded

“Of course My Lord”, so that’s why everyone was discussing you, you arrived at the worst possible moment. He left and Sara came close to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I’ll show you around”, she said and you smiled, you were starting to like her.

She took you all over the castle, and even though you were cold as hell, you remained thinking it was cozy and inviting.

You had heard awful things about the North, how it was a wasteland, a paramo. A mood pit, but when Sara took you to the battlements from which you could see Winter Town and a whole valley decorated with ice and snow, towards the right, you could see a beautiful green forest

“It is breathtaking”, you whispered

“You like it?”, she asked, smiling widely, but your smile turned bitter

“I love it, but I might not get to see it again”, you said sadly

“You will”, she muttered

“He is not the man I remember”, you whispered. Sara looked at you sympathetically

“He has been through a lot”, she said gently. She took your hand with a shy smile. “Let’s see the rest shall we?”, you nodded enthusiastically, and after the castle had been already seen, she took you outside. Where the charm and beauty continued.

You took a stroll through the Gods Wood, it was even bigger than the one in the Red Keep, a small creek ran through it.

You were not a religious person, but even you could tell the aura in this place was different, mystical, your breathing became heavy and when you were here you could feel there was nowhere else in the world

“It takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”, she asked, and you nodded

“It does”, you whispered, not wanting to interrupt the aura of the place.

You took a seat by the roots of the heart tree

“Do you follow the new gods?”, she asked

“the seven?”, she nodded, “no, I… I’m sad to say I don’t quite follow religions”, you said, “Is Cregan devoted?”

“Yes, to the old gods”, she whispered, “we all are”.

“I could follow the old gods”, you suggested with a smile, “do you think they will take me?”, she laughed

“Of course they will”, you smiled gently, but with a little nostalgia. “Tell me about you”, you suggested

“Well, I don’t know who my mother was, she gave me up in the gates of Winterfell when I was a baby, Lord Rickon Stark raised me”, she said

“Do you like living here?”, you asked

“I love it”, she admitted. You smiled, but as you looked behind her, golden eyes returned your gaze amongst the trees. As you looked more determinedly, you saw black fur and…

“Sara”, you muttered, “I think there is something in the woods”, she turned around to look at what you were seeing, and then she turned to you.

“That is a Direwolf”, she said

“A direwolf?”, you asked, “I thought that they were a legend”

“They are rare”, she muttered, “He is bound to Cregan”

“Really? like I’m bonded to my dragon?”, she didn’t answer as you both looked at the majestic animal, he didn’t take his eyes off of you as he roamed amongst the trees, not ever approaching you

“Is he going to eat me?”, you whispered, and Sara shook her head

“But Cregan might”, she giggled

“Stop it!”, you laughed. The sound of your cackle might have attracted the giant wol, as he patted his way through the snow towards you.

“Don’t panic”, Sara warned.

The Direwolf approached you, it was huge, taller than you standing up. It was black and gray, shaggy and wild. He came so close you could reach out and touch him, but you didn’t dare, you just stood really still. His eyes reminded you of Vhaelar, they were like melted gold.

“Please don’t bite my face off”, you begged, and he only sniffed you, and he let out a small growl, and then he left. “He hates me”, you mocked

“He doesn’t”, you both looked at the entrance to the Godswood and Cregan was standing there, “our guest is freezing Sara”, he chided, “lend her a cape, can you?”, he asked

Sara, more than happy, left the Woods towards the castle. You stood up hastily, as you encountered him

“How are you finding Winterfell, princess? I bet it’s quite different than King’s Landing”

“It is”, you said with a shy smile, “but not badly… I mean… good different, not bad different”, and you started babbling, oh gods why were you so nervous?? He seemed amused by your nervousness, so you just stopped yourself, and then you took a long breath. “It is beautiful”, you confessed looking up at him. “it is a bit cold but the snow, and the acoustics.. and the colors…”, you started looking around with a big smile on your face. “You have a beautiful home, my lord”, you said finally, meeting his eyes again. You noticed that he was staring at you, his gaze probably never leaving yours.

“Thank you princess, I see you have met my Direwolf”, he muttered

“What’s his name?”, you asked

“Autumn”, he told you, you smiled

“It’s beautiful”, you said, and you looked down at your feet. “Would you like to meet my bonded animal?”, you asked, looking up at him. He nodded

As you were walking outside, Sara met you, and offered you a fur cape. It was gray fur and black fabric, and you placed it around your shoulders.

You could feel Cregan’s gaze on you, but you pretended you didn’t, your blushed cheeks gave him an idea.

You walked outside the castle walls, where a mountain of snow had gathered. As she felt you nearing, she raised her head, appearing in the small mountain, she purred

“This is Vhaelar”, she cooed when she saw you, the kids of Winter town had gathered around her, each of them wanting to see her more closely, but hiding, not daring to approach.

She acted as she didn’t even saw them

Cregan seemed nervous, but he looked down at you and you smiled reassuringly.

“Would you like to touch her?”, you asked, and he seemed weary, but nodded. You approached her first, and invited Cregan to do the same.

He removed the glove from his hand, and then he let you grab it gently. Vhaelar purred and she neared you slowly, until she could be in your reach, and then you placed Cregan’s hand over her snout

She purred again, sniffing him, she closed her big eyes and when she opened them again her pupils were enlarged, her eyes looking almost black as you released him and took a step back, leaving him alone against your dragon.

And Cregan smiled warmly.

He would never admit how nervous he was, but that had vanished, when he felt the noble beast take to him

“She likes you”, you observed and Vhaelar cooed, like agreeing with you

“And I like her”, he said, and you smiled widely. He then turned to you. “Ride with me?”

“What?”, you asked

“You do ride horses? it’s easier than riding a dragon I’d venture”. He muse

“I do”, you said, and you couldn’t hide your excitement.

Perhaps he was testing you, and Cregan actually was.

Sara liked you, Autumn didn’t bite your hand off, and you loved his home. You did. And the cape fits you like you were born a northerner.

Could you ride through Ice, snow and forest?

He had all setted up and when you both arrived back inside the courtyard of the castle, the maester at arms himself, Barth, had saddled your horses.

Alright this was it. You accepted the remains of a beautiful mare of brown mane. You climbed easily, and Cregan did the same to a black stallion, and you let him lead you out of the gates that they opened for him, and out of the lands of the castle.

He led you through the snow and towards the wolf’s wood. Far to the right you saw the big wolf trotting alongside you, and went into the woods.

These woods were different from the ones of the King’s wood, the trees were more leafy, and taller and the logs thicker. It was autumn, so the snow wasn’t sticking yet, but it looked beautiful nonetheless.

You were so distracted watching the scenery, that you didn’t see as Cregan looked at you trying to gain your attention.

“Why?”, he asked, pulling you away from your thoughts and back to reality

“Why?”, you asked back

“You flied your dragon all the way North, just to offer your own hand in marriage to me, why?”, and you froze, and you clinged into the reins of your calm horse, who didn’t even need guidance to lead you through the woods she probably knew so well.

“It was the small council’s idea”, you said, trying to tell the truth, but at the moment you didn't think bringing up Aemond would be a good Idea. “They were trying to find a good match for me… And they agree you would be… good”, you whispered, but because of the acoustic and the snow, he heard you just fine. “And I remembered you fondly, so I decided to take matters in my own hands”. You added more cheerfully

“You said you didn’t want to get back to King’s Landing”, he said then, and that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Well…”, you muttered nervously, “I never thought of King’s Landing as my home…” you admitted. “I want to have my own chance at happiness”, you admitted, “I wanted to get away from that place”, this was it, you gathered all the courage you could muster, and looked deeply into his eyes.

Yes, this could work, he thought, you were pliant, willing, good, no evil behind your actions. You liked it, you liked it here, in the North, at his home. You wanted to get away from King’s Landing… the lords, ladies and counselors will stop hunting him…

You needed a refuge, he needed a cover

“Princess (Y/N) Targaryen”, he said, “I Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and warden of the North, accept King Viserys’ proposal, for us to be wed”

taglist! ❤️ @severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013

#cregan #cregan x reader #cregan stark #misguidedwinter #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house stark #stark

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blueparadis · 2 years

Note

Mikey and the reader inside a toman meeting however mikey has a vibrator remote in his pocket teasing you while ur struggling to keep ur moans in pls!!

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 ; 𝐌.𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎

+. CWs—› afab-reader, established relationship; edging, implied exhibitionism & corruption kink, use of vibrator, overstimulation, virgin!sub!reader, service dom!mikey. word count —1k

+. notes —› we're doing this right off the bat :> i leaped with joy because og timeline mikey with blonde hair and that dragon tattoo makes me so lovesick.

+. tagging - @fueledbysano

+. tap here to view my works !

Accident, Coincidence or a miracle.

Mikey didn't know which one would be the most appropriate word for this situation. For him, this was just a game. This meeting wasn't in his schedule. His schedule was full of trying out new things with his beautiful wife, y/n.

But unfortunately, Kisaki and Hanma dropped by to update the status of the dealings up in the north. The others had to join. In a moment of such haste, Mikey slipped the controller of the vibrator into his pocket; a little mistake.

Boredom crept into his skin as the clock kept ticking. It was almost more than thirty minutes, he was getting restless with each tick of the clock. You could tell by the way his pitch-black pupils were switching from Kisaki to the clock and then finally to you.

Mikey is a very private man but when you appeared in your thin silk gown to serve snacks and tea he couldn't help but notice your pebbled nipples and ask you to sit in the meeting. Hanma didn't miss the glint in Mikey's eyes when you looked at him and smiled. And Kisaki? he knew Mikey was happy, even though Kisaki thought of this marriage as a peace-keeping alliance.

You sat in front of the three men, opposite Kisaki and beside Hanma; away from your husband's mischievous range. There was Takemichi, Chifuyu, Hakkai. A room full of men discussing such urgent affairs of business yet Mikey's rapt attention was only on you. Sometimes, Kisaki regretted convincing Mikey to get married.

And, no man in the world could resist the charms of a freshly bloomed flower. The aroma of your body, the tenderness of your soft skin — Mikey couldn't wait to deflower you, to fuck you in all positions so that his is the only name that seeps into your soul.

Of all times, Kisaki had to turn up now when he was having heavenly moments with his wife. He slipped his hands into his pocket and bingo. Realization struck him but he pondered if you'd like it or not. There was only one way to find out.

As soon as he switched on the controller, your eyes widened since you realized that you forgot to take it off before coming here. It was momentary but it was there. An eye contact. He turned it off immediately.

He hasn't touched you properly, the way you wanted, not even on your wedding night. He said that he wanted to take it slow but the way he stared at you during meetings and dinners you knew he craved you just as much as you did.

You left your seat and with quick short steps, you walked towards him. As you sat beside him, his arm went over the headrest brushing your nape. His other hand went inside the pocket. You crossed your legs waiting to feel the same heat coiling inside your tummy again. But the wait was getting longer. He was definitely doing it on purpose.

Mikey took your palm playfully and intertwined his fingers with yours as Hanma kept talking. He shot you an odd look, a look that sought permission as well as submission. Your abrupt gasp was loud enough to draw everyone's attention and make Hanma pause.

“You ’kay love?”, Mikey gawked at your cherry-tainted cheeks as you nod rashly.

“Hanma, continue. I think Kisaki's proposal would be easy to execute...

His voice became slurred as he raised the regulator of the controller. The vibrator inside you wasn't that audible. It was masked by the voices of those males in the room but you felt that everyone could hear it, hear you, watch your slightest irregularity in your behavior.

Mikey was blithely sitting. The only thing he did was to pull you a little close to his body as you struggled to keep yourself steady, as you licked and bit your lips constantly to keep your voice down. You crossed your legs keeping the interlaced hands intact.

While everyone was voicing their opinions and discussing Mikey leaned to whisper. “you’re strong.”, cheking you out, your feeble body as he eyed your grip on his hand.

“please...stop...it”, your other hand kept tapping on the smooth skin of the sofa.

“but you're enjoying this aren't you?”, Mikey leaned closer and turned his head slightly away from the view of all his subordinates.

“I can see it!”, he trailed placing a soft dry kiss on the nook of your nape.

Your eyes searched every pair that was present in the room until you noticed Matsuno’s emerald eyes noticing your uneasiness.

“Mike...”, you mumbled too meekly for it to reach him.

“Hanma, it's nearly eight. We've another briefing to do.”Chifuyu cleared his throat.

Hanma’s skeptical stare fell on you and he immediately picked up the cue.

“Dismissed already?”, Mikey asked with an amused look as your grip on his palm became hard , strong enough to leave marks on his palm. The fingertips that pressed against eacthother seemed like tiny rose buds.

“Well, we all have someone waiting for us at home”, Hanma mused as he left the room. The door clicked and Mikey immediately shifted you onto his lap in a very swift motion.

“Just hold on to me, a-all right y/n?”, he muttered as he kept the controller beside him where you were seated a moment ago. The leather sofa glistened with your arousal yet the controller had two more ups to reach.

“Mike...please... no more. ”, he seemed offended by your plea but he simply smiled. Anchoring an arm around your waist his other hand went towards the remote. Your eyes flared in excitement as he increased it up to the highest limit.

“It’s okay... it's ’okay I'm right here”, he whispered against your ears as you tightly wrapped your arms around him in a flash.

He was hard. His tip was slick alone from watching you cum on his lap. He landed a sharp hit on your ass cheek over the cloth making you moan loud enough to reach the whole base.

He wanted you, wanted you to crave for him but a little birdie like you didn't had any idea of the nectar, let alone ask for it. Mikey was becoming restless but when you declined to let go of him his hands slipped under your dress.

Mikey pulled your flushed body against his silencing your moans with a fervent kiss while his cock rubbed against your clit. His hands clamped your under thighs as he made you glide against him, making you cum right away.

He pulled away from the kiss with a pop. His eyes bored into you as you slowly adjusted yourself to look at him.

“told you it's okay.” you nodded. Biting your lip you coyly exclaimed, “I wa- want this", your hand grazed his aroused length, “you.” making his shudder.

Mikey placed you on the tabletop saying, "we need to eat love. I'm hungry.” pinching your nose.

networks — @tokyometronetwork

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blindmagdalena · 3 months

Note

what would homelanders opinion be on his gf wanting to wait until marriage before having sex?

he would be insufferable in trying to weasel his way around it "Whaaat? I'm serious! It only counts if I come! ... Okay, okay, fine... How about oral? ... Where are you going? Hey! Come back! Obviously I'd return the favor, I'm a gentleman! What about just a handy? Babe! Wait, c'mon, I was only kidding!"

you can expect a very abrupt proposal.

#lmao i hate him #homelander x reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #homelander headcanons #homelander x you

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animeniacss · 3 months

Text

So Close Yet So Far - Mingyu x Reader - Chapter 11 - What Happened Last Night...

Synopsis: Your college friend, Kim Mingyu, has had a grip on your heart since the first day you met. Over the past few years, as you acquired more friendships and memories, those feelings only grew. However, recently, Mingyu has seemed a bit more distant, at least when it comes to any ideas of romance. It only gets worse when rumors fly that he's off to Japan to receive a marriage proposal! Unsure what to do, you wonder how you can keep Mingyu by your side without jeopardizing your friendship or your growing feelings. You never expected that waking up one drunken morning next to two hot angels would be your ticket into Mingyu's heart.

Genre: Romance, College!AU, Friends to Lovers, Modern Fantasy, Comedy, Angsty

Length: approx. 5.9k words

Chapter 11 - What Happened Last Night

The entire kitchen onto the back patio was quiet, only able to share glances as they tried to make heads or tails of what was going on. You looked at Hoshi, who still seemed stunned to silence. Jihoon stepped closer, seemingly wanting to say more. However, Hoshi’s expression stopped him. Hoshi, unable to manage himself, simply pushed past Jihoon and headed up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Jihoon looked in his direction, letting out a sigh.

“I expected that to happen.” He said softly. When he looked at you, he smiled. “Sorry.”

Before words escaped your mouth, two people were standing in front of you and Minnie. When you looked up, you saw Joshua and Jeonghan.

“What are you doinghere?” Joshua asked. You couldn’t see it from your spot, but a protective flare was burning in each of their eyes.

Jihoon smiled. “Nice to see you to, Hyung.” He smiled. “I was invited. That’s all.” Joshua and Jeonghan immediately turned to you, eyes wide in shock. It spooked you, and you stepped back.

“What?” you asked. You felt a hand on your back, and when you looked up, Mingyu was there.

“Where did you meet him?!” Jeonghan asked. You shrugged.

“I- I uhm.” Despite no reason to feel nervous, the almost angry expression they were giving you made you fall silent. “At the store when I got you snacks.” You finally managed to say. They looked back at Jihoon, who simply stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding his head to assure them your statement was correct. “What’s the problem?"

“The problem?!” Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head as he calmed his voice. “The problem is…”

“Hey.” A deep booming voice approached. You looked over, seeing that instead of Minnie, Mingyu was at your side. With the situation seemingly solved, the spooked persona he just had melted away so he could support you. He put a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t yell at her because you have beef with the guy…” The duo turned back to Jihoon, who stood unphased before them. Mingyu looked down at you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You assured. “I don’t know what’s going on….”

“Why don’t you go find Hoshi? We’ll settle all of this.” He assured, giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze. You nodded.

“We got him.” Jeonghan said. Before anyone could question the abrupt statement, Joshua and Jeonghan approached Jihoon. He looked a bit stunned as the duo looped their arms through his, much as they usually do with you, and led him out the front door. You blinked, watching as Jihoon didn’t even fight back, matching his pace with the other two as they disappeared from sight.

“Okay…” Mingyu said. After a moment of standing in the kitchen, he turned to the rest of the crew. “Let’s go eat for now…” he shuffled everyone back outside. “Let them figure it out.” As the group returned to the patio, he turned to the stairs you had just raced up.

You quickly hurried towards the stairs, looking around for Hoshi. It didn’t take long to find him, as he sat right on the top of the stairs, hands raking through his hair over and over again. It seemed he was trying very hard not to cry. You immediately hurried up to him, finding a spot on the step below him. He caught your gaze, and his attempt to wipe his eyes only increased. “Ugh, sorry.” He said.

“Don’t be sorry. What happened?” you asked gently. “Do you know him?” Hoshi nodded, looking over at you. It was very unusual to see such a bright energy so distressed.

“Yeah. Remember that guy Seungkwan keeps teasing me about?” It seemed a chuckle felt natural at this point as he covered his mouth with his hand. “Him.”

“Oh.” You recalled the multiple ‘Hoshi’s boyfriend’ comment he has made in the past. “Is that him?” Hoshi nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I-.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hoshi said. “You didn’t know. When he and I stopped talking, I didn’t mention him anymore. You didn’t know who he was. It’s ok.” He chuckled a bit. “It’s just such a small world. I really was shocked when I saw him.”

“Heh. I said something similar when I first met him.” You commented. “He actually saw me at the café a few days before, after I met Mina. When I was sad, and tried to help me.”

“Really?” Hoshi seemed shocked. You only nodded.

“Want me to ask him to leave?”

“What?” Hoshi shook his head. “No. It’s your birthday, you should have who you want here.”

“But-.”

“It’s ok. I promise. I just didn’t expect to see him. It shocked me.” Hoshi nodded. “That’s all.” You watched Hoshi rise from his spot on the stairs, offering you a hand to help you up. You reached up, wiping the threat of his tears away as he laughed at you. “Oh jeez, I’m okay.” He shook his head. “I’m alright, promise. Let’s have a good time this weekend, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sounded a bit unsure, patting his shoulder as the both of you headed down the stairs. He put his arm around you as well, seeming to need the comfort in the moment, which you had no problem providing.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶So Close Yet So Far🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

Meanwhile, Joshua and Jeonghan had managed to take Jihoon on the outside front porch, closing the door behind them. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” Joshua asked.

“I told you already. I got invited.” Jihoon said. “Does that shock you?”

“How did you just so happen to get invited to the party of the girl we’re in a contract with, Jihoon? It’s a bit suspicious.” Jihoon’s eyes widened, when a smirk formed on his face.

“You’re helping her? Oh man.” Jihoon laughed a bit. “I had no idea. Then again, I had no idea the ‘evil twins’ finally got their punishment. I don’t speak with any of our family much anymore.”

Joshua crossed his arms. “You can’t be here.” Jihoon laughed.

“What do you think I shake hands with the devil now?” He sneered. “I’m not going to do anything. She invited me. Why the hell would I want to interfere?” Joshua and Jeonghan looked at one another. “What? Oh. You think I want to watch you two end up like me? Stuck here?”

“That’s not going to happen.” Jeonghan said. Joshua pursed his lips together, forcing an agreed nod. Jihoon seemed to catch it, snickering to himself again.

“I’m not leaving.” He repeated simply, shrugging his shoulder. “Not unless she tells me to, anyway. So, are you going to be angelic and agree to a truce? A get-along period, if you will?” Again, Joshua and Jeonghan shared a glance with one another. “For her, if not for your brother.”

When neither of them responded, Jihoon simply nodded. The duo suddenly caught a look of hurt in their younger brother’s eyes as he diverted them to the sea. A quiet moment fell over the trio then, Joshua and Jeonghan sharing a side glance. Jihoon finally looked back at them, patting them both on the shoulders. “By the way, it was nice to see you.” He said, before making his way back inside the house, footsteps muffling the closer her got to the porch.

The duo shared a look of concern. “What should we do?” Joshua asked. Jeonghan shrugged.

“I never thought we’d run into him again. Much less, like this.” Jeonghan rubbed his hair, an exasperated sigh on his lips. “I thought this whole thing was supposed to be easy. I’m already exhausted from it.” Joshua patted his friend on the shoulder, the duo listening as everyone now rejoined on the balcony, the sound of Hoshi’s attempts to eagerly energize everyone again working as the group cheered at the sight of the food. The duo made their way inside, watching as Jihoon stood at the door to the patio, leaning against it with his arm crossed as he stared out at the rest of the crew. Joshua and Jeonghan stepped closer, Joshua putting a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. He looked up at the taller duo.

“Just don’t start anything.” Jeonghan comment. Jihoon nodded his head, before being led by the duo to the food waiting on the table. Jihoon stood at your side, seeing you already making up a plate with sparkling eyes. Other than mutters about how delicious the food looked, silence lingered as everyone tried to figure out what to say. Hoshi took another drink from the cooler, popping it open and taking a sip. You sat beside him, plate in hand, as Jihoon plopped himself by the railing, resting his back against it with a few little scoops of the different options. Hoshi immediately avoided even staring his direction by looking at Seungkwan, the duo falling into a routine conversation.

You were sticking a bite of meat into your mouth when Mina sat beside you. You looked over, setting your chopsticks down. She seemed nervous.

“Are you okay?” she asked. The question confused you, and she seemed to be able to tell when she elaborated with: “That was a bit dramatic. You all looked so shaken up.” She motioned to Jihoon, who was resting against the balcony frame and eating quietly. “I’ve never seen Mingyu so scared.”

“Oh. It’s ok, I think. It seems they have a bit of history together. I didn’t know that.”

“Wow…” Mina said. “So, you inviting Jihoon seemed to stir up unwanted memories.” Guilt washed over you at her comment. She looked at Mingyu, who out of the kindness of his heart and the fact that he was hosting, approached Jihoon in an attempt to make some sort of conversation. He seemed a bit put off for a moment, but soon the duo fell into pretty simple first-time meeting conversation. “He’s so kind.” Mina smiled.

“Yeah.” You said gently, trying to brush off her last comment. “He is.”

“He’s been so excited to throw this party for you.” She said. “He’s worked hard for it.”

“I know. I’m grateful.” You assured. “Usually, we just all go out to eat, or spend the night at someone’s house. We drink and watch TV and play games until we all fall asleep. I appreciate those times, too…”

“I can imagine. I hope to be a part of those in the future.” You felt unsure about the context Mina was putting herself into these situations, but when she smiled at you, you had to smile back. “I heard he has a lot planned for you.”

“Yeah...”

“It must have been expensive for him to do.” Mina added.

“I…think he can afford it?” You cocked an eyebrow. Mina looked at you, nodding.

“He seems to think you deserve it.” She added, looking down at the food in her hands as she took another bite. You looked over to Joshua and Jeonghan, who were chatting amongst their food. Another moment of silence before Mina spoke again: “When we went to the café, did I say something to upset you?” In that moment, the entirety of that conversation came crashing into your heart like a tidal wave on the coast of the beach. You blinked, falling silent with no idea of how to respond to that. “I left in such a hurry but you looked so stunned. I only wanted to be honest. I’m so sorry if I upset you.”

“N-no.” was all you could sputter out. “It was just a shock, I guess.” You watched Mina smile a bit. Desperate to change the subject, you looked around: “Mingyu told me you had helped set some stuff up.”

“Yeah, but we were so busy all on the beach and unpacking and cooking yesterday time got away from us.” You nodded. “Seungkwan and Hoshi versed Mingyu and I in chicken. We totally beat them.” she laughed a bit. “So, we’re going to have everything ready for you when you wake up on your birthday.” Mina reached out, gently putting a hand on your arm. It seemed she had no intention of letting the original conversation end just yet. “I’m just glad to know that we’re on okay terms. I was worried but I didn’t know how to ask.” Mina slowly rose up. “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?” When you motioned to the drink beside you, Mina nodded, before heading off to the cooler. Your eyes scanned the area as everyone continued simply eating and chatting amongst themselves. Joshua and Jeonghan were talking, constantly shooting looks at Jihoon as they seemingly discussed what to do. Minnie, Hoshi, and Seungkwan were all sitting together. With Mingyu trying to be a good host and talk to a hesitant Jihoon, that left you to simply people watch. As you continued eating and drinking, you hoped that within a few hours, drinks would help loosen people up and allow everyone to come together and start interacting again.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶So Close Yet So Far🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

“Dance, Kwannie! Dance, dance, dance!” Hoshi shouted in between claps. Loud music was blasting through the porch, alcohol and food loosening each person up just as you thought it would. You sat beside Mingyu, both of you clapping your hands and cheering him on as well. Seungkwan, cheeks red with a mixture of embarrassment and liquid courage, shuffled to the front of the group as one of his favorite songs began playing. He wasted no time breaking into the choreography, earning drunken laughter and cheers from the entire group. “Go, Kwannieeee!” Hoshi cheered.

You laughed, taking the last sip of your drink as you cheered your friend on. When you noticed you were finished, you looked over to the cooler that sat behind you. Just as you were about to get up, you felt a hand on your shoulder hold you down. Looking over, Mingyu offered you a smile before getting up. “I got it.” he said. He walked to the cooler, grabbing another drink and tossing it to you. He turned his attention to the rest of the crowd. “Who else before I sit down?”

“Me!” Minnie said, catching another.

“Me too!” Hoshi called with a grin. He caught his too.

“Me!” Seungkwan said, not once stopping his dance. When Mingyu mimicked the motion of throwing it, Seungkwan stumbled. “Woah, wait, wait!” he shouted. The panic in his voice made everyone laugh as Seungkwan hurried to Mingyu, taking the drink. Mingyu walked back over, sitting down on the log as Seungkwan pulled you and Minnie over front and center, you now being the one encouraged to bust a move to another song that began to play. Frantically, you tried to get out of it, pulling your arm back in drunken laughter as you were brought in front of everyone.

Mingyu looked at Joshua and Jeonghan, who were grinning and trying to encourage you to the front in order to complete the dance.

“No, no! Don’t encourage them!” You begged, the duo only laughing harder in their attempts to convince you. Mingyu smiled a bit, reaching back over to the cooler and grabbing two more drinks. He looked over to Joshua, who seemingly caught his attention as Jeonghan continued to get you up to dance, the song already starting.

“Want one?” he asked. Joshua shook his head.

“We don’t drink.” He said. Mingyu seemed shocked. “Thanks, though.”

“You don’t?” He asked. Joshua shook his head. “Wow. How come I never noticed?”

“We don’t go out drinking together.” He said simply. Mingyu nodded, setting the two drinks at his feet before reaching back into the cooler. He pulled out two sparkling waters, motioning them in his direction instead. Joshua looked up at Mingyu for a second, before taking them into his hands. “Thanks.” He said.

Jihoon walked over, catching both Mingyu and Joshua’s attention. “May I?” He asked. Mingyu quickly passed one of the beers to Jihoon, and with a quick thank you, he popped it open and took a long sip. Joshua’s eyes went wide as he turned his view from the black-haired individual. Mingyu, unphased, looked back over to you as you finally readied yourself to dance at the start of the second chorus. He smiled, clapping his hands.

“Let’s go!” He said in between laughs. You gave him a shy smile, stumbling as you tried again to steady yourself, the drinks seeming to hit you as well. Joshua handed one of the waters to Jeonghan, before shooting another quick glance to Mingyu as words he himself uttered in the recent few weeks played back in his mind.

I don’t even know what she sees in you.

Joshua put the drink to his lips immediately in an attempt to distract himself from that absolutely selfish thought. As the second chorus erupted out of the speakers, you, Seungkwan and Minnie broke into the most unsynchronized dance moves seem thus far, and again, the entire porch erupted into laughter. Hoshi leaned forward, holding his stomach as he cackled in glee. Jeonghan covered his mouth in amused laughter, and Mina did something similar, turning her head a bit to try and collect herself. Mingyu continued clapping his hands in between laughter. “YEAAAA! GO, GO, GO!” He continued to cheer. When he started belting the lyrics, both you and Minnie fell to the floor, unable to contain your laughter.

“Stop singing, oh God!” you laughed, before quickly coughing for a second to catch your breath. Joshua laughed a bit to himself as well, setting the water on his lap and watching as the both of you tried to stand up and rejoin Seungkwan, who was drunkenly yelling.

“Are you serious!? We practiced!”

“No, we fucking didn’t!” Minnie said, holding your arm to contain her laughter.

“Yes, we did! Taste that PINK VENOM! Taste that PINK VENOM!” Seungkwan shouted, only allowing the two of you to start laughing harder. “I can’t believe I’m left ALONE!” Beyond the laughter, you looked to your small yet very enthused audience. Your eye fell to Mina, who had her phone scanning the rest of the crowd, including you. It seemed she was watching the entire event from her camera. Immediately, you called her name.

“Mina.” Her eyes snapped up, flustered as if she was caught doing something naughty. You smiled, offering a peace sign in her direction. “At least get my good side, please.” Her nervous frown tilted up a bit, nodding as she angled her camera. Seungkwan pushed through, offering to guide the both of you through the rest of the song as you continued to laugh uncontrollably.

As the song came to an end, you plopped yourself down in between Joshua and Mingyu, taking a second to catch your breath. Joshua gripped his water, his instinct saying to pass it over. However, he stopped himself when Mingyu handed you one first, earning a quick thank you as you took a sip of it. Joshua smiled a bit. That smile quickly ended, however, when you turned to him.

“Your turn.” You beamed. Joshua’s confused gaze was matched by Jeonghan’s, but you only smiled more, repeating: “You’re turn.”

“…What?” They asked.

Not wanting to go for third time being the charm, you simply motioned to the make-shift stage in front of them. “I had to do it. Now let’s see what you got.” The entire group start cheering their names, some of it being slurred together amongst one another the more they drank. Joshua and Jeonghan shared a glance.

“No.” they said. A pout which seemed to only alter Joshua’s expression formed on your face.

“Please.” You said. You took another sip of your drink, stumbling behind them. With a gentle – at least you thought it was – push up to the front, the both of them looked around at their small, and very drunk audience. “It’ll be fun!”

“Go Shua-Hyung! Go Jeonghan-Hyung!” Hoshi cheered. Seungkwan immediately began the chant, and Mingyu was not far behind. The both of them looked at Jihoon, who had an amused grin on his face as he motioned to them to start.

“Can we play a ballad at least?” Joshua asked. Minnie snorted. “I think we’re more vocally suited to a-.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” She asked. “No way. Play something that has a lot of ass-shaking.”

“WHAT?!” Both angels shouted among the sound of cackling hyenas around them.

“Play something everyone knows. You two should know some popular music, right?” You said. Grabbing Seungkwan’s phone, the one who controlled the music, you skimmed through the options until you finally landed on a pretty well-known pop song. As it began playing, Mingyu scoffed.

“Seungkwan do you only have girl groups on your playlist?”

“AND WHAT IF I DO?!” Seungkwan laughed as he got out of his seat, playfully waving a threatening fist. Mingyu laughed more, amused by Seungkwan’s drunken attempts to be threatening, before everyone turned to the duo. Hoshi sat Seungkwan back down, a deep belly laugh behind the rim of his half-empty bottle. Joshua and Jeonghan looked at one another, Jeonghan shrugging.

“Come on. You guys did so good at karaoke last time!” Minnie called. Jihoon’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the comment.

“Karaoke?” He called.

“Don’t ask.” Jeonghan begged, but Jihoon only laughed. Finally, the chorus dropped, and Joshua once again completely straight face, began busting a very dramatic move that in no way matched to the beat of the song. Jeonghan tried to copy his movements, though with not nearly enough gusto, and he immediately turned his head, covering his mouth at his friend’s antics. The entire porch once again roared in laughter at the sight before them. Jihoon clapped his hands, amused at the sight before him.

You immediately turned to Jihoon, grinning. “You’re next, Jihoon!” you said.

Jihoon caught sight of Hoshi looking in his direction as you called out to him. He scoffed, shaking his head.

“No thanks.” he said. However, he had no intention of giving in to your pout. It did not faze him in the slightest. It was the grin in his peripheral that he couldn’t bear to look at.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶So Close Yet So Far🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

The sun was long asleep, the moon taking its place for hours when you all finally decided it was time to go to sleep yourselves. As everyone made their way inside, their bellies full and their heads swimming, you rested back on the couch outside, looking up at the night sky. The stars were splattered paint drops across the sky, your eyes trying to find the different constellations that were painted because of their perfect placement. It was hard when you were still pretty drunk, and starting to fall asleep. The sound of your name caused you to tilt your head, seeing a blurry figure beside you. It was Josuha, smiling in amusement.

“You’re not sleeping out here, are you?”

“Mmm, no I don’t think so.” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I’m hoping to sober up before going to bed.”

“Ah.” Joshua sat down beside you. “I’ll wait with you then.”

Your eyes were already closing as sleep threatened you. “Okay.” You looked back up at the sky, letting out a deep sigh.

Joshua leaned forward, poking you in the cheek like the button on the back of a toy, the sound being a string of gargled giggles. It made Joshua smile. “Are you still drunk?”

Another giggle alerted Joshua to the answer. Maybe it was also the half-closed eyes as you spoke to the blurry figure beside you. Joshua figured he had to keep talking to keep you awake. “I had fun today.” Joshua said. You nodded; eyes half-lidded. “We keep each other entertained back home in similar ways. I think Jeonghan and I overdid it too much though. Hence why we’re here…” When he did not get a response, he looked over to you again. Immediately he saw your eyes closed as you rested your head in your hand. Joshua watched patiently as your chest rose and fell with every gentle breath you took. He reached forward, steadying you just when your body squirmed a bit in its spot. Brushing some hair behind your ear, he sat his back against the couch again. The nighttime sounds of leaves rustling in the summer breeze seemed to match in harmony with your soft, slightly staggered breathing after a while. Joshua continued to study your sleeping form, your hair strands almost getting whisked away in the breeze but you were to drunk and asleep to care. “You really are causing me a lot of trouble, hm?” he mumbled to himself, turning his body to face you completely. “I didn’t expect this…”

A sudden groan from your throat made Joshua’s blood run cold, eyes wide. Like a deer in headlights, he waited still as a few more gurgles rumbled through your mouth. It was as if your body was deciding if it wanted to wake up right now. Deciding it should, your eyes fluttered open, tucked away behind heavy eyelids and thick lashes. You still looked drunk, despite your small nap. “Hey.” He said softly, reaching out to put a hand on your arm. “We should get you to sleep…”

“Mhm…” you mumbled. You saw the figure before you rise from his seat, and your breath caught in your throat, his touch on your arm slowly slipping away. “Wait.” he stopped when you reached out, entangling his fingers in yours. Despite still feeling tipsy, you managed to slur out: “Will you forget about me when you leave?” Joshua looked in your direction, confused. Your eyes were shaky, but they stared directly at Joshua with each word that left your lips.

“Huh?” he managed to choke out, though it was forced.

“You do so much for me all the time. What will I do when you leave?”

A soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Joshua assured. “The point is for me to leave.”

Your brows furrowed. “Point? No. The point is to stay here with me. That’s what I want…I won’t ever see you again if you leave. Promise you won’t….”

Joshua smiled, sitting back at your side. He could feel the warmth of your fingers intertwined with his like a little spider’s web, leaving him trapped at your side for the time being. “If you keep talking like that, you’re going to make me not want to leave.” The minute that left his mouth, he bit his tongue, mentally cursing himself. You looked over at him, a lopsided smile forming on your face.

“You won’t leave?” You asked. Joshua blinked. He was confused by the entire situation, quiet until he figured out the right thing to say. Your eyes were still slightly half-lidded as you tried your best to turn your entire body towards him. When your body swayed like it was on a boat, Joshua reached out and grabbed your shoulders, steadying you. He blinked, watching as your head lolled around for a second before finally looking up in his direction. Despite having those glossy eyes filled with tired drunkenness, he couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed.

Come back to us. He heard Seungcheol’s voice in the back of his head.

If Hyung says he won’t do anything, then he won’t. Seokmin’s eager optimism pierced his ears like daggers.

“We should get you to bed.” He sputtered quickly, reverting back to his original statement. You nodded, taking hold of his arms gently. Joshua fought his feelings of embarrassment as he helped you stand up. You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his torso. “Eh, uh. Wait a minute. What are you-?”

“When are you going to finally tell me you love me?”

Joshua’s eyes widened. “Wha-?”

“Because I totally feel the same.” You jerked your neck up towards Joshua, a drunken grin still on your face. The both of you stood in silence for what felt like eons. Joshua stammered for something to say, his cheeks flushing a dark red he had no idea he could even experience. Your hands reached from their spot on his back, pressing his cheeks together like playdoh and causing his lips to pucker out just a bit. “Totally.”

The two of you stood there for another silent minute. Joshua eyed you, wondering if you could feel how hot his cheeks were getting with your hands stuck to him like glue. When the door behind them opened, Joshua sighed in relief. An angel had come to save him.

Well, an angel came, but when Joshua saw Jeonghan walk to his side, his expression showed he was probably in more danger now that he was a few seconds ago. His friend didn’t even look at him beyond a very disapproving look, before reaching out and gently taking you into his arms.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Jeonghan cooed softly. You groaned in annoyance as Jeonghan took you from Joshua’s grasp. Jeonghan rubbed your arm. “You’re going to end up with the worst hangover. I have water for you.”

“Alright, fine.” You said, taking the bottle that was offered to you. You looked over at Joshua once more, smiling. “Night, Mingyu. I had fun today.” You said. Joshua blinked.

“What?” Joshua looked at you as you were led inside the house by Jeonghan, who made sure to tell you that was not in fact Mingyu, but Joshua. As Joshua walked towards the door, he heard you gasp in shock.

“Oh. I think I just confessed my love to him then.” Joshua heard Jeonghan laugh a bit, the nervousness in his voice obvious.

“That’s great practice for the real thing, then.” He assured, before the both of you disappeared up the stairs. Joshua closed the screen door, a very labored and stressed breath escaping his lips. He ran his hand in his hair, tangling it in the strands as he paced the kitchen. Just then, he heard a voice from the large kitchen table.

“That was almost romantic.” When he looked over, he saw Jihoon stand up from the table, crossing his arms. “If it wasn’t the most stupid fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Joshua scoffed, shaking his head. “Mind your business, please.” He demanded.

“Then don’t have your little love confession on a balcony in front of a window, dummy.” He sneered. Joshua groaned, leaving the conversation before it continue as he walked away. Jihoon crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Idiot…”

Jeonghan helped you into your bed, pulling the comforter to allow you room to crawl inside. As you nestled into the sheets, feeling the comforter overtake you, you looked at him. You were still half-awake, rubbing your eyes. “Did I just tell Joshua I loved him for real?”

Jeonghan looked at you. “Maybe.” He said softly. “Don’t worry about it, okay? He knows you meant it for Mingyu.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t want to make him upset with me.” You said. Jeonghan smiled softly, lying you down and covering you.

"He’s not.”

“Okay. Thanks for being so good to me.” You hummed, nestling into your pillow.

“Of course.” He said. “Now, get some sleep. Snap if you need anything.”

“How do I do that, again?” you asked, setting your hand beside your head and pressing your thumb and index finger together. Jeonghan laughed a bit, taking your hand and setting it back under the blanket. Your eyes fluttered closed after a few moments, and Jeonghan quietly tiptoed out, closing your door just enough not to disturb you. Once alone, a groan of annoyance slipped passed his lips.

“Perfect. This is perfect.” As if on cue, Joshua headed up the steps, the duo looking at one another in silence. Jeonghan sighed. “Jisoo-.”

“Don’t start. I didn’t say anything.” He said. “She thought I was Mingyu.”

“You’re lucky.” A pause, before Jeonghan finally asked. “When did this whole thing start?”

Joshua went silent for a moment. His mind fell back to everything about you. The stunned expression you gave him bundled in your covers when you both first met, the way you smiled when he offered you banana milk. The way you listened behind drying tears as he comforted you with stories of America. The way you curled into his chest as you sobbed in the cafe, as if only he could be the one to squeeze the worries out of you completely. But, though he wasn’t, the feelings never left. “I really don’t know how this happened.” he said softly.

Sensing Joshua’s sincerity, Jeonghan’s furrowed brows softened. “Well. You got lucky. Anyways, I’m going to bed. Babysitting a handful of drunk college students feels like I’ve been sent to the first layer of hell.” Joshua forced a laugh as the both of them headed to their room, hoping to put the entire night behind them.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶So Close Yet So Far🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

The next morning, Hoshi staggered out of bed. His head was pounding a bit, and he groaned Morning was just trickling in behind the pulled curtains, only beginning to worsen his headache. “Ugh. Coffee.” He grumbled to himself as he headed down the stairs. It seemed most of the house was still asleep, the sound of deep snores emanating from each room he passed by. Only the sound of his footsteps was enough to overpower that noise, as he made no attempt to quiet them. As Hoshi turned into the kitchen, however, coffee immediately filled his nose. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, before he looked ahead to see Woozi standing at the oven. It seemed he was flipping some pancakes, unaware that anyone was entering until he heard footsteps. When he looked over, Woozi blinked. His hair was tugged up into a little mini bun.

“Good morning.” He said.

Hoshi offered a hesitant “…Morning.” He walked into the kitchen, turning to the fridge and quickly opening it. He crouched down, scanning the contents. The cold air from the fridge blew on his face, but despite it, he refused to close the door. Woozi was behind it, and he didn’t want to look at him right now. Footsteps were heard, but Hoshi refused to close the door. When he heard a cough, he turned his head, and Woozi was standing right there.

“Can I get the milk? Coffee is almost done.” Hoshi grabbed the handle, handing it to him with a brief ‘thank you’. Woozi simply walked back to the pot, setting the milk down beside it. “Hungry? These are almost done and I don’t know if anyone else if going to wake up in this century.”

“No, I’m okay.” Hoshi said softly, finally standing up and closing the fridge door. Woozi chewed on his lower lip, nodding his head. “I’m going to sit outside.” Without another word, Hoshi made his way to the balcony. Woozi stared at the pancakes sizzling under him for a second, listening as the footsteps behind him staggered towards the back door. When he looked over again, he finally spoke up.

“Hoshi.” Hoshi stopped, gripping the wall. He looked over his shoulder at the black-haired man in the kitchen. After a moment of trying to find the right words to say, Woozi sighed. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could force out.

Hoshi’s eyes seemed to squint a bit, as if he was going to hold back tears. He didn’t reply right away, he didn’t smile. Woozi, in that moment, wanted to curl up and die. He wished he was dragged to hell on that fateful day, it would have been a more merciful end to him than being left to wonder the same earth as him.

Hoshi opened the door and stepped out, only muttering a distant: “Okay.”

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mysticstronomy · 11 months

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IS THE UNIVERSE A QUANTUM FLUCTUATION??

Blog#301

Wednesday, May 31st, 2023

Welcome back,

Can science figure out how the Universe came to be? The Big Bang model, as developed by George Gamow, Ralph Alpher, and Robert Herman, reconstructed the history of the Universe from about one ten-thousandth of a second after the “bang,” all the way to the formation of the first hydrogen atoms and the decoupling of photons when the Universe was about 400,000 years old. That last process gave rise to the cosmic microwave background radiation, which was discovered in 1965.

In its infancy, the Universe was filled with a primordial soup of elementary particles and radiation, all furiously colliding. This picture of the early Universe has been amazingly successful, prompting physicists to push their models as far back in time as they might reach. But how far can they reach? How close to the very origin can scientific models arrive? Could they go all the way to t = 0, the beginning of everything? Or does the notion of time passing lose its meaning as we approach the origin?

This is an old problem, one philosophy sometimes calls the First Cause. If there really is an abrupt beginning of everything, a Universe that becomes itself at some point in the past, it must be due to an uncaused cause — a cause that cannot be preceded by anything else. Any model for the origin of the Universe uses established physical laws and places them within the conceptual framework of physics. Science cannot avoid using something to describe things, and this something presumes the existence of a material substrate.

In other words, to see something hatch, we need to start with an egg, and the question is where this egg comes from. It is easy to fall into an endless regression, a problem famously expressed as “turtles all the way down.”

origin of the Universe does not address the question of why this Universe operates the way it does. Science certainly provides many answers to the workings of nature, but we should not lose sight of its limitations. The question of why there is something rather than nothing should inspire us all to humility.

Mathematically, extrapolating any of the traditional cosmological models to time t = 0 leads to what we call a singularity. Matter density becomes infinite, the curvature of spacetime becomes infinite, and the distance between any two observers goes to zero. Disturbing as this may sound, the existence of a singularity is not to be taken too seriously. It signals the breakdown of general relativity, and of physics as we know it, at the extreme conditions that prevailed during the very first moments of the Universe’s existence.

In essence, the singularity signals our ignorance of physics at these very high energy scales. Something else is needed here, and ideas abound.

The most promising among them call for a blend of general relativity and quantum mechanics.

The most dramatic effect from quantum mechanics is an intrinsic fuzziness of matter that manifests itself at atomic and subatomic distances. Close to the Big Bang singularity, the whole geometry of the Universe is to be treated by quantum mechanics, and as such, the very concepts of space and time become blurry. It may be that quantum mechanics will blunt the sharpness of the singularity by making it fuzzy.

There have been many attempts to marry Einstein’s general relativity with quantum mechanics, but so far their promise far outpaces their success. Some of the best minds in theoretical physics are at this moment very busy trying to make this marriage work. As all authors working in this field should agree, any claim to understand physical conditions near the singularity must be met with substantial skepticism. Yet we push forward. We must try to obtain at least some information about the peculiar physics that dominated the beginnings of the Universe.

In 1973, Edward Tryon, then at Columbia University, proposed a pioneering idea of how to apply quantum mechanics to the beginning of the Universe. Tryon suggested that quantum fuzziness does not only occur when measuring positions and velocities, but also applies to measurements of energy and time. In the world of the very small, it is possible to violate the law of conservation of energy for very short times, Tryon proposed, even if the net energy of the Universe is zero.

This is not as crazy as it seems. Think of a billiard ball lying quietly on the ground. If it is not moving, it has no kinetic energy. If we measure gravitational potential energy from the ground up, it also has no potential energy. The ball rests at a zero-energy state. Now turn the ball into an electron. According to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, we cannot localize an electron and tell its velocity simultaneously. The fuzziness inherent in the electron prohibits that.

Thus, in quantum mechanics, there is no zero-energy state. There is only the lowest possible energy state of a system, its ground state. Now, if there is an inherent uncertainty in the energy of a system, then the energy of the ground state can fluctuate. If we call this ground state a quantum vacuum, it follows that the quantum vacuum always has some structure to it. There is no such thing as a true vacuum in the sense of complete emptiness. Quantum mechanics forbids nothingness.

Originally published on bigthink.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, June 3rd, 2023)

"DOES MASS INCREASE WHEN NEARING THE SPEED OF LIGHT??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #spacecraft #universe #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography

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writing-for-marvel · 2 years

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It Started With A Smile (2)

[Bridgerton AU]

< < PART 1 | Series Masterlist

Duke!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: At the start of the new social season, Lady Whistledown predicts this will finally be the year solitary Duke James Barnes finds a wife. After a chance meeting at Lady Danbury’s ball, can you and the Duke overcome all obstacles thrown in your path by his scandalous past and your overbearing mother insistent against your match?

Warnings: strictly 18+, TRIGGER WARNING: threat of non-con/SA but Bucky comes to the rescue, reader has a physical altercation with someone but is not injured - if these themes upset you please do not read this fic! Also includes - violence (someone gets punched), mention of scars, homophobia (not from Bucky or reader), angst, is set in a different AU to the show so no direct spoilers, historical inaccuracy, slight age gap is implied although exact ages are never mentioned (everyone is over 18)

Word count: 10.6k

A/N: it’s finally here! Thank you so much for everyone who read part one & wanted to see more of this AU, and was patient while I wrote it, I hope I haven’t disappointed! Big shoutout to @blackwidownat2814 and @mellifluousmusings who offered ideas which shaped this part, and to @rookthorne who had to listen to me continuously rant about this fic (thank you for putting up with me)

Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboards by me

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Dearest Readers,

Now the dust has settled from the dawn of this year's social season, you might be pondering the question ‘where to from here?’

The answer to that is a simple one - the Queen’s diamond, Lady Dorothy Fitzgerald, will be hosting our most eligible bachelors and ladies at her family’s countryside manor for the coming week.

The combination of the Queen’s hasty, prejudicial crowning of diamond and title of hostess will have the soft-spoken Lady at the top of all single gentlemen’s ‘most desirable’ lists.

All except one.

It seems as though after dancing again at the Queen’s ball, the Duke of Brooklyn has his sights firmly set elsewhere - our rare, ravishing flower, who this author still proclaims as the most exquisite and elegant of all debutantes.

Will the Duke’s abrupt return to court also coincide with our first wedding of the season? If the way those two love birds gaze at each other is any indication, a marriage proposal will be imminent.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

Tears streamed in rivers over the apples of your cheeks and dripped upon the pillow you were clutching onto for dear life. Rays of warm spring sun shone brightly through the curtained windows of your bed chambers indicating the start of a new day, yet you were in no temperament for rising to get dressed and making your way downstairs for breakfast as was your usual routine.

Your mothers harsh words from the night before, as you arrived home from the Queen’s ball, echoed through your mind as you grasped your sheets tighter around your chin.

“You are not to speak or dance or see that man again, do you understand me?” You had never heard your mother’s voice so loud and full of rage. “Stay as far away from the Duke as possible at every gathering for the rest of the season!”

“Mama none of the other gentlemen interest me. They are all pompous, entitled and have treated me as if my only role in life is to give him a son to carry on his family's name.”

“That is your role in life!” Your mother snapped, her thundering voice rattling the walls of your old home.

You could only stare agape at her as she swallowed and composed herself, the facade of the agreeable Dowager Baroness restored as if she had not screamed at you a mere five seconds ago.

“I am only trying to do what is best for your future, and you are making it so difficult.” Your mother shook her head indignantly as a couple of the maids scurried behind her through the entrance hall to avoid being subjected to her irate temper. “You are not old enough to know what is good for you.”

“So I am old enough to get married and bear a child, but not to know what is best for me? Does that not seem like a contradiction to you?” You tried to reason, but all you received in return was a glare which declared ‘do not talk back to me’.

Your mother pinched the bridge of her nose as if she were developing a headache.

“If you are that objectionable to taking a husband, then so be it. I will make it so you do not interact with any men of the court, including your precious Duke.”

Your mama proceeded to send you to your room, as if you were a mischievous child, with the promise of withdrawing you from the social season entirely, and forbidding you from interacting with either the Duke of Brooklyn or his sister ever again.

A part of you had enjoyed the thrill of disobeying your mother, who dictated every moment of your life, however, you had not so much as intended to be rebellious as you had been drawn to the Duke like you were in a trance. And you certainly had not anticipated your mother, who had been so desperate in finding you a match prior to the season, extracting you from it altogether after only two soirées.

But instead of grovelling back to her as you were sure she was expecting, you decided to stay up in your room daydreaming about dancing with James, how your chest heated and heartbeat quickened at your proximity to him, and tried to recall the exact shade of blue of his eyes, rather than contemplating that your dance with him the night before would be your last.

However, a consequence of staying locked away in your room all morning was that the large bouquet of azaleas, which were addressed to you, was intercepted by your mother who instructed for them to be tossed in the rubbish before you could know of their existence, having glimpsed the personally signed note accompanying them and knowing full well that the affectionate nickname ‘Bucky’ indicated it was the scandalous Duke who sent them.

Across town, in a distinctly larger, wealthier home but which was more desolate than your own, the Duke of Brooklyn was waking up from the most peaceful sleep of his adult life. His dreams were exclusively filled with images of you, from intimately dancing together at an indistinct ball, to carnal activities performed in the very bed he slept that night.

Bucky had not experienced such thoughts, nor vivid dreams, since the first time he believed he had fallen in love. That affair, and the repercussions he faced from the ton after its demise, were memories Bucky actively suppressed, but his mind could not ignore now that he could feel himself falling for another member of court.

Looking down at the scars which bestrew the skin of his left limb, Bucky felt a surge of insecurity which rivalled the night his once betrothed first laid eyes on his disfigurement. The same lady who had filled his mind with the notion that he was not worthy of being loved, nor capable of residing over his dukedom, simply because of the way his skin appeared uneven, with grotesque lumps and inflammation he had no control over.

The part of his body he had been taught to loathe since the accident which left his skin in such a state. His parents, when alive, had stressed the importance of covering up, ensuring he had a pair of gloves everywhere he went. That no one must know how repulsive their son truly was.

Because his disfigurement should be considered a weakness. Something to be hidden from the world. Those few who did know his secret had told him so themselves - all except Becca, who had been too young at the time of the event to remember her brother looking any differently.

He had unwisely unveiled his imperfection to the young lady who captured his heart his debut season, only to be met with her complete disgust and prompted the lies spread about him to the ton so her treachery would remain unknown.

Would you react comparably? Would you also leave his heart shattered like glass because you could not bear to witness such ugliness?

Bucky had not experienced any differently, all he had known was disgust directed at his harsh scaring. Nevertheless, there was a small space in his heart that perhaps foolishly refused to believe the person who had so freely invited him to dance in front of the entire court the night prior, despite understanding the ramifications, could be capable of such hate.

He did not need reminding he had only just mended his fragile heart from its first break. Bucky could recall every torturous night where he went to sleep with tear stained cheeks, the self-loathing that settled in the pit of his stomach every time he showed his face in public, and the embarrassment he felt every time the soft silk of his gloves touched the sensitive skin of his maim.

And yet, despite him being highly cautious, he could not help but be drawn in by your kind and alluring smile. He had never felt as alive as when your eyes met his from across the dance floor that first night, and he wanted to chase that feeling for as long as your propinquity provided it.

Though he had every reason to hide away from the gentry in shame and diffidence, one gaze from your dazzling eyes was reason enough to be pulled back into the vexing politics of court.

That, however, would have to wait, as he had not received an invitation to the Fitzgerald’s country home as the rest of the peerage. All he hoped was you did not take his absence for the week as disinterest, and that the flowers which should be arriving at your home that morning would make his intentions perfectly clear.

The following week was pure torture.

Your mother declined your invitation to Lady Fitzgerald’s countryside manor on your behalf, and instead locked you away from society with the excuse that you were ill as punishment for your actions at the Queen’s ball.

Though having a reprieve from the conversations with ghastly gentlemen whose only intention was to use you as means to bear children, the knowledge that all other eligible men and debutantes were free to drink, dance, and be merry, had envy bubbling in your stomach.

Mostly, you longed for the company of Duke James and how his charmingly crooked smile brought a sense of comfort to the ever present worry concerning your future your mother instilled in you.

You had simply never felt so alone and isolated in your entire life.

It was not until the day following the gentry’s return to London from their extended stay at Fitzgerald manor that your mother finally relented on your banishment from the ton. One of your lady’s maids burst through your door at sunrise, waking you from a restless sleep, with instruction from your mother to dress you in your finest formal daywear.

By the time you were bathed and your lady’s maid had secured your corset so tight you could not take a deep breath without tearing the seams, you could hear thudding footsteps and foreign voices echoing from downstairs.

Reluctantly descending the staircase, you followed the sound of voices to the parlour. You plastered on your best feigned smile before entering the room, knowing the only possibility of seeing Duke James again was if your mother lifted your banishment completely, and that would only occur if you were overly agreeable to whomever was waiting beyond the parlour doors.

Setting foot in the room, your attention was immediately caught by two gentlemen standing tall and proud beside your mother. They were busy making polite conversation until the man with blonde hair, who you recognised as Viscount John Walker, a man who was the same age as you and whose family home was just down the street, noticed you in the doorway.

Excusing himself, he took large strides to greet you where you stood.

“My Lady,” the Viscount bowed before you, taking your hand and placing a soft kiss to the back of it, before rising again, “it is lovely to see you again. What a fine woman you have grown up to be.”

Your mind flashed to the night a mere week ago, the last time a gentleman kissed your hand. The spark which passed between you when the Duke’s hand took yours, even through the material of two gloves, was nothing in comparison to the uneasiness prickling up your arm when Viscount Walker performed the same action.

You gave the Viscount a taut, yet polite smile, and dropped into a small curtsy, only because it was customary.

“It is my pleasure to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Baron Brock Rumlow.” The Viscount announced, motioning to the shorter, dark haired man over by the other side of the room. “We frequent the same country club, he is an excellent pall mall player. Perhaps you would be so kind to join us for a game one day.”

The offer did not sound at all appealing, though you knew giving voice to your distaste in front of your mother would be foolish, so instead you provided a politely vague response with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Though you directed your response to the Viscount, it was the beady eyes of Baron Rumlow which made you feel unsettled. Even from across the room, there was a sinful quality to how he observed you - a wicked glint in his eyes as his gaze roamed your frame, as if he were paying far too much attention to how wide your hips were and if they would be deemed suitable for childbearing.

You could not quite explain it, but being under this man’s gaze made the hair on your arms stand on end, and though you were freshly bathed, you felt as though you needed to wash his stare off yourself.

Looking over at your mother, her gleeful smile in response to seeing you interact with eligible gentlemen who clearly were not the scandalous Duke made you believe she was either completely oblivious to how ill at ease you felt in their presence, or did not care.

Your suspicions were confirmed when she invited the two men to take a seat in the parlour as morning tea was served.

Throughout the conversation you spent all your energy attempting not to roll your eyes. The focus remained on your marriage prospects and how as the daughter of a Baron you should be flattered to be courted by a man with a standing as high as a Viscount.

That notion only reinforced your repugnance of the man who you knew had an overly strong sense of self-importance from a young age, and from whispers between maids, you believed to have had affairs with half the servants working in his estate.

Certainly not the type of man you had dreamed of spending your life and raising children with.

You were all too eager to take your leave of the two men once morning tea concluded, though the intense urge to strangle your mother surged as she promised you would reserve a dance for both men at the Bridgerton ball the following evening, without consulting you.

All she desired was to marry you off to a high ranking gentleman who was wealthy enough to provide for you for the rest of your life, especially with the recent passing of your father. That’s what every mother coveted for their daughter.

However, you did not want to settle for a life with a man whom you could barely tolerate, when there was a possibility of a life filled with tenderness and intimacy with a man whom you could see yourself falling in love with.

You did not want to continue the cycle of political marriages in your family as your parents had done, who had scarcely tolerated being in the same room as one another, only long enough to sire a single heir.

Bidding farewell to the Viscount and the Baron, you could only pray that both of them caught ill before the ball the following night so you would not have to fulfil your mama’s pledge.

Your mother overturned your removal from the social season the next morning, with the assurance that if you were seen associating with the Duke of Brooklyn again, she would make the exile a permanent arrangement.

Ominous dark storm clouds threatened overhead as your carriage approached the Bridgerton estate, in what you believed to be a sign for how this night was to unfold.

However, inside the Bridgerton ballroom looked glorious and vibrant, every archway and window adorned with blooming pink roses giving the entire estate a sweet, floral perfume.

You were fully prepared to be disappointed by your return to court - condemnatory stares from critical mama’s and being disregarded by eligible gentlemen due to your association with the scandalous Duke. However, you were surprised to find the gentry had seemingly forgotten the reasoning for their reproachful comments directed at you during the Queen’s ball.

A week and a half was clearly a long time in the frantic and dramatic social season. It appeared other rumours and transgressions were at the forefront of the gentry’s mind, your actions slipping through the cracks of their limited memories.

The sparkling deep blue eyes of Duke James were what drew your attention first as he entered the ballroom accompanying his sister. He was far more handsome in person than the recollection in your dreams. With high cheekbones and a strong jaw, he looked a powerful force to be reckoned with, but when he bid adieu to Becca who scampered off into the crowd, his features softened into an alluring lopsided smile that made your stomach clench with nerves.

He was maddeningly beautiful. And though you knew he was forbidden, every cell in your body yearned for him.

Scolding yourself for being tempted by the charming Duke so early in the night, your body not putting up any defence to your desire for him, you turned away before he could catch you staring.

“My Lady,” you heard from a familiar voice and your body tensed in response, “could I take up your offer of a dance?” Turning around with a feigned smile, the irksome Viscount John Walker entered your view, with a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Knowing that a lady of your standing could not refuse a dance with a Viscount, especially one your mother had promised, regardless of how averse you were to being in near proximity to him, you accepted his offer through gritted teeth.

Although your chest felt lighter at being in the centre of the room without the despising stares and whispers synonymous with having the scandalous Duke as a dance partner, there was also a desolate pit in your stomach at knowing you were not able to dance with the man who made your heart quicken and stomach churn with butterflies.

As the Duke entered your mind again, your eyes instinctively searched for him in the crowded room, only to find him already staring at you. Music started as the Viscount led you around the room, however, your eyes never left James’.

Though you never had anyone romantically interested in you to the extent of actually being envious of your interactions with another man, the vexed expression overtaking Duke James’ face as he watched you glide around the room with the Viscount was what you imagined jealousy to resemble.

You could feel the Duke’s gaze on you even once the dance came to an end and the Viscount let go of your waist, bowing and bidding you farewell as he navigated the room to find another debutant to coerce into a dance. Unlike when you caught Baron Rumlow ogling at you from across the room, where disquiet settled in your stomach like lead, Duke Barnes' stare made you safe, protected.

It pained you to have to distance yourself from him, your only interaction being stolen glances and swift smiles to one another from opposite ends of the ballroom. However, having experienced a week of solitude locked in your bed chambers, you could say with certainty that even with the torturous distance between you, it was superior to not seeing him altogether.

Later in the evening, after failing to avoid an invitation to dance from Baron Rumlow and excusing yourself from his presence as soon as the music ceased, a striking woman, tall and blonde, wearing a deep green dress which accentuated her sparkling brown eyes, made her way over to you by the edge of the ballroom.

“Here, take this.” The mystery lady whispered after a moment of silence, nudging a scrap of paper into your hands. It appeared she was attempting to be as discreet as possible, but you were positive you did not recognise the woman.

“Apologies, do I know you?” You asked, reluctant to take anything into your possession from a lady whom you did not know the name nor title of.

She gave you an earnest smile before responding, though she did not directly answer your question.

“Bucky sent me.”

“I think you have the wrong person.” You remarked, confused as to who she could possibly be referring to. Pushing the paper back into her hand, prepared to disregard whatever nefarious activities she was involved in, the lady caught your arm preventing you from stepping away from her.

“I am referring to the Duke of Brooklyn.” She inclined her head towards the entry doors where the dashing Duke stood, carefully watching your interaction. When your eyes met his, he flashed a soft, reassuring smile which settled all anxieties fluttering in your stomach. “His family call him Bucky.”

“You are related to him?” It seemed a fairly innocent question, however the blonde chuckled in response.

“No, we are not blood. My name is Lady Carol Danvers, I am a friend of Becca. I was sent as a messenger to deliver this.” This time when she placed the paper in your hand, she did not have to force you to take possession of it.

Hastily unfolding the slip of paper, you eagerly read the handwritten note twice over before beaming at James across the room, his eyes seemingly never once leaving you as you scanned the message.

My dearest,

It is agony having to stand idle by as other men get the honour of dancing with you tonight. I must admit I am resentful of those men as they are in a position I crave to be - beside you.

I understand your mother must highly disapprove of any connection to me, and I therefore cannot find it in myself to be vexed with you at keeping your distance.

Though our time together was brief, it is something I fondly reflect back to and has only increased my desire to spend more time in your company.

However, in lieu of being able to converse in the traditional sense, may I suggest we instead do so in writing?

Keenly awaiting your reply.

Sincerely,

Your Bucky

Your heart momentarily faltered in your chest at reading how he signed off the letter. Not the Duke of Brooklyn. Not James. Not simply Bucky. But your Bucky.

Carol elbowed you with enough force to swiftly pull your attention from the Duke and instead to the sharp pain in your side. You were about to chide her for being so forceful, however, she had already opened her mouth to speak.

“Do not make it appear so obvious.” She said in a low voice, pulling you by your upper arm through the crowd of the peerage and out into a small courtyard, Carol inspecting your surroundings to ensure you were truly alone before speaking again. “Surely you do not want your mother, let alone Lady Whistledown, gaining knowledge that the Duke is secretly conversing with you?” She questioned with a hint of playfulness in her voice.

You had become too excited by receiving Bucky’s letter and the prospect of continuing to become acquainted with him to think properly about keeping conspicuous.

Pulling a small quill out from its hiding space in her glove, and a small pot of ink from behind a flower pot situated on the courtyard railing, which made you ponder how premeditated this exchange of letters actually was, Carol shot you an unabashed smile as she handed it to you, informing you that if you wrote on the other side of the paper, she could deliver it back to Bucky.

Though you wanted to keep the note, and cherish his words by reading them over and over again, your desire to provide him a reply was stronger.

You felt slightly embarrassed writing a personal note under the gaze of a lady whom you did not know, however, after a moment to think about what you wanted to convey, you penned heartfelt words concerning your fierce wish to become acquainted with him via this furtive means.

Addressing the message to my darling Bucky, and signing off affectionately yours, you folded the scrap of paper in half in an attempt to conceal the private message from Carol’s eyes and handed her the note.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“You are very welcome. There is not much I would not do to secure the happiness of Becca Barnes and her brother.” The radiating smile blooming on her face made it impossible to disbelieve her. “Wait here for a few minutes after I rejoin the party - it will appear less suspicious.”

You watched Carol skip through the doors back into the ballroom. The thrill of attempting to deceive your mother and Lady Whistledown, as well as your gaiety at conferring once again with the Duke, caused your heart to thump rapidly in your chest as you waited to enter the Bridgerton ballroom.

Though you understood it may eventually be the source of your excruciating heartbreak, you now believed that a happily ever after with Bucky was not entirely out of reach.

Dearest Readers,

Whispers concerning our blossoming debutante have been propagating around the ton after last night’s ball, reporting that the contest for her heart may no longer be simply a one man race.

After neither attended Lady Fitzgerald’s country manor for the week, it seems as though our love birds have fallen out of favour, with the debutante instead dancing with both Viscount John Walker and Baron Brock Rumlow in lieu of the Duke of Brooklyn at the Bridgerton Ball yestereve.

Though his title may suggest otherwise, the Duke’s scandalous past means our rare jewel has the upper hand over him in the game of the marriage mart.

If the notorious miscreant is to truly win her heart, then he must no longer be timorous concerning his intentions for her, as he may lose out to a man prepared to offer her the security of marriage.

I have not yet lost hope for our match of the season, but His Grace must understand that a lady will not wait evermore without the promise of a ring.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

Bucky slyly smiled as Becca read aloud the latest edition of Lady Whistledown’s society papers. If you both could fool the mysterious lady who managed to know the deepest darkest secrets of every member of the gentry, there was surely no way your mother could know about your confidential means of communicating at last night’s ball.

Becca looked about as happy as Bucky felt, if not more, and he knew that she was elated that the papers did not mention her proximity to Carol as even remotely suspicious.

Though it seemed obvious to him that the twinkle in Becca’s eye when she glanced at Carol indicated her affection for the blonde ran much deeper than friendship, he suspected it was only due to him knowing her so well. In this society, two women would have to be caught with their tongues in each other’s mouths before anyone would suspect romantic feelings instead of pure friendship.

“You are very chipper this morning.” Bucky chuckled as a blush crept over Becca’s freckled cheeks.

“So are you.” Becca returned, not meeting his eye and attempting to hide her flushed face behind Lady Whistledown’s papers. That was the moment Bucky knew Becca had already fallen in deep. His sister, who was always brazen in providing her opinion and the most confident, shameless person he ever met, had been reduced to a shy girl with a crush.

“I have a feeling it’s for the same reason miss ‘besotted with Lady Carol’.” That earned him a spoonful of eggs flung from Becca’s spoon.

Bucky’s teasing of Becca continued throughout the rest of the week, and by the time of the next ball she was no longer bashful in throwing her own teases back at him, as any younger sibling should.

Though on one hand Bucky was cautious about any interaction he had with you, regardless of if that were on paper, as he knew that any association with him now would mean an immediate end to your social season - on the other hand Bucky could not resist in continuing to write you countless letters. Learning anything new about you, sharing memories with you about how he and Becca grew up, and bonding over your favourite stories to read and topics to learn about was far too enticing for him to cease so soon.

Though he could not help the pang of jealousy in his chest whenever he was forced to watch on as you were asked to dance by another gentleman of the gentry, especially when Viscount Walker or Baron Rumlow were the men leading you around the ballroom, every time he had the pleasure of reading your own handwriting in a private letter meant only for his eyes, his heart softened.

Bucky had never formed an attachment so quickly, nor deeply with anyone else before, even his past betrothed, and though the threats to your reputation were vast, you were both willing to take the risk when it allowed you such cherished contact with each other.

This arrangement continued for two weeks. Each of you preparing letters prior to any social function, as well as sneaking in a couple sheets of paper and quills so notes could be passed throughout the evening.

Sending letters to each other via the postal service, so that communication was not limited to only during formal occasions, ensuring the sender was listed as Lady Carol Danvers instead of himself as so your mother would not confiscate them before your opportunity to read.

With the help of Carol you were able to exchange messages during balls without having to be in suspicious proximity to one another. However, Bucky did enjoy those times he was able to watch you from the other side of the ballroom as you clandestinely read his letters. It never failed to bring a smile to his face when you would grin, or even chuckle at something he penned to you. In fact, it was the favourite part of his day, what entered his dreams at night and he longed for every time he entered a ballroom.

That anticipation was what brought him the butterflies fluttering around his stomach as he entered Lord Steven Rogers' ball with Becca by his side, a very important, neatly folded letter nestled in his inside coat pocket beside a family heirloom which he planned on offering you tonight.

Bucky knew he could not wait too long to make his true intentions clear. Your mother had undeniable desires of marrying you off to the first young man willing to bend on one knee, as long as that were not him, and if that were to happen with another gentleman before he himself had the chance, Bucky needed you to know that you could refuse their request as he would be willing to spend the rest of his life with you.

He could feel the desperation deep in his stomach as tenacious nerves.

You were the first person Bucky noticed once he entered the ballroom. Once your eyes found his, a beaming smile overtook your features, and Bucky nearly forgot how to breathe.

He had never doubted that you were the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on, but this moment confirmed his suspicions. Wearing a ravishing dress which complimented your eyes, and drew a venereal heat up his neck, Bucky could not prevent himself from staring.

He could imagine waking up beside you every day for the rest of his life, being the cause of your dazzling smile, which he had been bewitched by since your first encounter, and corrupting your innocence with the pleasures reserved for the sanctity of marriage.

Neither he, nor Becca, wasted time in seeking out Carol once they had given thanks to Lord Rogers for hosting the evening's ball. Carol chuckled and held out her gloved hand before Bucky even had the opportunity to reach for the secured envelope inside his coat. With a shy smile and a swell of nerves, he handed the carefully sealed letter to her.

Carol flashed him an encouraging smile before doing a slow, deliberately deceiving circuit of the ballroom prior to making her way over to you.

Tripping over the end of your dress in haste of receiving the letter, Carol had to catch you from falling head first to her feet. An embarrassed smile curved onto your lips as you dusted the front of your gown and Bucky could not help the chuckle which left his own.

Heat bloomed in his chest, his heart racing to a rapid beat as he watched you and Carol giggle amongst yourselves as you opened the letter. Your answer to the question he posed within the note would have profound ramifications to his future.

He had never wanted something so vastly in his entire life. Not even the last time he thought he was in love. The feelings he held for her were nothing in comparison to the overwhelming adoration, devotion and protectiveness he felt when you so much as entered his mind, let alone were in the same room.

He would not waver in his belief that what he felt for you was true love. Now, all he needed was you to confirm you reciprocated those passions and he would not stop in giving you a life full of tender love. Given your willingness to pursue an association with him thus far, despite knowing the extent of his damaged reputation, he suspected you just might.

Feeling as though nothing in the world could dampen his spirits in this moment, the one voice Bucky did not want to hear sounded from behind him.

“Your Grace, may I have a word?” Bucky turned to find none other than your mother standing behind him, a twinkling mischievousness in her eyes. Her ominous words made him hesitant to enter into conversation, however, her tone indicated she would not take no for an answer.

With a brisk nod, Bucky followed her away from the gossipy conversation and lively music, into an elaborate adjoining room, the walls of which were adorned with beautiful portraits he suspected were ancestors of Lord Rogers.

The heavy embellished door closed behind them, dulling the sound of the resonant music and making him feel as though you were an entire world away even though you were simply in the next room. Once she was certain they were alone, the incensed glare your mother shot him had the shame and disgrace your presence had the power to suppress, firing through every nerve in his body.

“You need to stay away from my daughter, and cease sending her those disgraceful letters! Do not think they have escaped my notice.” Even though he was expecting almost those exact words, Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest.

“I understand you do not fancy the match, but I care very deeply about your daughter, and I believe she may reciprocate those feelings. If she were to have me, I would not hesitate to spend the rest of my life with her.” Bucky counteracted before your mother could announce any further disapproval.

Your mother shook her head disdainfully before starting to speak, looking as though she was choosing her words very carefully.

“Viscount John Walker has agreed to marry my daughter. His mother and I are old friends, and as soon as I give my impending blessing, he will propose.” Bucky’s whole body went numb. The thought of you committing yourself to someone else for the rest of your life, taking their last name and giving yourself completely to them, having someone else’s hands on your body, was enough to drive him mad.

Though he supposed once you found out the reason why he was too ashamed to be in public without the comforting cover of his gloves, it would not be his hands you would want roaming your body regardless.

“They have known each other since childhood. He is a wealthy and honourable man who can give her a life you never could. If you truly care about her as you say you do, you will let her go. Let her marry someone she deserves.”

Bucky had never wanted to frantically explain the true story behind his scandal to anyone more than he did in this very moment, though he knew given the years of vilifying speculation, there was no possibility of your mother believing him.

He decided to take a different approach.

“My Lady, I am well aware that I am not deserving of a lady as beautiful and magnanimous as your daughter, though nor I believe are any of the conniving men of the court for that matter, but I would like to make my intentions perfectly clear: I have a ring and would get down on one knee tonight if she so desired.” Shock mixed with appal on your mothers expression at the words confirming Bucky’s very real prospect of proposing.

Raking her gloved hand down her face, shaking her head and mumbling something that sounded very similar to you foolish man, your mother looked back up at him with a derisive glint in her eye.

“This might persuade you then: I have been watching you and your sister very closely throughout this season, and I now know why she is so set against taking a husband - do not try to deny it, I have seen her with Lady Danvers. I am sure that is a secret you want kept from the rest of the ton, is it not? If you want to save your sister's reputation from the same thrashing yours took, you will tell my daughter that you do not love her and instruct her to marry Lord Walker.” Your mother threatened with a malice Bucky had not heard anyone speak with before.

With one final wrathful scowl, your mother stalked out of the room with her head held high, leaving Bucky alone, numb and paralysed in heartbreak.

Becca was the one person who had stuck by him through all adversities. She was the only person who supported him after his broken engagement, offering a shoulder to cry on and believing that he was not capable of the infidelity he was accused of. She was the only person who knew of his deformed limb and refused to believe it was an ugly flaw that needed to be hidden from the world.

He was her older brother. It was his role to protect her.

Regardless of his romantic prospects or his all-consuming feelings for you, he could not knowingly let his baby sister endure the same hardship he had suffered.

It would not be until he stepped back into the ball that he would set in stone his decision to revoke his intentions to pursue you. Even though he knew he could not remain in this gallery forever, Bucky wanted to delay the pain he knew would inevitably fracture the walls of his heart when you became resentful of his perceived rejection.

For a few minutes he wanted to believe in a fantasy where the two of you could live happily ever after before he would need to return to reality where he would need to sacrifice his own prospects for his sister's reputation.

He should have known this bliss was too good to last. That the world would only want to torture him with the possibility of love before obliterating his heart all over again.

How could he have been naive enough to believe he was worthy of happiness?

Bucky felt for the ring box nestled in his inner coat pocket, letting out a shaky breath in attempts to keep the stinging tears from escaping the confines of his eyes. His mothers ring she had gifted him in her will to give to the woman he loved and treasured with his whole being.

But now, you would never know of it’s existence, nor his intense desire to see it on your hand as his promise to adore you for the rest of his life.

Becca’s contentment and happiness came before all else, no one was going to jeopardise that, especially not himself.

If your childhood friend Viscount Walker was willing to marry you and provide you a comfortable life, in time Bucky could learn to be at peace knowing you were looked after. Living a tranquil life his dishonourable stigma would never allow.

With a deep, steadying breath, and a cough to clear the lump which had formed in his throat, Bucky returned the ball.

You were standing by the corner of the room with Carol, near the entrance to the kitchens so you would have the first pick of the food, when you noticed Bucky walking back into the room.

With a newly written note carefully clutched in her hands so that she would not smudge the ink, Carol gave you a friendly nudge with her hip before skirting around the outside of the room to deliver the letter.

The giddiness that had become synonymous with secretly exchanging notes with your beloved fluttered in your stomach as butterflies. This was potentially the most important letter you had penned - earlier in the night Bucky had asked you in writing whether you were willing to overlook the stain on his reputation and allow him to officially court you, with the intention of marriage. Your response, which was an effortless yes, was currently being delivered to him over the other side of the room.

You watched on with a smile as Carol went to hand over the note, as she had done many times over the past couple weeks, however, this time it was met with Bucky refusing to take possession of the piece of paper. He leaned in, whispered something into her ear, before glancing at you with despair and something of resentment on his face, before striding out of the room without the folded letter, causing your heart to sink through the floorboards.

Carol awkwardly turned on her heel, not quite meeting your eye as she scurried to return to your side, the remorseful expression on her face foretelling the agony which would puncture your chest with the words she would use to confirm your heartbreak.

“He said he does not want to receive letters from you anymore.” She gulped, fiddling with the page in her hand as if she was deciding whether or not to give it back to you. “He said it’s over.”

You had not held a greater hatred of the court and the custom of finding a husband more in your life than the week following Lord Rogers ball. Unaware of what led to Bucky’s change of heart, you were all but powerless to keep the doubtful thoughts at bay and stop them from invading your mind.

The main question the taunting voice in your head kept circling back to was what had you done wrong?

Were you not of a high enough standing for him? He was a Duke after all and you were merely the daughter of a Baron. Was he wanting a lady with a wealthier dowry? Someone who was higher in the order of precedence who would help restore his reputation?

Had you not been explicit in stating the affection you felt towards him? Had someone else caught his eye? Were you not proficient at all the duties which made an acceptable housewife?

If you had been thinking clearly, you would have recalled Bucky never once asked about, nor placed any significance on the qualities the other men of the court usually considered when taking a wife, but in your state of anxiety that detail slipped your mind.

You continued to replay the events of that night over the course of the next few days, looking for any reason behind Bucky’s sudden detachment, but with each rehearsal your recollection of the truth blurred even further, only making you increasingly frustrated.

Though he initially held you at arms length, it seemed to have more to do with him being chivalrous in his attempts to protect your reputation, but this time, you could not ignore the grievance in his gaze which was apparently directed at you.

The following ball, held at the grandeur Stark estate, was your hope of seeking clarification for his sudden indifference, however, you were greatly disappointed to find neither Bucky nor Becca were in attendance. Nor were they at the following three events which concluded the week.

Were you truly that abhorrent that he could not be in the same room as you?

Your mind could not comprehend why someone who seemed to cherish every letter you penned him to the extent that he would retain them in a treasured drawer in his desk, would rescind his courtship so quickly.

This tormenting affliction continued for another week. You found every dress fitting, social event and formal ball entirely futile with the knowledge that Bucky would not be in attendance.

Why were you going to the effort of getting all dressed up, wearing your best clothes and having your hair styled to perfection, when it would only be the pretentious men of the gentry you would be presented in front of?

You were hiding in the corner of the Odinson palace ballroom, in an attempt to evade being asked to join the energetic dancing couples in the centre of the room, when you finally saw him again. Bucky strode into the ballroom with Becca by his side, the blue fitted coat he donned made his steel blue irises shine like stars.

His eyes found yours instinctively. The other attendants, the upbeat music and hum of conversation faded into nothing as you stared at the face of the man you loved.

Comparable to the night you first met, you flashed him a sweet smile from across the room, however this time, you were not met with his dazzling smile but instead with a bitter glare.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you watched Bucky choose to ignore your presence and instead enter into conversation with Lord Rogers as far away as possible from your position in the ballroom.

The man you loved loathed you.

It was as if your lungs and throat filled with thick, sticky tar. Your hand shot to your corset, which was suddenly too tight, squeezing the remaining life out of you which Bucky’s antipathy had not yet eradicated.

Air.

You needed air.

Your lungs did not find the reprieve of fresh, cool air until you burst from the ballroom into the gardens, rushing past bushes and blooming flowers until the music in the ballroom was only a faint hum, and the main source of light was the moon. At the end of the path you followed from the palace was an octagonal viewing pavilion, adorned with a lattice railing and hanging lanterns.

It was there that you gazed out at the beautifully manicured gardens of the Odinson estate and allowed yourself to catch your breath. After the events of the past week you were in no mood to be surrounded by crowds of people, having to fake a smile and pretend that your chest was not perpetually aching in heartbreak.

Your temporary relief from the gentry was interrupted by a monotonous voice behind you.

“I was wondering where you got to.” With a shiver running down your spine, you turned to find Baron Brock Rumlow leaning against a pillar, blocking the only opening to the railing and your only exit from the pavilion. His face was half in shadow, but the uneasiness you always felt in his presence did not fail from settling in your stomach.

“My Lord, I did not realise anyone else was out here.” You tried to suppress the surprise in your voice, but the sly grin tugging at his lips informed you he knew he caught you off guard.

“I saw you fleeing from the ball and desired to know you were all right.” There was a concern in Brock’s words that did not meet his eyes nor his tone of voice as he stepped into the light of the lanterns.

“I assure you, my Lord, I am perfectly fine.”

“If you are indeed fine, I doubt you would be out here, all alone, rather than inside enjoying the party.” His slow, calculated steps made you weary of his true purpose, trying to quickly survey for another way out of the pavilion. “What can I do to cheer you up?” He was now close enough that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“My Lord, I am out here to admire the gardens, nothing more. I do not require cheering up.” You attempted to pass by him casually, but his firm hand shot out to the railing to corner you from escaping.

“Oh, but I think you do.” He took an eager step closer, a venomous glint in his eye. “And I know just the way to do it.”

Without any way to get past him, you were vulnerable to his desires, his hand reaching up and caressing your cheek with a greedy possessiveness that had bile rising in your stomach.

“Get off me!” You yelled, thrashing in attempts to push him away, but his strong hands took control of your wrists and prevented you from forming a counter attack.

“Stop resisting you little bitch!” Brock’s voice was low and demanding, scorching fear fired through every neuron in your body. He pushed you against the railing of the pavilion, his weight hindering you from making a run for it.

You yelled out for help into the silent night before his calloused hand harshly covered your mouth, panic rising in your chest at the thought that you were too far from the ballroom for anyone to hear you and that you were not strong enough to prevent whatever devilish intentions Brock had for much longer.

Then, before you could register what was happening, the heavy weight of the Baron was released from you.

Your heart was still thumping rapidly, almost painfully so, in your chest when you recognised the broad man who had intervened.

Bucky.

“I will end you.” Bucky’s threat was dripping in pure spite.

Given that Bucky had managed to pull him off you with reasonable ease, you did not expect Brock’s reaction to these words to be an amused laugh.

It seemed to take Bucky by surprise as well.

“With your dainty little gloves and fragile condition - I’d like to see you try.” The challenge hung in the air between the two men, and though from your position you could not see Bucky’s face, the slump in his shoulders informed you Brock’s words affected him.

“Bucky, let’s take our leave.” You implored, reaching for his shoulder to turn him to look at you. If you could prove to him that you were in truth physically unharmed, then maybe he would not need to engage in the brewing duel.

“No, I will not let him get away with this! What he was going to do to you - he should no longer be breathing.” Bucky’s voice was almost unrecognisable with the rage consuming his tone.

“What are you going to do to me, Your Grace?” Brock asked in a mocking tone. “You cannot even face me like a man.” He continued, gesturing to Bucky’s gloves.

There was a moment of hesitation from Bucky. Though you did not care about the reason he concealed his hands from view, it was clearly very important to him as he never failed to be in public without them.

Deciding that bringing vengeance to Brock’s actions was more important in this moment than concealing whatever secret he had been hiding, Bucky slowly removed his pair of gloves.

The reason Bucky concealed his hands became apparent before the gloves he tossed to the edge of the pavilion hit the ground. Though you found yourself not fazed in the slightest by what you saw.

His skin was severely scarred, profoundly enough to disappear beyond his sleeve, but in your opinion it was nothing to be ashamed of. Having the only man who had ever cherished you and treated you like something worth loving, defending your honour, was what you placed importance on in this moment.

Brock gave a hearty chuckle to the revelation, and you could see Bucky's shoulders tense in response.

In a matter of seconds, Bucky had evaded an attack from Brock and landed a bone crunching punch directly to the Baron’s cheekbone. The sound itself had you wincing, but the sudden panic-stricken look in Brock’s eyes satisfied the part of you which had been terrified of his intentions moments earlier.

Clearly in his own arrogance Brock had not expected Bucky to be able to land a clear punch, and in his now alarmed state was cowering in fear. Before Bucky had the chance to finish him completely, Brock scurried away towards the security of the ballroom, and rather than following him, Bucky turned around to find you. The worry in his gaze almost knocked you off your feet.

“Are you unharmed? Did he hurt you?” The lantern light was dim in the crisp night, but Bucky did not waste time in examining every inch of your exposed skin to ensure you had not been physically harmed. The concern brimming in his eyes softened the ache in your chest which had been present since he declined your letter at Lord Rogers ball.

It was not until he pulled you into his chest did you realise you were shaking. Though you noted the hand which displayed scars was covertly hidden in his coat pocket.

“I am fine, now that you are here.” You murmured into his lapel. Briefly, the thought of how scandalous it would be considered to be caught in this position with a man entered your mind, though the intoxicating rich scent of Bucky’s cologne, and the safety you felt being so close you could hear his rapid heartbeat pushed the notion from your mind.

There was a minute where you merely cherished being close to him, your body relaxing from the anxiety coursing through it earlier. A moment where you could simply enjoy being in the presence of one another.

However, that minute lapsed entirely too quickly before Bucky pulled away from you with a look of determined restraint in his eye.

“I shall escort you back inside.” Bucky declared, however the petrifying thought of returning to a room in which you could potentially encounter Rumlow again paralysed you.

“I cannot return to a party where I could see him.” You announced, wishing for Bucky to comfort you again as the memory of Brock’s vile hands touching you sent a shiver up your spine.

“Then I shall take you directly to your carriage and inform your mother-” Bucky began before you decided to interpose.

“Why are you so adamant to take your leave from me, Your Grace?” It was one of the many questions you wished to ask him. Bucky took a moment before answering to contemplate his words, though once he spoke, his tone was resolute.

“The last lady to learn about my deformity wanted entirely nothing to do with me - she was utterly disgusted at the sight. You must be completely repulsed by me.” Instinctively he pushed his hand further into his pocket, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“Repulsed? Not in the slightest. Bucky, every part of you is beautiful. I have never cared about anyone the way I care about you. Nothing about your appearance could ever change that.” No truer and more earnest words had ever left your lips. You desperately needed him to believe them, for them to alleviate the hate he had been conditioned to feel in response to his injury. To show not everyone thought a scar was something worthy of being ashamed of.

“Truly?” There was a harrowing vulnerability to his voice and you suspected if you were to retract your previous words, the rejection may end him completely.

“Truly.”

His eyes were filled with a mixture of burning adoration and utter disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as the rest of the world melted away, completely forgotten when his stare had heat rising from your chest to the tips of your ears.

You closed your eyes, leaned closer and waited in suspense for the moment his lips would finally touch your own. You wanted to feel him everywhere, have your body meld into his so you could not determine where he stopped and you started. However, you would settle now for a kiss, for his rosy pink lips to caress your own in a demonstration of his desire.

The anticipation in the air was palpable.

So much so you could cut it with a knife.

But you were kept waiting.

It was not until Bucky cleared his throat did you open your eyes again, only to find your vision blurry with tears.

“You do not want to kiss me?” Your voice cracked as you attempted to hide the searing heartbreak ripping a hole in your chest, dejectedly peering down at the cobblestones underneath your shoes.

“There is nothing I want more.” Bucky said with a determination to prove you wrong, tilting your chin up with his index finger so you would yet again meet his gaze, running his thumb feather light over your bottom lip. The forced restraint which had been so evident in his eyes dissolved to reveal the pure guilt behind them. “I am afraid if I do kiss you, I’ll never stop.”

Hope swelled so largely in your chest that perhaps you would have floated away from happiness if Bucky had not been tethering you to the ground.

“But as grateful as I am that you do not find me hideous, this,” he gestured to his arm, “is also the reason I cannot bring you the peace you deserve. I will always look like this, the incident of my debut year will be my legacy and I cannot let it tarnish your life too.” You suspected there was more to his reasoning which he was not divulging - more than simply a deformity you had already declared your acceptance for.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that you did not mind in the slightest about his perceived reputation, which had been falsely tarnished, all you needed was for him to continue to care for you as he had proven tonight he was more than capable of doing. However, before a single syllable could leave your throat, Bucky continued in his attempts to convince you.

“Lord Walker is intending to propose, and you should accept. His family has a relatively high standing in court, he would be able to provide for you in a way I never could.” The despair was clear in Bucky’s voice, and more so than your surprise at the Viscount’s plans to propose, you longed to free Bucky’s mind from the belief that any other man would be a more suitable match for you.

“No, I cannot marry him. I will not marry him.” You firmly refused as you shook your head. Gently taking hold of his left wrist, with light enough pressure that he could pull away if he were uncomfortable with the contact, you brought his exposed, scarred hand up and placed it to the uncovered skin above your sternum, where he would undoubtedly be able to feel every beat of your thumping heart.

“My heart belongs to you.”

Your heartbeat quickened even more so in your chest as he leaned so dangerously close that you could see the way his eyes darkened with desire. Something intangible within his demeanour changed as a result of your gesture that you knew he was about to kiss you.

Any trace of the remaining restraint in his eyes dissipated before his lids fluttered shut and he closed the remaining paltry space between you. His nose bumped yours and his hands grabbed the curves of your waist just before his soft lips captured yours.

The unfamiliar yet perfectly natural feeling of his lips against yours had you completely opening up to him. Instinctively, your lips parted and allowed his tongue to glide against your own, exploring your mouth as your body pressed impossibly close to his, your hands tangling in his lush hair.

A new, foreign heat pooled below your stomach, between your legs. You were not sure what it signified, all you knew for certain was you wanted even more of the man whose hands were currently caressing every swell and dip of your body. To have his bare hands remove every layer of clothing from your form and have his supple lips place tantalising kisses to every exposed inch.

To your disappointment Bucky pulled away sooner than you hoped, leaving your lips hungry and desperate for more. Resting his forehead against yours, he let out a shaky breath as you attempted to catch your own.

You expected him to feel as ecstatically happy as you now did having kissed the one person who you would not hesitate to devote your life to. However, distraught indecision was painfully written on his features, contorting your stomach with nerves.

Then, with an affectionate swipe of his thumb over your cheek, a longing in his eyes as if he may never get an opportunity to be this close to you again, and a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, Bucky seemingly reached a conclusion to his internal struggle.

You could sense the walls restoring around his heart before he spoke a single word.

“You need to forget about me and marry Walker.” He stated as firmly as possible through an obvious lump in his throat, striking a sharp chisel excruciatingly deep within your chest. His eyes were glassy with tears and it was at that moment he decided to put precautionary distance between the two of you, which made you feel more vulnerable and alone than the entire week your mother locked you away from society. As if to punctuate his instruction and throw a final, killing blow, Bucky spoke one final time.

“I cannot marry you.”

With a helpless, tearful look, which you could have sworn was filled with more remorse than rejection, Bucky raked his fingers through his dishevelled hair before shoving them into his pockets, quickly turning on his heel and striding out of the pavilion.

Your lungs and throat burned, as though Bucky had stolen all your air through his kiss and you were left to die a slow, suffocating death. No sound was able to escape your constricting throat and though your heart wanted to chase after him, your legs felt as if they were made of stone, frozen like a statue, all but powerless to watch on as your life fell apart before your eyes.

Time painfully slowed as you fought back prickling tears, waiting anxiously for the moment Bucky would turn around to look back at you, when his beautiful blue eyes would meet yours and your world would once again make sense.

But that moment never came.

Once you saw Bucky disappear around the side of the palace to where the horses and carriages were kept, all hope of him retracting his actions completely lost, you let the confusion and sorrow swallow you whole as you collapsed to the ground in a fit of sobs.

Your heaving weeps were the only other sound filling the still night air besides the faint, upbeat music played in the main ballroom. Your heart as good as glass shattered into sharp, hazardous shards on the cobblestones in front of you, irreparably damaged and likely to cause further harm if attempting to reassemble.

Because if there is one way to destroy someone who loves you, it is to kiss them once and then never again.

Part three coming soon

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 7 months

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The Road to War: A Timeline of Caesar and Pompey's Breakup

All dates should be treated as tentative. Items in red raise hostilities. Items in blue are friendly or conciliatory.

The biggest ruptures appear to have occurred when Curio began his "persistent veto" in March of 50, and advocated for Caesar's interests while attacking Pompey; Caesar's refusal to run for election the following summer as Pompey expected; and C. Marcellus' attempt to initiate war against Caesar at the end of that year.

55 BCE

Pompey and Crassus' second joint consulship.

Caesar's Gallic command is renewed "for five years"; precise termination date is either unclear or unnamed.

Crassus invades Parthia.

Death of Julia (Caesar's daughter and Pompey's wife).

Caesar supports Gabinius, Pompey's former legate, while he's on trial.

Pompey lends Caesar an additional legion for Gaul.

Caesar proposes a new marriage arrangement to Pompey, who declines. However, Pompey remains Caesar's primary heir in his will. This probably did not significantly damage their alliance.

Death of Crassus at Carrhae.

Death of Publius Clodius Pulcher. Breakdown in public order.

In lieu of elections, Pompey is appointed sole consul.

Caesar declines being appointed co-consul because he's busy with Vercingetorix's revolt in Gaul. Instead, he requests a ratio absentis, the right to be allowed to run for office in absentia, to ensure he won't have to abandon Gaul mid-war. The bill, supported by all ten tribunes, is passed in the People's Assembly.

Pompey marries Cornelia, daughter of Metellus Scipio (an optimate), and appoints Metellus Scipio as his co-consul.

Pompey enacts a law affirming that all candidates for office must canvass in person, Caesar excepted. In another law Pompey alters allocation of provinces, excepting his own and Caesar's extraordinary commands.

Caesar wraps up the Gallic campaign. Most senators expect him to run for the consulship in 50.

Spring

Consul M. Marcellus tries to prematurely recall Caesar from Gaul in this year, and to remove his ratio absentis. Discussion is continually delayed by lack of support for Marcellus' measure in the Senate.

Summer

Marcellus assaults a Roman citizen of Transpadane Gaul as an insult to Caesar and Pompey. Catonians attempt to drive a wedge between Caesar and Pompey by asking why Pompey has not demanded his legion back from Caesar; Pompey deflects the issue.

One of Pompey's allies is seen moving to join Caesar after being convicted in a trial, indicating continued alliance. Election strategies are still planned with the assumption of Caesar and Pompey working as a team.

Autumn

Pompey plans to move to Syria to defend against a potential Parthian invasion, which indicates he wasn't afraid of Caesar invading at this time.

Pompey flatly rejects a motion by M. Marcellus to terminate Caesar's command of Gaul in March.

September 30 - Pompey and the Senate postpone discussion of Caesar's recall until March of 50. Caesar (or his tribunes) permit this bill to go through, apparently unconcerned.

50 - The year where everything goes to shit

February Curio the tribune makes an abrupt shift to supporting Caesar, while attacking Pompey. Caesar may have sought additional allies (like Curio) in response to Pompey reconnecting with some of Caesar's enemies, such as Metellus Scipio.

March Consul C. Marcellus again tries to recall Caesar from Gaul. Pompey permits discussion of the recall (in accord with the previous bill passed in September). Curio vetoes, and sustains said veto throughout 50. It's unclear if Curio was acting on his own initiative or Caesar's, but his persistent veto raised fears that Caesar would refuse to respect the Senate's authority. Curio could not have sustained a persistent veto without significant popular support, or else there would've been a recall election. Curio and Caesar's alliance with Aemilius Paulus may have further rattled Pompey.

April The Senate and Pompey attempt to compromise with Caesar by acknowledging his right to run in absentia for the summer of 50, but require him to stand down from Transalpine Gaul by November. Curio vetoes, claiming to speak for Caesar (which not everyone believes) and attacking Pompey.

The Senate requires Caesar and Pompey to each contribute one legion to the defense of Syria. Pompey requests back a legion he had "loaned" to Caesar, thus removing two legions of Caesar's forces and costing Pompey none. When the Parthian threat dissipates, the legions are not sent to Syria but quartered in Italy. This probably caused Caesarians to feel betrayed and concerned of a Pompeian military buildup.

April-July At some point Curio proposes that Caesar and Pompey should both step down from their military commands. This may have been his (or Caesar's) attempt to de-escalate the situation; it's likely Caesar supported the bill. Pompey rejects it, on the grounds that Caesar's command had expired last March, while Pompey's was still in effect.

May-June C. Marcellus proposes a bill to severely punish Curio for his veto, claiming it was inimical to the interests of the state. No such law had been passed, but by attacking Curio's veto Marcellus also hoped to destroy Caesar's claim to an extension of his ratio absentis. Pompey is forced to go along with a rejection of the extension or else be publicly embarrassed by contradicting his earlier promises/announcements. However, the Senate as a whole refuses to back the bill, preferring a peaceful resolution. This implicitly grants a postponement of the provincial reassignment and for Caesar to run in 49 in absentia.

Pompey has a serious illness at some point in this period.

June Pompey agrees to Curio's mutual disarmament proposal; Curio insists that Pompey disarm first, and Pompey feels insulted and rejects that. Distrust increases on both sides.

July/August Caesar declines to run for the consulship in absentia, for reasons that aren't clear. He may have expected his candidacy to be blocked on spurious grounds, or for the election to be rigged. Or he may simply have needed more time to set up provincial administration in Gaul.

He sends his legate Galba to run instead. Galba loses the election, possibly due to fraud (according to Hirtius). This exacerbates both Caesar's distrust that he could have a fair election without an army to support him, and senatorial fears that Caesar planned to hold onto his army indefinitely.

After this point M. Caelius Rufus first mentions fears of a civil war.

Autumn Caesar raises four additional legions. This may have been intended defensively in response to Pompey taking two of his legions, or as saber-rattling to intimidate the Senate, but either way it increases people's fears.

November Caesar returns to Cisalpine Gaul; he refuses to step down from his command at the date decreed by the Senate. At some point Caesar summons the 8th and 12th legions to Cisalpine Gaul as well, though he claims he only did so in January.

December December 1-2? - C. Marcellus holds a vote on whether Caesar should step down (Senate votes yes), whether Pompey should step down (Senate votes no), and Curio then has them vote on whether both should step down (94% YES). The people in the forum hail Curio as a hero and expect mutual disarmament to occur. Marcellus dismisses the Senate before the bill can be passed.

False rumor spreads of Caesar invading Italy. Consul C. Marcellus perpetuates it, while Curio rejects it. Marcellus attempts to have Caesar declared a public enemy and to have the two legions sent to fight him. Curio vetoes. Marcellus ignores the veto and personally asks Pompey to take command of the legions and "defend the state." Most observers interpret this "Schwertübergabe" (sword-handover) as a military action against Caesar, or even an outright declaration of war.

December 6 - Caesar's envoy Hirtius visits Rome but doesn't try to meet with Pompey or Metellus Scipio, which they take as an insult. It's unknown whether Caesar sent Hirtius in response to the Schwertübergabe or if Hirtius altered his plans upon hearing of it.

December 7 - Pompey moves south to the "Parthian" legions, not north to face Caesar. This probably indicates that he and Marcellus did not believe Caesar was actually invading Italy as Marcellus claimed.

December 9 - Curio's term as tribune ends, and he immediately leaves to join Caesar in Gaul, perhaps fearing for his safety. He's replaced by Mark Antony, who continues the persistent veto, and whose attacks on Pompey further raise tensions.

December 25 - Pompey tells Cicero he neither hopes for nor desires peace anymore.

January 1 - Caesar reiterates to the Senate (via letter) that he will step down from his command only if Pompey does (a reiteration of Curio's disarmament proposal), and if Pompey doesn't, Caesar will "come with all speed to defend himself and the Republic." The anti-Caesarian consuls refuse to let Caesar's letters be read aloud in the Senate, in the belief that this would make more people side with Caesar. (I'm unsure if this is one incident or two.)

January 4 - Cicero returns to Rome, and describes a "war frenzy" among a small group of senators, in opposition to an overwhelming desire for peace among most of the Senate and People.

January 6 - Caesar offers a peace deal via Curio: to step down from command of both Gauls (leaving only Illyria), and all but one of his legions. Pompey nearly accepts the offer before C. Marcellus, Cato, and Lentulus Crus dissuade him. Negotiations fall apart.

January 7 - The senatus consultum ultimum is passed against Caesar, and a state of tumult is declared in Italy. Caesar's tribunes are forced out of the Senate (and perhaps physically attacked), and leave to join him in Cisalpine Gaul.

January 10/11 - Caesar crosses the Rubicon.

* * *

Sources: The Last Generation of the Roman Republic by Erich Gruen, and Julius Caesar and the Roman People by Robert Morstein-Marx.

#jlrrt reads #timeline #caesar's civil war #julius caesar #pompey #gaius scribonius curio #jlrrt essays

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fanficapologist · 8 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-One

Prince Aemond's room, set aglow by the soft, flickering light of candles, exuded an air of understated elegance in the tranquil night. Neat and tidy, it bore the mark of a disciplined mind.The predominant hue of the room was black, from the rich drapes that hung by the windows to the polished obsidian wood of the furniture. Against this dark backdrop, accents of silver and steel gleamed like stars in the night sky.

Aemond sat in his chair by the hearth, a stark contrast to the regal and composed demeanor he usually exuded. His attire was unconventional, draped in a white undershirt that hung loosely from his form, revealing an expanse of his chest. Gone was the restraint of his tightly bound silver hair; it cascaded freely around his face. Feigning obliviousness to the tempest that had just blown into his room, he continued reading his book, as if her presence was of no consequence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced up from his reading. His voice, laced with a calculated calmness, cut through the charged air. "Lady Maera. Your impropriety is noted," he stated casually.Maera's rage surged to new heights. With an abrupt and violent motion, she slammed Aemond's chamber doors shut and locked them, sealing herself inside with the source of her frustration. Her Targaryen blood boiled with fury, and there was no escape for Aemond now.

With a determined stride, Maera approached Aemond, her candlelight flickering wildly as she slammed it onto a nearby table. Her dagger, concealed beneath her night dress, slid free as she unsheathed it. Dark brown curls tumbled down her back in wild disarray, framing her face like a storm cloud. Maera brought the dagger to Aemond's chest, her grip steady, her expression a mixture of anger and frustration. She didn't expect him to flinch, and he didn't. Their gazes locked in a tense standoff.

A seething question tumbled from Maera's lips, her voice low and simmering with anger. "Are you going to deny it?" she demanded. Aemond leaned back in his chair, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips, as if savoring the moment. He responded with deceptive innocence, goading Maera, who loomed over him in his seat.

"Deny what, my lady? You'll have to be more specific in your accusations."

Maera's patience, worn thin by Aemond's relentless games, reached its breaking point.

“Lord Warren Tully,” she he spoke under her breath, a subtle but potent twist in her revelation. A spark of triumph danced in Aemond's eyes as her words hung in the air, and he couldn't resist the urge to play his hand.

Rising from his seat, he showed no concern for the dagger's cold steel pressed against his bare chest. A casual brush of her presence sent him toward a table, where he picked up a jug adorned with the Targaryen sigil, his posture unyielding. As he poured himself a generous glass of wine, he responded with a mocking edge, "A true shame that Lord Warren Tully hasn't proposed marriage yet. Perhaps he finds other ladies in King's Landing more intriguing."

In her desperation, Maera moved in once more, the blade of her dagger now pointed directly at his throat. Her voice shook with sincerity as she questioned the betrayal she felt. "I thought we had a truce," she implored, her words laced with vulnerability. "I thought we were friends." Her eyes locked onto Aemond's, searching for any sign of reason. She couldn't comprehend why he would intentionally sabotage her chance at marriage. Her voice cracked with emotion as she asked him the question that weighed heavily on her heart. "Why, Aemond? Why would you do this?"

Aemond turned to her abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he met her gaze. He retorted sharply, his words carrying an edge of possessiveness, "Lord Warren is not worthy of your hand."

Maera's laughter, tinged with both incredulity and frustration, cut through the tension in the room. She shook her head, her curls swaying like a dark halo, and retorted, "You've gone mad." Her tone turned sharp, a mixture of anger and defiance coloring her words. "My marriage prospects are none of your concern."

Aemond's eyebrows lifted in a challenge as he countered, "Oh, but you seem quite interested in mine."

Maera's head shook once more, a strand of hair falling over her brow as she asked with genuine confusion, "What in Seven Hells are you talking about?"

The Prince's gaze bore into hers. “Your little conversation with my intended?”

Maera scoffed in response, her voice dripping with disdain. "Showing the Baratheon woman the way out hardly qualifies as 'interest.' Frankly, I couldn't care less about the unfortunate soul cursed to be your wife."

A sly smile curled at the corners of Aemond's lips as he took another leisurely sip of wine, still standing at his table. He turned the conversation, his words calculated and his gaze sharp, causing Maera's composure to waver. “I wonder what your motives are here, my Lady. You have burst into my chambers, alone and unchaperoned. In the dead of night when there are no guards at my door, wearing scarcely anything but your nightdress.”

Maera stammered for a moment, flustered by his inquiry, and glanced down at her attire, realizing the vulnerability it presented. It was a much more sheer fabric than her gowns and against the light of the hearth, the shadow of her full chest, rounded hips and larger backside could easily be made out. Her voice regained some of its edge as she deflected, "You still haven't answered my question, Aemond."

A mischievous spark gleamed in her eyes as she aimed to provoke him further. Maera taunted, a hint of bitterness in her words, "Are you truly so insecure, Prince Aemond, that you fear another lord might snatch away your 'plaything'? Because that's all I am to you, isn't it?"

She placed her dagger on the table with deliberate care before standing right beside him, allowing her finger to trace a path up his clothed arm, her feather-light touch a subtle challenge.

The room was charged with tension, and Maera could see that her words were stoking the fires of anger within Aemond. "It's not surprising that you don't want another man to take away your toy, Aemond. You're like a petulant child who can't share,” Maera purred, fingers continuing up and down his arm, his clenched jaw betraying the effect of her words. She decided to push him even further, to provoke him to the brink. Her lips curled into a taunting smile as she said, “Of course, I would expect nothing less of a second son.”

Aemond's reaction was explosive. He whipped around, knocking over chairs in his path as he closed the distance between them with determined strides. In a moment of sheer dominance, he pushed Maera back against the wall, his grip on her shoulders like iron. Her body hit the unyielding stone, and she felt trapped, unable to escape his unrelenting force. Desperation surged within her, and she struggled against his hold, trying to break free. But Aemond's proximity was suffocating. His hips pressed firmly against hers, pinning her to the wall, their chests heaving together with a mixture of anger and a strange, volatile tension. Maera thrashed her head in a last-ditch attempt to resist, but Aemond's hand left her shoulder, fingers burying themselves in her hair. His grip tightened on the roots of her scalp, and he pulled her head back, forcing her to look into his smoldering gaze.

In that charged moment, as their breaths mingled and their eyes locked in a battle of wills, Maera couldn't help but feel the palpable intensity between them, a dangerous dance of power and attraction. His one eye bore into her with a fiery intensity that both frightened and thrilled her.

"You're nothing but a hypocrite," Aemond hissed through clenched teeth. His words dripped with venom. "You play with the hearts of others as if they're your toys."

Maera's response was defiant, her voice edged with anger. "I'm nothing like you, Aemond," she retorted, her words almost a snarl.

Aemond's chuckle was mirthless, a dark sound that echoed in the room. "Oh, but you are, Maera. You're just as much a player in this game as I am."

This had to be a dream surely? Any moment now I’ll wake up, and this nightmare will be over, she thought. But as she squeezed them shut and opened again, she found herself still stuck in the same position, the Prince looming over her. As they locked eyes, Maera couldn't deny the allure of the man before her. His physical presence was overpowering, his primal strength evident in every muscle that flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Despite the anger and pain that coursed through her, a deep desire stirred within her, a primal attraction she couldn't ignore.

Aemond's voice lowered to a dangerous growl as he accused, "You didn't want Lord Warren. He was just a mere tool to get to me."

Maera's laughter was bitter, a sly smile playing on her lips as she taunted, "Jealous, are we?"

The room seemed to pulse with their charged emotions, and Aemond's grip moved from her scalp to her throat, sending shockwaves through her and prompting a wetness to form between her legs. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she felt the heat of his body pressed against her.

Aemond tensed his jaw, his eye searching her face. He frowned before taunting her once more. “I should’ve known all that time ago that you a maiden by the pathetic kiss that you shared with that Tully cunt.”

His harsh words hung in the air, his gaze locked on Maera's face as if searching for a reaction. She seethed in silence, her anger simmering beneath the surface, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

A dangerous intensity continued to emanate from him as he shifted his hand on her throat upwards, his thumb now grazing her bottom lip. Maera's heart raced as her eyes met his, a mixture of fury and desire burning within her. Aemond smirked at her reaction. “You have definitely never known the touch of a man.”

Angrily, Maera spat back at the Prince, “What are you-?” Before she could finish demanding an explanation , Aemond's lips crashed onto hers, catching her off guard. It was a stark contrast to the gentle, cautious kiss she had shared with Lord Warren. Aemond's kiss was raw, unrelenting, and devoid of any tenderness, and Maera hated herself for the effect the Prince was having on her.

She eventually surrendered to the kiss, her hand sliding up Aemond's chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through his shirt, feeling them flex beneath her touch. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from her, which only seemed to fuel his desire. Aemond's tongue invaded her mouth with a fierce hunger that left her breathless, struggling to match the intensity of his attack. He then moved his hands, the one her throat reaching around to the nape of her neck to tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further. The other made it’s way down her body, tracing a path from her shoulder, grazing her breast causing her to shudder, then past her waist, before settling just above her hips, causing her skin to burn under his touch

His hips pressed against hers, the stiffness in his breeches quite evident, causing a soft moan to escape her lips through the kiss, a coil tightening in her lower stomach, desire radiating from her heat between her legs. Instinctively to create more friction, her hips rolled against his, causing a low rumble to emanate from his chest. Her hand then grabbed desperately at the fabric of his undershirt, pulling him closer, needing more of that overwhelming sensation.

As swiftly as the kiss ignited, Aemond abruptly pulled away, leaving Maera yearning for his warmth. Her fingers instinctively tugged again on his undershirt, attempting to draw him back to her, but he resisted her pull. Her gaze lingered on his face, his lips slightly parted, his single eye hooded, smoldering with desire as he met her gaze head-on.

In an instant, a smirk tugged at his lips, and he withdrew his hands from her, taking a step back. An inferno of fury ignited within Maera as the realization hit her - once again, he had been toying with her emotions. Her frustration surged, and she brushed past him, swiftly moving to her table to retrieve her dagger, securing it to her thigh. Her candle was next, and she gathered her shawl from the floor where it had been discarded long before.

As she approached the chamber doors, she glanced back at Aemond, her anger unabated. She unclasped the lock but paused, her eyes locking onto his, and her voice dripped with indignation. "Targaryen's are poison," she hissed, the frustration evident in her voice. "All you do is drain the life out of your subjects and mess with them for fun."

Her words hung in the air as she continued, her voice rising in anger. "First, the crown demands my land, something that is rightfully mine, with no reward, compensation or assurance for the safety of my family. And now, you've scared off the one suitor I could actually bear to consider building a life with." Her smirk returned, a wicked glint in her eyes as she taunted him, "But it doesn't matter that Lord Warren didn't propose. My new inheritance will attract plenty more suitors." With a final, sarcastic suggestion, she advised Aemond, "So, get to work meddling in my affairs if you want to scare them all off."

With that parting shot, she stormed out of his chambers, slamming the door behind her, and made her way back to her own room, leaving Aemond behind, his disheveled appearance reflecting the tumultuous encounter.

Maera's steps carried her swiftly to Queen Helaena's chambers, well aware that her friend would likely still be awake following the earlier intrusion by Aegon. The guards granted her entry, promptly closing the doors behind her.

Inside, Maera spotted Helaena sitting up in her bed, cradling a gigantic spider and allowing it to crawl along her hands as she muttered to herself. The Queen glanced up, her concern evident, and asked, "Are you alright?"

But before Maera could reply, her turbulent emotions overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears. Helaena, worried for her dear friend, carefully placed the spider in its case on her bedside table. With a warm and inviting gesture, she pulled back her covers, silently inviting Maera to climb into bed beside her.

Maera clung to Queen Helaena's embrace, her tears soaking into the soft fabric of her friend’s nightgown. She poured out her heart, recounting the evening's turmoil: the unexpected inheritance of Morne, the absence of a proposal from Lord Warren Tully, and the treacherous betrayal by Aemond that had shattered her hopes of a marriage match. Helaena listened attentively, her brow furrowing in thought.

In a hushed tone, Helaena murmured, "The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon."

Startled by the cryptic remark, Maera pulled back from Helaena's comforting arms, her eyes filled with bewilderment. She couldn't help but inquire, "What do you mean, your Grace?"

Helaena, ever perceptive, inquired further, "Are you certain it was Aemond who caused Lord Warren not to propose?"

Maera's anger flared, and she nodded vehemently, replying, "Yes, it's his doing, I know it."

Helaena pressed further, concern evident in her eyes. "Have you confronted him about it?"

Maera hesitated, unwilling to reveal the intimate details of her confrontation with the Prince. Instead, she opted for a half-truth, saying, "Yes, I spoke to him briefly in the corridors on my way to retire for the evening. He admitted it to me himself.”

The queen's gaze drifted for a moment, as if recalling memories long past. "Aemond has always been… complicated.”

A deep sigh escaped Maera's lips, and she leaned back against the plush cushions, her gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling. "It's his mind games, Helaena. One day, he's by my side, treating me with kindness and the next, he's humiliating me and being exceptionally cruel, for no apparent reason. It's as if he takes pleasure in toying with my emotions."

Helaena's fingers ran through her silver hair thoughtfully, pondering her friend’s statement. "Could it be that there's something more to his actions, Maera? There has always been something deeper between you two, even from when we were children. And it seems to have intensified since your return.”

Maera's cheeks flushed slightly, her eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting Helaena's gaze once more. "I assure you, Helaena, there is nothing more than a mutual dislike between us. I find it difficult to fathom any other sentiment towards Prince Aemond."

Helaena's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Perhaps it's not as simple as you think, Maera. Sometimes, the strongest emotions stem from the most complicated relationships."

Maera couldn't help but laugh at the notion, though her laughter held a bitter edge. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. In her heart, she believed Aemond to be nothing more than a tormentor, a demon sent to plague her existence.

Yet, deep down, Maera knew that her own feelings for Aemond were a tumultuous blend of desire and resentment, a torment simply on their own. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't control these emotions, but she firmly believed that his cruelty outweighed any affection she might have harbored for him. If this was how he treated someone he supposedly care for, then she would not like to see how he treated somebody he loathed. In fact, Maera already knew how Aemond treated them. He simply killed them in a torturous manner using Vhagar.

With a gentle touch, Helaena reassured her friend. "It's late, and we both deserve a longer rest come morning." Taking Maera's hands in her own, Helaena continued, "Tomorrow is the day of the Maiden, and my mother has invited us to the Sept for prayers." Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as she implored Maera to join them.

Maera smiled, the warmth of her friend's invitation easing some of the turmoil in her heart. She nodded in agreement. "I'll have my maids ready me in the morning, give you some time to sleep in longer. Meet me in Queen Alicent's chambers to break fast, and then we'll go to the Sept to pray, the three of us.”

Maera expressed her gratitude for the invitation before taking her leave. She walked past Ser Arryk, not exchanging a word, and closed the doors to her chambers behind her.

As she lay in bed, tossing and turning, her thoughts were consumed by anger and frustration, directed squarely at the one-eyed Prince. She cursed him for toying with her emotions, for scaring away Lord Warren, her potential suitor. And, in the quiet darkness of her room, she cursed him even more for not taking their passionate encounter in his chambers further.

Notes: Thirty-One chapters and we made it!

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