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claudemblems · 5 months

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A Kiss to End All Doubt | Albert Moriarty

Summary: When you agreed to tag along with the Moriarty brothers to a grand ball, the last thing you expected was to receive a noble's offer of marriage. Thankfully, Albert plays the part of your lover well, perhaps a little too well for his affectionate words to be fake...

Content: SFW. Fem!Reader. 3,723 words. Pining. Soooo much romantic tension. Albert is a flirt and no one is surprised.

Notes: I have been writing this fic for what feels like forever BUT IT'S FINALLY FINISHED :3 I'm so excited to finally give this to you. I hope you enjoy it 💖 I may also add an epilogue if there's an interest for one...🤭

Did Albert Moriarty, one of the many faces of the Lord of Crime, truly not have the slightest idea of the effect he had on you?

It was silly to even fathom that a man of his stature could be so oblivious, but you couldn’t help but start to wonder once he started giving your flushed cheeks and wide eyes a quizzical look.

That, or he was playing coy with you, which wouldn’t be all that surprising coming from him. He’d long since mastered the art of making noble ladies go weak in the knees.

But that was a skill he’d acquired out of pure necessity. If he had things his way, he’d refuse to give the stuck up women of the nobility the time of day. Unfortunately, he had a role to play in all of his brother’s plans, and so he continued flirting with the noble ladies just long enough to leave them wanting more.

You, on the other hand, were no noble. In fact, you had no good fortune, distinguished education, or marriageable prospects to speak of. Truly, you were nothing but a mere face hidden amongst the shadows, which was perfect for an assistant to the Lord of Crime.

You’d begun to empathize with Albert’s disdain for these royal functions, mainly the lavish balls he and his brothers had little choice but to attend. It was important for them to keep up appearances as a well-rounded noble family who knew how to mingle with the upper-class, whether they enjoyed doing so or not. While they seemed to have gotten used to it for the most part, it proved to be quite the difficult adjustment for you. Thankfully, Albert had patiently taught you the ins and outs of noble life, giving you lessons on small talk and etiquette whenever time permitted.

However, he hadn’t yet taught you how to handle a nobleman’s advances.

“You must be Lady [Name],” the man greeted, holding out his hand for you to take. You briefly glanced towards Albert, taking his nod as a sign to follow through with the gesture. A kiss was placed onto your hand before the man let go, stepping back to better admire the exquisite sights around him. “It’s quite a splendid ball, isn’t it? There’s so many well-mannered and intelligent guests in our midst, such as you, young Lord Albert.”

“Lord Darnley, you are far too kind,” Albert said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I ought to be extending the compliments to you. Your presence here is most welcome, as well as that of your entourage. Would the girl you brought with you happen to be your little sister, Lady Georgina?”

“Ah, I see you’ve made sure to memorize the names of all the guests! Indeed, she insisted on joining me, and no matter what I said, she refused to take no for an answer!” Darnley bellowed in laughter, briefly drawing the attention of the other guests nearby.

“She already seems to be quite the free spirit. I’m sure she has a bright future ahead of her.”

“If you’re so interested in my dear Georgina, I would be more than willing to sit down and discuss a potential marriage between the two of you.”

You swore you saw a flash of disgust appear in Albert’s eyes, but he simply smiled brightly at Darnley, careful that his emotions did not look fake or contrived. “While your offer is certainly generous, I have no plans of marriage at the moment. I’m afraid I’m already plenty busy with my service in the royal army.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Lord Darnley sighed, but his disappointment quickly turned to anticipation when his gaze once again fell on you. Your stomach lurched at the look in his eyes, but you tried to retain your composure, copying Albert’s mannerisms by offering a surface-level smile.

“Lady [Name], I am supposing you are not yet married if you’re attending this function with the Moriartys.”

“That would be correct, my good sir. How astute of you to notice.”

Lord Darnley grinned at the news like a hunter mere moments away from ensnaring this prey. “Well then, my lady, is there anyone that has asked for your hand yet?”

Goosebumps ran down your arms as you swallowed thickly. Anyone with a right mind knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

“I…well…” Should you tell the truth? Should you lie? But then who would you say had expressed a desire in marrying you? “It’s…complicated.”

“So, that would mean no formal question has been posed then, correct?”

“...Correct.”

You heard Albert’s feet shift next to you, on guard for whatever preposterous idea this nobleman could come up with next.

“Well, it’s certainly not good for a lady of your standing to be without a husband. I, myself, am quite the romantic, and I believe a courting period fosters a genuine love between both parties involved. If you have no one currently vying for your hand, perhaps you’d offer me the chance to earn it.”

No. No. On so many levels, no.

But this wasn’t about you—your happiness or married life did not come before the liberation of London. Whatever the brothers asked of you, you would adhere to their words, even if it meant having to be stuck with a man such as…this. Though you knew they’d never even entertain the thought of offering you up to some man who cared only for your beauty and status and nothing for your heart. If you were to refuse Darnley’s advances, at the least, you were confident the Moriartys would respect your decision.

Even so, you didn’t want to cause any more trouble for them. If you couldn’t agree to the idea of marriage, perhaps a date or two would suffice, right?

Just the thought made you feel sick.

“Well, what do you say, my lady? Will you allow me the pleasure of courting you?”

You knew you had to keep up appearances. You couldn’t allow for cracks to show in the perfect and amicable facade the Moriartys had carefully crafted. You knew that well, and yet…

This was a proposal that not even death itself could bring you to accept.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I must sincerely refuse.”

Lord Darnley stared at you in alarm. “Come again? You didn’t just say no to my advances, did you?”

Your heart rate quickened as his words grew heated, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to take off and hide somewhere safe and quiet in the manor’s garden, away from other people who might come up with even more ridiculous propositions.

“It’s just as you heard, my lord. I must decline.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Lord Darnley stared straight into your eyes, not blinking for several long moments. Your hands had begun to shake as you feared that you’d just begun tarnishing the reputation of the Moriarty family. Truly, there were fewer things more terrifying than a nobleman who felt he’d been insulted, and the consequences for such an offense would be nothing short of dire.

“Lady [Name], you are in no place to refuse my offer. You said yourself that no other man has even brought up the idea of marriage to you! Are you truly so brazen that you would reject the prospects of a life in union with mine? We all know who makes the decisions around here, and they’re certainly not made by women—!”

“My good sir, I believe you’ve said quite enough.”

A small gasp left your lips as Albert sneaked a hand around your waist, still carefully holding his glass of wine in the other. You searched his face for an answer as to what he was scheming, but he simply smiled—a true one this time—wordlessly reassuring you that all would be well.

“You see, Lady [Name] may not have received an offer of marriage as of yet, but that is only because I have been quite busy protecting our beloved country. I wish to propose when I am able to be at home more often and thus can fulfill my duties as a devoted husband to my wife. So I must politely ask that you rescind your offer, lest you make yourself seem as though you chase after taken women.”

Propose? Husband?

If you were afraid of tainting the Moriarty image, Albert clearly didn’t share your concerns.

“Taken? Why, I—! You’re bluffing, Lord Albert! You’re not planning on marrying this woman!”

“And what has brought you to that incorrect conclusion?”

“If that were the case, you would have brought it up the moment I asked if she were single!”

“To be fair, you asked if she’d received an offer for marriage, not if she was currently available to court.”

You could practically see the steam coming out of Lord Darnley’s ears, his face growing redder with each passing minute. He was still unconvinced, and for good reason, too, but you weren’t about to let Albert’s kindness go to waste.

You placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder, smiling up at him as he redirected his full attention to you. “It’s true, my lord. My affections have been reciprocated by my dear Albert, and I am patiently waiting for him to ask me to marry him. It will be a proposal I shall readily accept.”

Darnley scoffed, a hand placed over his heart in disbelief. “And you had the gall not to tell me when I’d begun to question you? Either you’re a terrible liar, or you’re just hoping to humiliate me in front of all these guests!”

“I would never dream of deceiving or insulting you, my lord. I should have made my relationship status clear to you earlier. Please forgive my carelessness.”

“I still think this is some elaborate hoax the both of you are trying to pull off. If not to tarnish my good name, then to convince every noble here that you’re worth the status bestowed on you at birth.” Lord Darnley swiped a fresh glass of wine off the tray of one of the waiters walking by, the man watching in horror as the lord downed all of the liquid in one gulp. His cheeks had started to take on a flushed hue from the great amount of alcohol he’d consumed that night, and with the way things were going, he was sure to be drunk by the end of it. “Perhaps, Lady [Name],” Darnley continued, a lopsided smirk forming on his face, “you’ve been lying about your social status, and you’re hoping that your marriage to Lord Albert will secure you a place in the upper class.”

Anger surged through you at his utterly ridiculous theory. Darnley had unknowingly gotten one fact right: you were a nobody. When you’d been taken in by the Moriarty family, you had nothing to your name but pen, paper, and the clothes on your back. But you knew one thing for sure: you had worth as a human being, and no one, noble or otherwise, would be able to change that.

And marrying a noble for status? What a laughable suggestion. As if you’d stoop so low just for some so-called “honor” among the elite.

“Well, dear sir,” you began, discreetly hiding a smirk behind your gloved hand, “I had no idea you were so foolish as to even come up with such an inconceivable thought. I once held you in high regard as I’ve heard many within the nobility sing your praises, but your current behavior is quite unbecoming of a person of your stature.”

You heard Albert try, and fail, to stifle a laugh next to you. You quietly breathed out a sigh of relief to see that he’d chosen not to reprimand your strong words. If anything, he seemed eager to encourage them.

As Lord Darnley frantically signaled for a waiter to bring him more wine, Albert took the opportunity to lean down next to your ear, whispering a simple yet heart-pounding question, “[Name], would it be all right with you to play further into these roles of enchanted lovers?”

Your breath caught in your throat, butterflies beginning to form in your stomach. “Of course,” you said. If only you knew how I truly felt, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

He smiled down at you, a sight that only stirred up the butterflies even more, and pulled you closer against him. Meanwhile, his eyes bored into Lord Darnley’s frame, darkening with every passing moment. If there was no one else in that ballroom, you had no doubt Albert would have leapt at the chance to get rid of him.

When Lord Darnley had finished downing another glass of wine, his fiery countenance returned to you and Albert. “You both are frauds,” he spat. “Everyone else here might be too dim-witted to figure it out, but I’ll make them aware that you’re not the upstanding moral characters you believe that you are.”

“It’s a shame to hear such vile thoughts coming from your own mouth, good sir,” Albert sighed. “But if I must be honest, I don’t care what any noble in this room thinks of me or the house in which I rule over.”

“Oh? And why is that, good sir?”

“Because,” Albert answered, turning his body towards yours, his visage noticeably softening when his focus returned to you, “the only person I want to please is the woman I adore. Not one person in the nobility is worthy of praise or merit—no one but her alone.”

Setting aside his glass, Albert gingerly took your hand in his own, meeting your eyes to silently ask for your permission. At your nod of approval, he lifted your fingertips to his lips, placing a gentle and almost reverent kiss against them.

“I love her,” he said, his sweet gaze reaching the very depths of your soul, “and when the time is right, I will make her mine.”

His words were like a match igniting the fire blazing in your heart, the flames fed by your deep affections for him, growing with every beat that thumped in your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand came to rest against your cheek, his touch so light yet so dizzying, more intoxicating than any wine you’d had that night.

Albert searched your eyes as all the feelings you’d tried to keep at bay finally came pouring in like waves. You were sure he could see it all: the admiration, the yearning, the love you’d kept locked away. But somehow he’d managed to find the matching key, the truth you’d been hiding for all these years finally at his reach.

His fingers traveled along your cheek and down to your jaw, this thumb tracing patterns against your skin. You were still dazed from his words to Darnley, but you brought yourself to meet Albert’s gaze once more, curious to see what truths you could uncover in his own expression.

And you wished you hadn’t, because when you saw the affection so clearly present in them, you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until the night turned into day.

Albert wasn’t oblivious, and you knew it. Whatever people thought of him as—a genius, a young prodigy, a man of great knowledge—his ability to read people was beyond the average person’s comprehension. And you knew when he’d finally figured out what the person he’d been surveying was hiding. His lips would quirk upwards ever so slightly, the dimples on his face just beginning to show, and he’d cock his head to the side, pleased with his findings.

And that was exactly how he was looking at you.

You’d placed your heart out in plain view of his observant eyes, and he’d figured you out. But now that he knew of your feelings for him, what was he planning to do with them?

Albert’s thumb drifted from your jaw down your lips, careful not to brush off the lipstick staining them. He stared at them for several moments, deep in thought, before he returned his eyes to yours, a single question hidden within them.

May I?

Already breathless, you squeezed his hand once, closing your eyes as Albert leaned in painstakingly slowly, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation. This was the moment you’d only been able to imagine in dreams, on nights where you sat wordlessly under the stars, silently wishing upon them in vain. They couldn’t grant you your desires. They couldn’t give you everything you ever wanted. You were the only one with the power to seize your opportunity and make your own wish come true.

And as Albert’s lips finally fell on yours, you smiled.

Your greatest wish was being granted right before your very eyes.

His lips tasted faintly of wine, and the subdued scent of his cologne still lingered on his collar. Combined with the warm and comforting touch of his hand cupping your face, your senses were overwhelmed in the most wonderful of ways. It felt as if you’d begun to float, brought into a fairy tale-esque trance where the entire world grew still except for you and Albert.

Time had stalled to allow you this moment of pure, undeniable bliss that not even the corrupt powers of this world could take away from you.

With his lips still on yours, Albert’s hand snaked further around your waist, gently pulling you closer against him. You practically had no room left between the two of you, and so in a moment of boldness, you placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, right above his heart. Even through his suit, you could feel it beating wildly.

It only made you wonder: did he truly mean what he’d said earlier? Did he really harbor such affection for you? Did he really intend…to make you his?

Before you could ponder anymore, Albert finally pulled away, cheeks faintly dusted with rose. He appeared somewhat dazed himself, but he kept his composure, still well aware of where the two of you were at the moment.

But this time when he turned to Darnley, he smirked, practically beaming from head to toe with delight as he spoke. “Well, Lord Darnley, do you believe us now?”

If looks could kill, both of you would have succumbed to that man’s rage.

Darnley’s hands gripped his wine glass so tightly that it shattered onto the floor, the remnants of wine staining his once perfectly polished suit. Other nobles stopped their conversations and turned to him upon hearing the commotion, a few of them even pulling out handkerchiefs.

“Sir, let me get you a new glass,” a waiter spoke, holding his hand out to take the broken one from him. But Lord Darnley was already fuming, and he shoved the waiter to the side, smashing the rest of the wine glass against the floor.

“You will pay for this,” he snarled. Sending you one final glare, he turned on his heel, marching out of the ballroom, hopefully never to be seen again (at least for the night).

“Well,” Albert breathed, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.”

“You’re right…Thank you, Albert.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, gaze drifting back to yours. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your gratitude.”

You shook your head. “You have, Albert. You didn’t have to step in and save me from Darnley’s advances, but you did, even though doing so could have tarnished your family name. I’m indebted to you.”

Albert frowned ever so slightly, and you cocked your head to the side, confused. After a few moments, his gaze flickered to the people dancing around the room, his cheeks still tinged a beautiful red. “If you thought I was doing all that just to be a gentleman,” he murmured, “then I don’t know what it would take to make the truth clear to you...”

Well, suddenly you were the one left blushing.

“It’s not that. I…I don’t want to assume anything more, not when you’re such a precious person to me. I’m just scared of ruining what we have between us.”

Albert turned his attention back to you, using the hand that was still on your waist to pull you close to him again. Taking your other hand in his, he lifted it up to his lips, your faces now just mere inches apart.

“And what if I were to say that I do want something more?”

You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

But you still felt the press of his lips against yours, took in the smell of his cologne, and memorized the touch of his fingers running along your cheek. It was not a dream. It was even better.

Albert leaned down next to your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. “If one kiss isn’t enough to convey how much my heart yearns for you, then allow me to kiss you until you’re breathless, and no more words of doubt are left on your tongue.”

Albert smiled as your face grew redder, and with the way he bit his lip, you knew he was struggling not to comment on it.

“For a noble, you sure lack any semblance of shame, Master Albert."

Albert shook his head and chuckled to himself, that mischievous glint having once again returned to his eyes. “Keep teasing me and you’ll find out just how shameless I can be, darling.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing Albert’s hand tighter in yours. “If you want to kiss me so badly, do so in a place that’s actually romantic, will you?”

Taking you by the hand, Albert began to lead you outside of the ballroom and into the rose gardens. “Of course, and I’ll take my time to make sure I kiss you properly.”

You made a mental note to thank William and Louis for letting you tag along to the ball. If all went well, they would end up becoming your own brothers-in-law, after all.

But that could wait until you finally had Albert’s affections all to yourself.

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #albert moriarty #albert moriarty x reader #kat writes #IT'S FINALLY HERE #Honestly I'm so happy with this one :3

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senditcolton · 1 year

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do i really have to tell you?

summary - do i really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life? (for @smileysvech : happy birthday!!)

word count - 6.7k (flashback in italics)

warnings - this is a cheating fic. a mutual cheating fic. brady is married in this story. the reader is engaged. they are having an affair. dead dove, do not eat. [but i did use a fictional name for Brady’s wife] (also vague smut at the very beginning and a toxic/emotionally abusive relationship)

Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

Late March

The pair of wine glasses sit silently on the table in front of the fireplace.

A glimpse causes you to notice the small imprint of your lipstick on the rim of one of them. The thought that you would have to clean it off, make it disappear without a trace, crosses your mind only briefly before your eyes flutter close again, your head thrown back onto the plush pillow.

You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin as you blindly reach down, a hand running through Brady’s hair, his head buried between your thighs as he continues to slowly, painstakingly, take you apart with his tongue.

The fire was a good idea earlier in the night. It was unusually cold for March and the flames kept the two of you warm at first. There was also no denying that the flickering embers added an ambiance to the moment – made this feel safe. Like there was nothing to fear. And there wasn’t. Not right now at least.

The house was empty. Silent. Except for the bedroom in which the two of you currently reside. The crackling logs the only accompaniment to your soft moans.

A strangled gasp falls from your lips as Brady hits that spot that made you see stars, your back arching and a small whine emanating from your throat. From under your eyelashes, you see Brady’s deep brown eyes flicker up to you, before he repeats the motion, his strong hands holding your hips in place.

There is no choice but to let him continue which you gladly allow, your fingers tangling deeper in his locks. Your breaths come in short staccato gasps as Brady’s mouth moves against your core, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. It only takes one final stroke of his skilled tongue to make you fall apart, muscles tensing as you let the waves of your latest orgasm crash through you, the near silent moan escaping your lips.

Brady stays situated between your thighs, prolonging your release before removing himself from your center, trailing soft barely-there kisses up your hipbones… stomach… ribs… breasts… collarbones… until he finally comes to hover over you. There is a small pause as he waits for your eyes to open. Once you do, you can’t help but notice the scar on his chin, emphasized by the shadows of the firelight, before he is crashing his lips into yours.

Another muffled moan is drawn from you at the taste of your release lingering on his lips. The same lips that you chase when he pulls away, your actions causing a small chuckle to rumble from Brady’s chest. The hand that wasn’t supporting his weight comes to brush away the lingering strands of hair stuck to your face, his fingers trailing down before holding the side of your neck, his thumb tracing over your jawline.

You try not to shiver as the cold metal band on his ring finger touches the delicate skin of your throat. But it is impossible not to. And although Brady notices, he doesn’t say anything, just shoots a melancholy smile down to you.

There’s nothing that you can do but mirror his expression as you push away the graying strands of his hair from where they fell over his forehead. All the while pretending not to notice the diamond of your own engagement ring catching the dancing firelight, making it sparkle.

An incessant reminder that you shouldn’t be doing this. That this was wrong, in so many ways.

But you didn’t plan on this happening. You didn’t imagine anything like this would come out of that snowy day back in January, back when you first met Brady.

How were you to know?

January

You needed to get out of the house. You didn’t care if it was one of the coldest days on record. You couldn’t stand to be there for a second longer.

Something that you couldn’t explain to anyone, especially not your friends. Mostly because your friends were his. And they would never understand.

The house was beautiful; big, fancy, a worthy signpost of your fiancé’s wealth and your comfortable future of picket fences and tasteful parties. But it was empty. In more than one sense of the word.

Your fiancé was gone off on business, again. He seemed to be gone more often than he used to. But even when he did inhabit the same halls as you, you still felt lonely. The house was devoid of warmth… of love.

The change came on slowly. When you first met Cal, he was everything a woman could’ve wanted: rich and handsome. And he wanted you. He pursued you. He wooed you.

Flowers on your doorstep. Expensive dinners. Gifts of jewelry just because.

And when he got down on one knee six months ago, it was the happiest you ever felt. You thought saying yes was the easiest decision you would have to make.

Back then you didn’t know that that ring slipped onto your finger was a noose.

As soon as you agreed to be his, Cal stopped trying. It was as if now that he had you, he didn’t need to put any effort into keeping you. He relegated you. He expected you to be a wife, in the most archaic sense of the word.

And at first, you were willing to try. You welcomed him home with a clean house and good meals, tables laid with the finest dishes. You desperately wanted this to work, for you and him to work. You were head over heels in love with him. You thought he felt the same.

But now…

That was the reason why you had to leave, even if only for a little while. That was why you found yourself wandering around the local art museum, walking the empty hallways, staring at paintings and sculptures of old.

Looking at pieces of the past. All the while grieving your present and dreading your future.

“Do you know much about the artist?”

Your head turns away from the painting of the lone woman to see a man standing a short distance behind you. He’s handsome. That much you’re willing to admit. And that’s about as much as you can tell by looking at him; his salt and pepper hair, his hands shoved in the pockets of his peacoat. You also notice the fancy Rolex adorning his wrist, the months of being with your fiancé and the wealth of him and his friends making you adept at catching it on others.

Too rich for a museum employee, you think. But that thought doesn’t stop you from speaking the first thought in your head.

“No. Are you going to tell me about them?”

“I would,” the stranger continues, taking a few more steps towards you until he falls into place on your left side. “But if I did, everything out of my mouth would be a lie.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have no idea who painted this.”

“So, you’re not a tour guide,” you laugh, his candor catching you off-guard even though the words did not.

“Not at all,” he says, turning to look at you and it’s now that you get a good look at his eyes; the brown irises pulling you in. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh really? Why?”

“I don’t think I have a reason.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much of an impression you’re making,” you reply, your voice light and airy to emphasize that you were teasing him. “You started out strong, attempting to start this conversation by talking about the art in front of me. But you sort of derailed it by admitting that you knew nothing. Most people would pretend just so the conversation had a way to continue.”

“So, I should’ve lied to you? Not a good way to build a relationship, don’t you think?”

You have to stop yourself from having such a visceral reaction to his words, words that were so accurate and relevant to your life. After your gather yourself again, you give a small nod towards him.

“True,” you hum, turning your gaze away from him and back towards the painting.

“My name is Brady, by the way,” the man speaks again, forcing your attention back to him to find his eyes still attached to your frame. You offer him a smile and your name in return before directing your gaze back to the painting in front of you. The silence lasts for a moment before Brady breaks it again.

“So, what brings you into the art museum today?”

“Are you sure you don’t work here? Because you really are sounding like an employee,” you laugh.

“I swear. My actual job is as far away from the arts world as you could possibly get.”

“So, why are you here?”

“Had a day off. Decided not to spend it cooped up in my apartment. You?”

“Needed to get out of the house,” you say, which was technically the truth even if the motivations might have been wildly different than the norm.

“Well then, it looks like we have a lot in common.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you don’t know anything about me. See? Another thing we have in common,” Brady quips back, his easy-going nature forcing another laugh to fall from your lips and you feel yourself start to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. Was it really this easy? Did you really forget how it easy it was supposed to be?

You ignore those nagging questions for right now, focusing back on the painting hanging on the wall in front of you. It wasn’t long until Brady spoke once again.

“She looks like you,” Brady says. His words make you shoot a questioning glance his way, your eyebrows furrowing as you turn back to examine the woman in the frame.

“You think so?”

“Maybe not the in the physical sense. But the look in her eyes. That faraway look. You had that same look when I first saw you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess, that was maybe my reason for coming over. You looked like you needed some company, other than your daydreams.”

His words once again catch you off-guard. This man, who you knew for less than 20 minutes, was somehow able to read you so clearly. He saw you, actually saw you. You hadn’t had that in a long time.

“Well,” you say, lightness in your voice never wavering, “my daydreams are usually better than my reality.”

“Am I that bad of company?” Brady jokes, causing a laugh to fall from your lips.

“No,” you reply. “You’re… refreshing. It’s nice.”

The soft smile that you send up to him is genuine and you are happy to get what you assume is an equally genuine smile from him.

“Could I buy you a coffee?”

“I’d like that.”

That was three months ago. You never expected it to grow into this.

But that one coffee led to another which led to spending the rest of the day together. And it was magical. You never wanted it to end.

So, when Brady walked you back home, who were you to not invite him in for a late-night glass of wine? And so what if that wine loosened some of the inhibitions that had been previously holding you back? While also heightening the attraction that had been building between the two of you?

And although it may come as a surprise for most people, when Brady put his hand over yours and you saw his wedding ring shine under the kitchen light… it made you want him more.

Because while your ring was a snare, his ring was security.

It meant that he had just as much to lose as you did.

Three months. Three months of safety, of warmth, of Brady being your escape from the cold indifference of the winter that surrounded you. Three months.

You wanted this to last, wanted to stay just like this. Let life move on around you two and ignore it all.

But the thaw was coming.

You sigh, turning away from Brady’s frame still lying next to you in your bed, the sheets tangling around you as the fear that had been slowly building started to creep into your heart.

It isn’t silenced until your feel Brady’s lips dance across your shoulder blades, his arm sneaking its way around your waist. You turn your head to look up at him, that silver hair falling into his face again, that gentle smile on his lips.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you whisper and hate the way your words cause his smile to fade, the look in his eyes growing distant.

“I know,” he replies. But you’ve heard those words before. You’ve both said them multiple times, as if the knowledge would prevent you from continuing.

It never did.

“I’m serious Brady,” you say again, rolling over onto your back to look at him clearly. “You have a wife. I have a fiancé.”

“I know,” he repeats, his voice a little more forceful this time. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know I don’t. But… this has to stop. I’m getting married. Soon.”

Brady scoffs, pulling away from you and removing himself from the bed. You sit up and watch as he moves about the room, picking up his discarded clothes and putting them back on, the fabric slowly covering his warm skin.

“I still can’t believe that you are going through with that,” he mutters under his breath, his words soft that if you were anywhere else, you might not have heard them. But you did and the indignation in his voice hits you square in the chest.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you challenge. You watch as his shoulders lift in a sigh, hearing the dare in your voice before his eyes dart back to your frame.

“It means that I just can’t believe that you are still actively planning to marry the man that you have been cheating on.”

His words ignite a spark of anger within you. Who was he to talk?

“Don’t throw that at me Brady. It’s not like you don’t go home to your wife and pretend that nothing has changed.”

“I’m not saying that,” he says, sighing again as he slips his shirt over his head but the words keep tumbling out of your mouth.

“Who are you to talk about what I should and shouldn’t do? You know that I don’t have a choice -”

“Yes, you do!” he snaps, cutting you off as he spins to face you. “Of course, you do. You can break-up with him. He doesn’t love you, you know that, you’ve told me as much. You have that choice.”

“So do you,” you whisper, holding his gaze.

It’s another dare. Another challenge held out between the two of you. The options were there, laid bare and crystal clear. You didn’t need to speak them aloud to know what they were.

You could either leave your partners. Grow up and come clean, no matter how uncomfortable that may be. Remove those commitments; from your lives, from your ring fingers, from the equation of you and Brady.

Or you could leave each other. Understand that this thing – relationship, tryst, affair, fling, what have you – had run its course. That it was time to end this, permanently. Avoid the potential for things to end badly if someone finds out.

Either choice was daunting. Frightening. There was no answer, no easy answer.

“What’s your decision?” you ask, breaking the silence, your eyes still locked to Brady’s. Both of you are still for a moment. Until Brady finally tears his eyes away, turning and collapsing on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

There isn’t much else to say and even if there was something more to be said, you wouldn’t know what that would be. So, you let the covers slip off your body, crawling to the end of the bed before settling yourself behind Brady. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your chest coming to press against his warm back, your head resting in the nook of his neck.

It is a moment before your feel Brady’s hand sneak up and caress the skin of your forearm, his head moving to press a gentle kiss into your hair.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you mumble, not sure if you meant to say those words out loud but couldn’t take them back now that they were said.

Brady doesn’t respond. Doesn’t say anything. Instead, you feel his weight shift and you unwillingly relinquish your hold on him as he lifts himself off the bed before turning to you, looking down at you with those eyes that you loved so much.

You want him to tell you… well, you’re not sure what you want him to tell you.

Say that he doesn’t want to lose you either. Doesn’t want this to end.

Tell you to leave; to leave and never come back to him because it will end in flames no matter what.

But he doesn’t say anything.

He just leans down, cupping your jaw with his strong hand and lifting your head up to kiss you. It feels like he pours every emotion into that kiss. Perhaps because he was unsure if this was the last kiss you would share.

And before you could blink, Brady walked out of your bedroom. And a few moments later, you hear the echo of the front door closing, signaling the departure of him from your house – and potentially your life.

Early April

The scorching heat from the running water is a welcomed sensation as you clean the dinner dishes. You welcomed anything that would ground you, keep you in the present instead of letting yourself get lost in your thoughts.

Even if the present wasn’t all that pleasant.

You posture instinctively straightens as you hear Cal walk back into the kitchen. He doesn’t say a word to you, instead he slips another plate into the sink before turning away. You know he doesn’t exit the room completely. You could still feel his presence.

It was something you had grown keenly aware of, for multiple reasons. But that awareness felt heightened today because every time Cal was in the same room as you, it felt as if he brought this weight along with him. That pressure had been hanging over the two of you the entirety of the day and you wondered what it meant.

Wondered what it would mean when it finally came crashing down.

You focus on the task at hand in a feeble attempt to ignore that weight. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cal settle himself in the kitchen, leaning his body against the cold marble island, the whiskey glass in his hand, the clinking of the ice within the only sound as you start to dry off the dishes.

“Are you going to accompany me tonight?” Cal asks, finally breaking the silence. He asked it as if you really had a choice. Usually, it was required of you to show up with him to formal events, like tonight’s gala which you knew nothing about, unless he explicitly said otherwise.

But since he phrased it as a question, you decided to press against what was ‘expected’ of you.

“I don’t know,” you reply, starting noncommittal before steeling yourself. “I thought I might just stay home. Spend some time alone.”

“Alone? Or with someone else?”

It takes all your willpower not to drop the glass in your hand. He hadn’t said anything to indicate who he was referring to; it was the way he said it… did he know? Brady and you had always been so careful. There was no possible way he could have realized it. He didn’t know it was happening for three months. What could have possibly changed?

“Like who?” you question, wary to press the issue but wanting to know for certain if you had been discovered.

“That man you have been inviting into our bed whenever I’ve been away on business.”

He knew about Brady. It wasn’t clear how much he knew. But he knew.

“I don’t know what you mean Cal,” you respond, choosing to go on the defensive.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he says, his voice hardening and you can hear his body lift off the countertop. You attempt to ignore him until his hand wraps around your bicep, forcing you to spin to face him. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think I noticed the bottles of missing wine? You don’t think people have seen him leaving the house? You don’t think people talk and that it would get back to me?”

He pauses, as if he expects you to respond; expects you to admit to the missteps that you have made, to fall on your knees and beg for his forgiveness.

But you don’t. The fire that Brady had lit within you, that fire and passion that he reignited, that he said he loved so much, burned brightly. You stood your ground, cooly staring at Cal and watched the realization wash over his face before his scowl deepens.

“You are never to act like that again. I forbid it.”

Cal turns to exit, a sign that this conversation was over and he had the last word. But his retreat is stopped when he hears the scoff leave your mouth, the sound forcing him to look back towards you, standing next to the sink with your arms crossed.

“You forbid it?” you quip, the question in your tone a scathing sarcastic one. “I am not one of your employees that you can order around. I am your fiancée.”

“Yes,” Cal replies, stalking back towards you. “Yes, you are. And that means that you belong to me.”

“I do not belong to you.”

“As long as you are wearing that diamond ring on your finger, yes you do. That means you are mine. It also means that you do not fuck someone else behind my back. It means that you do not disrespect me like that.”

“Me? Disrespect you? How about all the times you’ve done the same to me?”

“I have never fucked someone else.”

“I don’t mean that. You really think that because you’ve done the bare fucking minimum that give you fucking points or something? Even when you haven’t shown any affection towards me since the day you proposed?”

“Oh, now you’ve truly fucking lost it,” Cal huffs in exasperation, turning away from you.

“No,” you say, throwing down the towel still in your hands as you follow him across the kitchen tile. “I thought you loved me, Cal. I truly thought you did. But as soon as I agreed to be your wife, you stopped fucking trying. And I have done everything for you. I gave up everything for you!”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. You will not cry over the man standing in front of you, the disdain painted on his face.

“You’re never here, Cal. And I don’t mean it like ‘you travel so much and I never get to see you’. Even when you are physically here, you aren’t here emotionally. You’ve checked out of this relationship. And now-” you let out a small scornful laugh “-now you’re acting like I’ve wronged you when before this, it truly felt like you never cared about anything I did. No matter what it was, you didn’t fucking care. And now you are holding my discretions against me when you – you – you don’t care and – you’re just making me feel insane.”

“I’m not the one that’s making you feel crazy. I think you’re making yourself feel that way,” Cal retorts, moving towards you, invading your space and making you shrink back. “Because,” he continues, “you’d have to be crazy to think anything I’ve done could justify fucking another man in the bed you share with your fiancé.”

His words make your head spin. He was always good at that, making you doubt yourself. But you know better now – Brady showed you something better. You stand your ground, planting your feet firmly, and refuse to back down.

“Screw you. You can gaslight me all you want but you’re either an idiot or too fucking manipulative to see what you’re doing,” you say, drawing from that fire within you for the strength to continue. “Do you really want to know why? Why I decided to fuck him? Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

There is a silence and you know that you have him trapped. For the first time in this conversation, you have him beat.

Because he does want to know. If there was one thing you could count on, it was his ego, his selfishness. He wanted to know why you refused him when any other woman would worship the very ground he walked on.

“I did it because he made me feel like a person again. He wants me. He desires me. And if you think that you can take that away then you are sorely mistaken. Even if you drag me kicking and screaming down that aisle, I will still have that. Even if you lock me in the fucking attic for the rest of our lives, you cannot take away that knowledge from me. He loves me. More than you ever could.”

“Then where is he?” Cal asks, the coolness of his voice and words sending a shot of ice through your veins.

There it was. Somehow, like he always did, he managed to snatch any semblance of power away from you. Because he was right. You hadn’t heard from Brady since the night he left two weeks ago.

Cal sees that fact register on your face, sees you relinquish and retreat, giving him back control of the conversation – of this relationship.

“Now,” Cal states, standing up straight and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, “you are going to attend this gala with me. You are going to stay by my side the entire night. And while we’re there, you will act like the wife that you are meant to be, the perfect fucking wife. Because that is what I and everyone else around me expects from you. And I will not be made a fool of. Not now. Not ever. Are we clear?”

You don’t speak. Partly because you don’t want to give Cal the satisfaction but also because you realized that you didn’t need to speak. He knew that he won, knew that you didn’t have a choice. So, you stay silent, your eyes diverting away from Cal’s frame in… shame? Embarrassment?

Defeat.

“We leave in an hour.”

Those are the words he leaves you with before turning and finally exiting the kitchen. And as soon as he is gone, the first thing that you wish you could do is collapse to the floor in tears.

You had never felt a pain like this. You had always felt trapped in this relationship, even before things truly got bad. But now, when you knew there was something better out there, an escape, a promise of a better relationship, a better man, it made this defeat feel even worse.

Especially because you knew that you might be partly responsible for your chance at something better being taken away.

But you can’t dwell on these thoughts. Can’t let them infest your mind. Cal can try to break you down as much as possible but if you are permanently trapped in this house, in this marriage, you won’t let him win.

You take a few deep calming breaths before leaving the kitchen and ascending the grand staircase to your room. After entering, you go through the motions of preparing yourself for the gala; a nice dress, makeup, fancy hairstyle. And even though the hollow in your chest feels as large as it ever has been, you still think of how to rebel in small ways against your fiancé; the fiancé who never loved you for you.

Cal wanted your hair down – you pulled it up. Cal always wanted a full-face of makeup – you put on the bare minimum. Cal wanted you to dress somewhat conservatively – you chose one of your most risqué dresses with a high-slit and deep neckline.

And you take your time, pushing the boundaries of the deadline Cal set. Because you knew that he cared more about his image than you and punctuality was paramount.

So, when you descend the stairs a few minutes past the hour, you feel that fire leap in your chest when you see Cal’s jaw clench at your appearance. And that fire stays strong when you see him glance at his Rolex before heaving a sigh and extending his arm to you – a silent resignation.

One that you don’t take.

Instead, you walk into the connecting garage without him, slipping into the passenger seat of the car, and closing the door without a word.

Cal doesn’t say anything. Not when he enters the car, not when the two of you pull away from the house, not on the entire trip to the gala. It is only when you are about to pull up to the front of the valet line does he turn to you.

“I know what you are doing. Don’t think that I don’t notice,” he says, addressing you but not sparing a glance your direction, instead pulling forward for the valet. “But it’s pointless – as pathetic as a child’s tantrum. One that we are just going to have to weather. Now,” he says, finally directing his attention to you, his stare cold. “Behave.”

He disappears from the car, handing off the keys to the valet before walking around the car to your door. Despite the fact that there is nothing more that you would rather do, you take a beath and plaster a fake, demure, smile on your face before Cal swings the car door open. You take his arm and let him lead you into the gala.

The ballroom was already bustling with people, all dressed their best. It took you a moment to fully take in your surroundings but when you saw the stage, the banners and screens on it emblazoned with the Carolina Hurricanes logo, you felt your heart drop.

Out of all the goddamn events that your fiancé decided to attend and he chose this one. The Canes annual end-of-season charity gala.

You clench your hand around your clutch a little tighter as your fiancé pulls you through the crowd, stopping to say hello to a few people, occasionally introducing you. You don’t say a word though, refusing to play into this farce any more than you have to. Cal doesn’t seem to mind though.

Because that’s what he wanted. A beautiful, silent, wife.

Without even thinking, you snatch a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a quick gulp, ignoring the small look Cal shoots in your direction. If he thought you were going to be able to get through this night without the help of alcohol, he was sadly mistaken.

Your eyes continue to flit around the event space, eyeing the groups of people as they pass. Cal seemed to pull you towards the groups that had already drawn a big crowd, being able to sense the influence they had and wanting to get a taste of it himself.

But while Cal was looking for power, you were looking for Brady.

Well, mostly you were looking for him in the hopes that he wouldn’t be here.

Your luck runs out when you hear a laugh that sounds achingly familiar and you can’t stop yourself from turning your head in the direction of the sound. And your heart leaps at the sight of him, dressed in a tux, bowtie delightfully rumpled, the streaks of silver in his hair shining. You want to turn your gaze away, want to pretend he wasn’t here, want to make sure he didn’t know you were here. But your gaze stays glued to his frame until he must sense your eyes and his attention turns towards you.

As soon as those deep brown eyes are on you, the ache in your chest increases.

And it is only now do you truly understand what that ache meant.

Before, it was passion. The excitement, the risk. It was a desperate desire. But beneath all of that… it was love. You had thrown that word in Cal’s face during your argument, as a jab towards how he treated you. But you realized that your fire was fueled not just by Cal’s indifference, but also Brady’s love.

And you loved him back.

Your lips slightly twitch upward – an attempt at a smile when your eyes connect to Brady. However, his smile falters as his gaze trails down to your arm that was intwined with Cal’s. The smile completely drops when you feel Cal press a kiss into your hair.

Your gaze tears away from Brady to Cal, slightly shocked at his public display. Cal just smiles cooly down at you and the look behind his eyes has your stomach dropping.

He knew. Everything.

That’s why he brought you here.

To not only show the world, but also Brady, that you were his.

Big mistake.

You can feel the heat climb through your body, your chest heaving and jaw clenching. That fire that Brady started, that flicker that Cal had almost successfully doused returned with a vengeance, strong as a goddamn blaze. There were so many things that you could do. Slap him, throw your champagne on him, spit in his face.

You decided on… nothing.

Instead, you plastered a fake smile on your face and leaned into his shoulder. A sign of acceptance. One that Cal was too stupid or too proud to question. He puffed up like a peacock as he continued to lead you around the ballroom. This continues for a while, all while you bide your time, playing your role dutifully. Until your fiancé was deep in his drinks, talking it up at a table with some bigwigs who you couldn’t even bother learning the names of. That’s when you slip away.

As soon as you’re free, your eyes search for the familiar profile of Brady in the sea of people. It takes a moment before you spy him, standing a few feet away and a part of you is relived when you watch as his eyes dart over to the table where you once sat, still looking towards you.

You keep your eyes on him as his gaze travels around the room before finally landing on you, standing across the space from him. You stare at him for a moment, a silent plea, before you turn to the staircase, walking up towards the balcony that overlooked the entire gala.

When you reach the top, you lean against the smooth marble railings, looking out over the sea of people, praying that Brady was behind you. Praying that you didn’t make everything worse by playing along with Cal. Praying that Brady, your sweet beautiful Brady who was able to read you so easily before, could still truly see you now.

And you can’t stop the breath of relief that rushes through you when you hear a throat clear behind you. You spin and see Brady standing a few feet away from of you.

“So, you made your choice?” he asks, referencing the decision that you forced each other to make all those weeks ago.

“I did,” you reply. “Did you make yours?”

“Yes,” he replies, head dropping down to stare at his shoes.

A pause, heavy and pregnant with all the words that were still unsaid. Until you watch Brady’s shoulders lift with a deep breath before he glances up again, his eyes filled with a fierceness and conviction that you’ve only seen once.

The night the affair started. The night when you both committed to each other; a messy illicit commitment but one nonetheless.

“I ended things with Melissa,” Brady tells you, so calmly that it takes a moment for the words to register. “I told her everything. She was angry, of course. And sad as well. But I told her that I loved her and that part of me would always love her. But not as much as I love you.”

Brady takes a few steps towards you, closing the distance between you and your hands instinctively reach out towards him. An action which Brady reciprocates, his hands finding yours, fingers intertwining and you are startled to not feel the cool press a wedding band on his finger. Not because you doubted him. It was just a familiar sensation that had now vanished. Brady doesn’t take any time before continuing.

“I may have loved Melissa once, a long time ago, but I have never loved her as much as I love you. And maybe that’s insane to say and this choice might ruin so many things for me – other relationships, my career, my image, the public’s perception of me. But I don’t care. Because I love you. I want you. No one else,” he implores, his head dropping until those errant strands of hair flop over his forehead and barely brush the top of yours. “Just you.”

You can feel the tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a combination of his words, the relief rushing through you, and the desperation at having him this close again.

“Please say something,” he whispers and your blink, your eyes flicking up to stare into his.

“I love you too. I don’t think I realized it before but I love you, Brady. Tonight, I played along with Cal but you have to understand… it was you the entire time. You changed me, for the better. You made me realize how much fight I had left in me when I thought that it was all gone. You brought me back to life. And I love you but that also fucking terrifies me.”

As soon as those words escape, you see Brady’s brow furrow in confusion. But this was the truth and you needed him to hear it. So, you press on.

“You are the best thing that has happened to me and the best thing that could ever happen to me. And that’s what scares me. Because without you, I don’t know what I would do. What I would’ve done. Who I would have become. I need this to work. Despite the consequences, the scrutiny. I want so badly for this to work. Because if it doesn’t…”

“It will work,” Brady cuts you off, his hands departing from yours to tangle in your hair, forcing your head up to make your eyes stay connected with his. “It will. After all,” he says, that teasing lightness creeping into his voice as his thumb caresses your jawline, “we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound slightly stuttered as it escapes through your tears, the tears that Brady so easily wipes away.

“I love you,” he repeats, just as earnest as before. “I want you. I want this. We can make this work. Just as long as you want this too.”

There are no words that you can string together that would accurately affirm Brady’s words. So, you don’t speak. The only response you can think to give is to finally, finally, surge forward, connecting your lips to his. You kiss him fiercely, hands tangling in his hair and pulling him impossibly closer – a silent vow that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Brady responds in kind, one hand staying in your hair while the other descends to the small of your back, pulling you closer, pressing your body impossibly tight against his. It is a moment before you feel Brady’s lips detach from yours, far enough to speak.

“He’ll see us,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against yours and you know he’s referring to Cal sitting somewhere down below.

“I don’t care,” you murmur against his lips. “I don’t care.”

Because you had Brady. There was nothing more you needed.

And you were never letting go again.

No more keeping score. Now I just keep you warm.

#nicole writes #it's FINALLY HERE #again i apologize immensely i just hit a block until very recently #but hey it's over now and the fic is here and i hope you all love it #brady skjei fic #brady skjei angst #carolina hurricanes fic #carolina hurricanes imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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