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queers-gambit · 1 year

Text

Two to Tango

prompt: the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.4k+

note: author still does not want any messages about glorifying toxic relationships. typically, but not always, when someone calls you clingy, it's weaponized and is abusive. this fic is not meant to portray that! it’s meant to show internal agony and the journey to forgiveness - Carmy apologizes 'cause he's actually sorry!

warnings: cursing, reader folds 'cause who wouldn't for the sweet puppy that is Carmy, hurt and comfort, small angst, small fluff, we talk about Mikey a bit, author uses writing as therapy, relationship angst...? barely edited.

part one: God's Plan

"It's six in the Goddamn morning!" You raged at your front door, stomping up to it, "Are you dumb in the fucking head!? Who the fuck in their right mind knocks like the Goddamn cops at six in the fucking morning!?"

You whipped it open, the force causing a breeze of air to blow your bedridden hair back and highlight your exhaustion. "Hiya, sunshine," Richie beamed down at you, holding up a paper bag, offering, "donut?"

"Richie!? I know you're not fuckin' stupid, baby boy, so, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's six in the morning on my day off - do you want to give me a reason to punch you? You hate your nose that much?"

He tisked at you mockingly, "Someone's cranky this morning."

"What do you want?"

"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee? I brought us donuts! See? C'mon, Peach," He jostled the bag around with a shit-eating, closed-lip smile. "Dooonuts," he taunted.

You had to pause, count to ten in your head, then sigh through your nose. You offered kindly, "Richie? Would you like to come in for some coffee? Since you kindly brought donuts?"

He grinned, "Awwh, thanks, Peach, thats real nice of yah! Don't mind if I do!"

"Don't call me that," you snapped, leading him into your kitchen. The door shut and locked.

"Oh, someone's touchy."

"What do you fucking want?" You whined, pouring two mugs of hot coffee. "You come bangin' at my door, early ass in the mornin'. You better have a good-ass reason," you slid the mug over the counter he sat at. "Cream or sugar?"

He shook his head, fiddling with the mug for a moment before admitting as you dressed up your own coffee, "Uh, so... It's Carmy."

You paused, taking a slow sip from your mug, waiting for more that wouldn't come. So, you quietly asked, "What about Carmy?"

"He's falling apart."

"O...Kay?"

"Peach," he frowned, "you know that your relationship was the only thing that made sense to him - he's falling apart without you there."

"Okay," you nodded, taking another swallow of hot bean-water.

"That's it? Nothing else to say? Dude's losin' his fuckin' shit, Peach. Okay? Barely leaves the restaurant, h-he's all manic and shit, doesn't stop cookin', isn't gettin' a lotta sleep, and Syd said his clothes are all over the apartment - he's not keeping himself in order."

"So, he needs his mother?"

Richie glared with a clenched jaw, "Not fuckin' funny, Peach."

"I'm not laughing."

"He needs you."

"I'd argue otherwise, he's a grown fuckin' man who doesn't need to be taken care of. Look, if he was man enough to call me a desperate, clingy bitch, he's man enough to deal with the fallout of his words."

"Look, hey, hey, hey, I'm not sayin' he's not in the wrong," he waved his hands, eyes widening, "actually, the exact opposite. We all chewed his ass out when we found out what he fuckin' said, Peach. And look, I've never seen Fak that fuckin' angry."

You semi-pouted your bottom lip, "Really?"

"Fak was ready to strangle Carmy, I think," Richie sighed. "I yelled, Sugar yelled, Fak lost his shit, Syd even cornered him in the office and laid into him..."

"I thought she didn't like me," you whispered.

"She's getting to know you, but she likes you," he assured, "and it's obvious the affect you have on Carmy. We all respect that - "

"Oh, great, so everyone except the one person who needs to respect our relationship - respects it!"

Richie frowned at you, nodding in agreement before admitting, "He's a dumb fuckin' idiot, Peach, we all know that, but the dude is losing it without you."

"Sucks to suck."

"Peach," he groaned, slapping his hands to the counter with exasperation. "Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love him, but I also have this little thing called self-respect! He said some shit - shit he can't ever take back. The fuck I look like going back to him when he's the one in the wrong!? I don't hate myself that much, and despite what he says, I'm not that desperate for love."

"How is talking to the man you love - "

"Richie," you paused him, "your Cousin said a lot of hurtful shit. It's been weeks, okay? He's gonna snap outta it, realize what he's done, and right the wrongs he's committed. I don't need to speed that along in any way, shape, or form - he's a grown man. And I'm a grown woman, I don't have to fall to anyone's beck-and-call, he can figure his own shit out."

"I know - look, it's been fuckin' weeks of us dealin' with him losin' his fuckin' mind!" Richie snapped. "We tried to respect that you wanted distance and time, we really did, but he's losin' it, Peach, more than he's lost it before. Okay? I'm concerned about him, more than I was when the shit with Mikey went down..."

You sighed and leaned on your kitchen counter, wiping your fingers over your eyes to pinch the bridge of your nose after. "Okay, okay," you paused, sighing again, blinking as you looked at Richie, "so, what would you like me to do?"

He pouted dramatically, "Talk to him? Please?"

"To say... What?"

"I don't know, you guys can work that out together, but he's miserable, Peach. Just talk to him, just..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I know it's not fair to ask of you, but he's slippin' off the deep end. You're all he knows, all that makes sense to him, and with you gone..." His eyes turned red as he held back his tears, "I-I'm not sayin' he's gonna do anythin', Peach, but everythin' with Mikey's still so fresh... I just - I can't go through this again. Can't lose another Berzatto."

You frowned, understanding now why he appeared so frazzled.

"Carmy's not Mikey, Richie, okay?" You reminded him softly, reaching for his hand; leaving your extended to reach him, "And you're not gonna lose any more of us, you hear me?" You gave a squeeze, "I'll talk to him."

"Really?"

"I will," you assured softly, seeing the single tear drop from his waterline when he bowed his head and sniffled harshly. "Hey, Richie...? Do you, maybe, wanna bring some flowers to Mikey today? Think you wanna visit?"

He shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Maybe it'll be nice," you assured calmly. "It rained a few days ago, so, the ground won't be too soggy anymore, but the grass will be lush and green - hydrated and shit."

"Right," he chuckled, nodding, "yeah, okay, maybe that'll be nice, yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Carmy could use a visit, too."

"He won't go."

You nodded, "I know, but sometimes it's nice to just have the offer."

Richie agreed, downing the last of his black coffee. "All right," he cleared his throat, "let's go - you wearin' that?"

"What?"

"You gonna wear that? To go talk to Carmy?"

"It's not even seven in the morning!"

"He's at the restaurant," Richie shrugged. "Dude doesn't leave. C'mon, he needs a nap or somethin'."

You groaned, knowing he wouldn't leave unless you left with him. So, you got ready quickly while he sat at your desktop computer; playing Facebook's FarmVille - the same you left your little cousins to play when they needed distracted. He was enraptured by the adorable virtual sheep, laughing to himself as he learned the ropes of the game; and when you were ready, you had time to fill a to-go tumbler of coffee while he signed off.

When you arrived at The Beef, it was still closed for the morning prep; and inside, chaos rained in a fury of angry voices. You listened to Carmy snap at Marcus about something petty, going as far as to slap a pastry out of his hand as they argued in one another's faces with ignited passion.

"Ooookay," you moved through the kitchen and got between the two men, hands on Carmy's chest, "that's enough, Chef, hey, hey, hey, c'mon, walk away - just walk away, Carmy, don't do this. Hey, hey, don't do this, c'mon, just step off - walk away with me, please. Please, Carmy, hey, hey, step off, walk away with me, please."

"Fuck you doin' here, Peach?" He asked with red, swollen eyes. He looked sullen; pale between the angry red blotches to his skin, bags under his tired eyes, looking worn out and thinner than you remembered.

"Yeah, hey, hey, we'll talk about that, c'mon, outside, outside, outside," you directed him, sighing at the sight of the splattered pastry you were forced to step over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus," you whispered, seeing him nod and wave you off as you and Carmy pushed outside into the alley.

The door shut behind you, making Carmy snarl, "What the fuck, Peach - "

"No, I think that's better asked to you," you snapped. "The hell's wrong with you? Yellin' at Marcus like that? You know how rude it is to slap shit outta anyone's hand?"

He paced in anger, wiping a hand down his face; circling his mouth with his fingers, eyes ringed with red, hair greasy and tossed in a mess. His pants looked baggy, his shirt wrinkled, stained, and dirty with sweat marks.

"What're you doin' here?" He asked in a pant, hands going to his slender hips, head shaking as his tear-filled eyes avoided yours.

"Carmy, we need to talk."

"No shit," he breathed, scoffing after and widening his pace.

"Hey, Carmy, hey, hey," you reached for him, taking both his wrists in your grasp so he had to face you. "I need you to pause for me, please, hey," you stepped in his way when he tried to move. "Carmy, you're no good to anyone when you're like this - least of all yourself. So, I need you to talk - "

"You left," he panicked, pulling back to start pacing again. "You left - you left me. We got in a fight and you left, you fucking left. You walked away and you left me."

"Carmy, we got in more than a fight," you sighed. "You lashed out at me, then turned avoidant, and I don't linger where I'm not wanted."

"How can you think that?" He demanded, still pacing. "That you're not wanted by me? That you're not welcome, what? In my life? At my side? With me? Baby - of course, you are!"

"You didn't exactly make me feel any different," you pointed out sharply. "Carmy, can you please fucking pause for me so we can talk this out - "

"I know I fucked up," he ranted to himself, huffing and puffing as his emotion strangled him. "I know I did, I kept - I couldn't - I fucked up. I know I did. I couldn't get my head outta my ass," he listed, pacing as he panted when panic took hold of his being, "and I hurt you, and it was like I had to keep hurting you because I couldn't be alone in what I felt and I couldn't exactly figure out what the fuck I was feeling - I just needed you to hurt, too."

"Carmy," you sighed patiently.

"And I couldn't stop, I just kept going, and when I realized how bad I made it, I couldn't fucking stop - I needed y-yo-you t-to know what I felt, but I couldn't find the words. I-I hate that I did that, I-I fucking hurt you and I made this so much worse than it ever had t-to be, and I fucking know, Peach, okay? I know you're not clingy, you were just loving me. Y-You were loving me, you were using your own love languages, and I felt y-you so fuckin' close to me, and freaked out - I just - I just don't know why. I just - I panicked, I couldn't stop whatever I felt, and I'm so sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, wiping his cheeks as the tears started. "I-I-I'm so sorry, Peach, I couldn't control myself and I-I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your understanding, but I just - I couldn't stop - "

"Carmy," you stepped directly in his footpath; needing to seize hold of his swollen biceps to catch his movements as he all but barreled right into you, "I need you to breathe."

"Nah, I'm okay - "

"No, you're not," you spoke sternly, shaking your head. "Baby," you eased your tone to a softer tone, seeing a glimmer of hope spark in his baby blues, "I need you to take a breath and remain in the present with me, okay? Just stand here with me," you watched as he blinked a couple of times; reaching out to hold your waist tentatively. "And stay in the present, okay? Stay here with me."

"I'm so sorry, Peach," he whispered, stepping closer so he could feel your breasts against his chest; caging you with his arms. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't - I didn't know what the fuck I was even trying to fight with you about. You're not clingy - you're not any of the things I said, I didn't mean it - any of it."

"Calling me desperate?"

"I didn't mean any of it."

"A bitch?"

"Please," he whispered, bringing you in closer so he could rest his forehead on yours. "Don't repeat it, I know what I said, and I'm so fucking sorry for all of it. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm goin' crazy without yah, Peach. I need my best girl, and I don't deserve you, but I fuckin' need you." He sniffled, pulling back to caress your cheek, whispering, "I need you, Peach, you're the only thing that I know - the only thing I can understand, that makes sense to me. I think I just felt stressed and overwhelmed, I wasn't sure what to do - I couldn't find the words, I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, "I think we can work through this."

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not, but you have me anyway," you whispered, bringing his forehead to your own again. "But you can't do this again, taking anger out on me when I haven't done anything."

"Never again," he sighed, now nestling into your neck for comfort; arms tightening so you were the closest you could be with your head bent to keep his head caressed with yours.

"I don't think we can say 'never', but we can make an effort to leave work stress at work, right?" You whispered softly, letting one around coil around him to keep him close; the other caressing his jaw. "You don't get to treat me like that," you reminded him, "because I'm on your side, Carmy, I'm not the enemy."

"I know," he squeezed you tight.

"And the people doing their jobs are not the enemy," you smirked.

"I know," he chuckled lightly. "I owe Marcus an apology..."

"I'm sure you owe it to the others, too," you mused, holding his cheek as you turned your head to kiss his forehead. "Promise me we're done with that reactive bullshit. It doesn't make navigating a relationship easier on us."

"We're done, we're so fuckin' done with that shit," he whispered, deflating into your embrace as you held him close. "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am."

"I know," you comforted softly. "I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, this self-deprecating stunt has to end, too. We've gotta go forward with at least some confidence if we're gonna figure this out together."

He nodded, pulling back but keeping hold of your waist. "I am confident about this... About you - about us."

"Hmm?" You gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

"Move in with me - officially."

Your face contorted in mild disappointment, "Oh, Carmen - "

"No, no," he rushed, sighing as his hand flattened on your jaw and cheek again, "just listen to me. I've wanted to ask you for a long time, okay? I've wanted this for - like - fucking years. Hear me? I just," he sighed, "I wasn't sure how to ask. I want this for us, I want us to be together, okay? Officially. I-I want us living together, Peach, okay? I want to come home and just - I want you there. I want all of you," he frowned, tears swelling again, "and all your shoes in the foyer, hair in the shower drain, perfume on the counter, and every-single-way you know how to love me. I was wrong to say you were clingy - and everything else I said. Baby, the last couple weeks, I've felt so fucking empty, so lonely and - just - cold. I've been cold without you. I need you, Peach, I need you with me, and I need you to be exactly you - no holding back. Because you're exactly who I need to love me, I'm so sorry I fucked that up before."

"Carmy."

He frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I know," you smirked, "and I forgive you. But you know it's gonna take more than a few pretty words and some tears, right?"

He nodded, "Anything to make this work again."

You sighed in patience, "Go say your apologies to the others, we've got t'make a stop before going back to yours - and you're going to take a fucking nap."

"I'm fine - "

"Look me in my eye and try to tell me in the past 72 hours, you've had decent, restful sleep."

He frowned, opening his mouth a few times but then sighing. "You know I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly why we're going back to yours."

Carmy paused, brows furrowing as if a thread pulled them together. He asked softly, "Is that a no to us... Living together? Is that why you're calling it 'my' place?"

You offered him a look of patience and leaned in to peck his lips for a few prolonged seconds, promising, "There's your apartment, there's my apartment, and then there's gonna be our apartment. Somewhere that's just ours, 100% us." His mouth stretched in a grin, so you swiftly cut him off, "But you have to ask me again when you've got restful sleep under your belt. I want you clear headed when you make this kinda decision."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "Where're we goin' before?"

You swallowed nervously, telling him softly, "You absolutely do not have to go with us, but I think Richie could use a visit out to Mikey's grave. I said I'd take him with some flowers, but you do not have to get out to go with us - not if you're not ready."

He blinked a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth as his eyes dropped from yours. You were about to coo his name and assure him again, when he nodded at you and tried to half-smile. "Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll, uh... M-Maybe I can, just, hang back in the car."

"Sure, baby, whatever you're comfortable with," you whispered, leaning in to peck his forehead. "You good?"

"I will be."

"Mhm," you hummed, caressing his cheek again before pushing your hand into his curls. "Now, let's get a move on - I want you to march in there, say you're sorry to your Chefs, and then we'll leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Carmy whispered, leaning in to kiss you - but you pulled back.

"Aht," you halted him with a teasing finger to his lips, "after we've got everything worked out, then you can kiss me."

"You got t'kiss me," he mumbled against your finger; making you hum as you fought off a stretching smile, and lower your hand.

"Fair point - just one then - "

He cut you off by, indeed, pressing a single kiss to your lips, but not pulling back. His hand raised to hold the back of your head, your lips spreading in a grin against his; finding rhythm to move together before pausing to press in prolonged passion.

When he pulled back, you both paused to smile, and when you tried to peck his lips again, he pulled back, teasing, "Aht, just the one."

"Oh, fuck you," you laughed lightly, letting him take your hand before leading you back into the kitchen. The other Chefs lingered, sparing you and Carmy a few nervous glances, making you whisper in his ear as you squeezed his hand, "Go ahead, baby, get it done."

He nodded and called the kitchen to attention, clearing his throat, and beginning to make his apologies. He singled out Marcus, then Sydney, Richie, and Sugar; the kitchen staff all accepting his words and insisting he could take the day off - even the next few days if he wanted! You had to usher him to grab his things a few times, nudging him in reminder and verbally pushing him back into action. That boy's ADHD would truly be the death of him.

"So?" Richie smirked at you as Marcus handed you a packaged box of pastries.

"We're talking it out."

He chuckled, "Good. Get him outta here, Peach, dude needs to breathe."

"I got it," you swatted him away as Carmy exited the office. "But we've got somewhere to be first, right?"

He paused, then nodded and asked in a mutter, "He said okay?"

"He's got time to decide what he wants to do, but he knows we're going. C'mon, get your coat."

Richie met you at the front of the restaurant and with a parting wink to Sugar, you took Carmy's hand, tangled your fingers together, and left to venture to your parked car. Carmy got in the front, Richie in the back, and after a stop at a corner bodega to grab three bouquets of flowers, you drove to the cemetery. Carmy was silent, no music played, and Richie's leg bounced in anxious tension; making small conversation with you about your job in an effort to distract himself.

When you arrived, you pulled up on the access road that you knew was closest to Mikey's grave. Richie spared a glare between you and Carmy before muttering that he needed a cigarette and got out of the car to leave you alone. "Baby?" You whispered, reaching for his hand. "Hey, look, if you don't want to go with us, it's okay. We won't be long... But maybe you want to sign this," you showed him the small, blank name card left in the flowers.

"Why?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "So he knows they're from you."

"Peach," he sighed, meeting your eyes.

"Baby, I know it's silly, I know it's easier to ignore it all. But I'd like to believe it's just a nice gesture for our own closure - it's a signed gift from us, to them... And maybe it's nice to pretend that wherever they are, they know what we've left for them."

Carmy nodded slowly, "I-I don't think... I don't think I can go..."

"It's okay, baby," you whispered.

"But," he sniffled, opening his hand to you, "I'll sign it, if you'll leave it for me?"

"Of course," you rushed, opening your purse to producing a pen for him. The clank card rest on the center console of your car, pausing, swallowing nervously, then scribbling his name as he cleared his throat. He offered you the pen, waited until it was put away, then offered the flowers. "Hang tight, we won't be too long," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded, pecking your forehead before letting you get out of the car. You handed Richie his own flowers with a signed card, holding your own and Carmy's; linking arms with Rich to venture up the small grass hill and moved about halfway down the cemetery plot line. When you came to his stone, you understood this was what Rich needed more than you, so, you knelt and laid the two bouquets down before starting to quickly groom the area around his tombstone.

You told him, "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'll be back later for a picnic and a chat. I brought you flowers from me a-and from Carmy. He's in the car, but he's here, Mikey... Give him time," you whispered, brushing dirt from the stone before standing. "Take your time," you told Richie softly, seeing the tears gather in his eyes.

"Thanks, Peach," he whispered, offering you a tight hug. When you pulled back and started to walk away, Richie lowered himself to kneel and lay his own flowers down; hearing him tell Mikey, "Don't gotta worry 'bout us, Mike-Man, Peach is the glue that keeps us together. Shit, she even got Carmy out here..."

You made it back to the car and got in, smiling at Carmy - but dropping it the instant you saw tears in his eyes. "Talk to me," you whispered, reaching for a wet wipe in your glovebox to clean your hands after plucking the grass and brushing off dirt from the grave.

"Why can't I get out?"

You only stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say.

"I'm here... I'm finally here... Why can't I get out?"

"You're not ready," you nodded, tossing the wipe aside to a plastic bag. "It's okay, Carmy, it's okay to not be ready yet. We can come back when you are," you reached for his hand.

"I think this added to my frustration," he admitted. "I couldn't... I didn't go to the funeral, haven't been here since he was... You know."

"Laid to rest."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fuck's wrong with me?"

"You're grieving," you relented, nuzzling closer so your head rested on his shoulder. "It's not linear, Carmy, baby, just let yourself feel. When you try to repress your emotions, you lash out inappropriately."

"I know," he whispered, "'M sorry."

"It's not your fault," you promised, the two of you quietly bowing your heads together. You remained as such until Richie got back in the car, and from there, it was quiet as everyone stewed in their own emotion. You dropped Rich back at work before promising to call him later and driving away; heading for Carmy's apartment in the soothing silence, his hand locked in yours.

When you arrived at his apartment, you froze upon seeing the interior's state. "Oh, Carmy, no," you whispered, frowning deeply.

"Looks worse than it is," he deflected. You only hummed and let him lead you to the bedroom; watching him strip and prepare for bed before joining you on the mattress. He crashed almost immediately, sighing in relief as he pecked over your shoulder and collarbone, muttering, "'M so glad you're back. 'M so sorry, Peach."

"I know you are, and I forgive you," you told him softly, carding a manicured hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, baby."

He was asleep nearly instantly. He deflated on top of you, deeply resting enough to not notice you slip out from under him. You cleaned his entire apartment; doing laundry, cleaning, scrubbing, replacing necessities he deemed himself too lazy to pay attention to. You did dishes, cleaned out his fridge, and as you mopped up the floors, the sun set and Carmy emerged from the bedroom.

"Baby?" He mumbled in earnest confusion, sighing in relief when he saw you.

"What? Afraid I disappeared on you?" You teased with a small grin.

"For sure," he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes; making your amusement dim when you realized the nerve it struck. "The hell you doin'?"

"You didn't seriously think I could rest knowing this monster of a clean-up job lingered out here, did you?"

"I don't want you t'clean after me."

"Well, too late," you smirked. "You good now?"

"I feel better, yeah."

"Good."

"And I made up my mind."

"Hmm? About what?"

"I'm gonna take some time off work," he nodded, "and focus on us. Get us in a new crib, it'll be nice."

"Think you can handle that?"

He nodded, "I'll have to, you're the most important thing in my life, I can't lose you. So, if I gotta take time off, that's the least of my worries. I'm only here for us, for you."

You smiled at him, setting the mop aside to wrap him in your arms. "I like the sound of that, us making a home together - being able to decorate a new home. But don't let me overdo it, okay? I get all excited and kinda bulldoze my way through projects. I don't want you t'find real reason t'resent me."

"Nah, that ain't possible," he promised quietly.

True to his word, Carmy took three solid weeks off; agreeing to a fourth week as a contact-only consultant. You and he slept in most days, looking at apartments, and not once did he even mention work. He was diligent in his attention, focused on you and you alone; putting in overtime to rebuild that what was broke by focusing on shared interests again. You found a place you loved ready for what was basically immediate move-in, taking time to pack your respected places and prepare for the official start of your cohabitating relationship.

You didn't forget what he said, being reserved in your displays of love. Yet Carmy was different; he was totally clingy the moment you returned to his life. He feared letting you go meant you'd disappear again, feared you'd run away again. He held your hand at every possible opportunity, got you a fresh bouquet of weekly flowers, ran all his errands with you; never went to bed without you, cooked all meals with you in the kitchen - perched up on a counter. Most showers you took together, and almost every night was spent cuddling on the couch or in bed with either a book being shared between you or a new show playing on the mounted flatscreen TV.

Carmy clung because he thought if he showed you acts of his love, it'd allow comfort towards your loving behavior to flourish again - and he was right. It took a little bit of time, but Carmy clung tighter and tighter; ensuring you started to reciprocate before ever easing up in the intensity of his affectionate displays. He didn't want to overwhelm you, but knew you needed the reassurance.

You were cautious, you were apprehensive; tiptoeing around Carmy even when living together before warming back up to him. You didn't need to repeat the words he hurled at you all those weeks ago, not wanting to dredge up repressed feelings, but never letting him forget what he said. Your actions spoke enough, skittish around his affection; something Carmy took note of and despised himself for. He made up for it, of course he did, it was Carmy and he hated tension and conflict in his closest circles of life. Yet it wasn't so easy for you two to move forward, they weren't just words to you.

They were direct insults to you as a person; to you and how you loved others. Carmy had seen your deepest fear and used it as a defense against you - wanting you to hurt the way he was, too. He understood this wasn't acceptable, knowing the next time he resorted to such despicable actions, you'd simply walk away; never dealing with disrespect, so, he needed to be acutely aware of his words.

You would never allow yourself to be someone else's doormat, but part of being an adult is understanding that people were allowed to make mistakes - it's part of being fucking human. How terrible you'd feel if someone held your own mistakes against you, because the truth was, you weren't perfect either.

Part of being in a(n adult) relationship is understanding when someone apologized, it was best to accept and move on because nothing was ever solved by dragging turmoil out. This didn't mean forget what happened, forget whatever emotion was evoked - but to do your part to repair what was broken; no matter who was at fault, it always took Two to Tango.

And in this song and dance, you were ready to sweep around the dance floor if only with Carmy. Because that's what a relationship was; a conscious effort by both partners to work as one, to dance in-sync; owning the art together, as equal partners.

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Text

Title: god what have we done

Chapter: prologue

Fandom: Encanto

Characters: Encanto cast, unnamed characters

Fic type: angst to romance

Pairings: Bruno x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, darker Bruno, homie is 7 feet tall, Bruno is jaded, kind of an ass, reader just wants to smooch him

Notes:

Summary: Bruno can't shake an Omega who has declared them to be the perfect match

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Bruno raised an eyebrow at the Omega infront of him "you're not here for a reading?" He asked with disbelief dripping from his voice, taking a drag from his cigarette mid sentence with barely a fuck to give the Omega who had a look of determination.

"Don't you want to see the love of your life or some shit?"

"I don't want to know my future"

"Everyone wants to know their future"

"Not me" (name) shrugged and the Alpha scoffed "bullshit, you will eventually and some way it will be my fault"

(Name) Wanted to be annoyed at the alphas attitude but he knew better seeing as people come to see their future and throw tantrums when they don't get what they want, could you blame him? "I came to bring you this" in his hands was a jar... Of ajiaco?

What game was this?

What was the Omega playing at?

Then it clicked...

Well time to nip this at the bud.

Bruno sighed and stood, a towering seven feet tall and having to lean down to look at the other "and why would a little Omega like you want to come all this way to bring me this?" (Name) Was unwavering at the glowing green eyes and slight stubble on the Alphas face "I wish to court you"

Well wasn't he forward?

An Omega asking an alpha out like this, unheard of in this backwater town-- his mom would have had an aneurysm at the concept of an Omega breaking courting traditions but she lost her mind at basically anything so Bruno didn't care much about her thoughts and opinions.

But (name) of all people asking him out like this?

Bruno knew who (name) was, a male Omega was rare, (name) being the only one in town and had countless suitors chasing after him and yet this little thing wanted to court him?

Was he trying to piss his parents off?

He almost chucked at the other but he wasn't going to entertain his delusions.

He was no fool, especially to pretty omegas like (name).

And so the words came easy off his tongue.

"No" Brunos voice cold and clear, taking another drag of his cigarette while standing back up and looking down at him as he was nothing but instead of a teary eyed Omega, he saw determination "I was expecting you to say that, I'll be back tomorrow! Save space for lunch!" And with that the omega wandered off, the Alpha scoffing before putting out his cigarette with a glare.

He felt this omega was going to be a headache.

And (name) was apparently a man of his word.

Everyday like clockwork he harassed the Alpha with delicious treats and meals, annoying him with conversation and frivolous nonsense.

"So what do you do for fun?"

"Smoke"

"I like to read and recently I have taken the hobby paper folding... I found a book about it in the shop"

"I don't care"

"You do anything today?"

"No"

"I just helped with my parents shop, my papa is planning on opening a cafe so people can read and have a nice drink and snack" Bruno didn't know why he let the other go on and on but he did, going through half a pack of cigarettes before (name) was gone for the day, always leaving food and a recent development; a paper creation that be left for him.

There was a collection building in Bruno's den.

He didn't know why he kept them but he did.

These days turned into months and before he knew it.

(Name) Was worming his way into the others life like a parasite.

It was late, (name) and Bruno sat in comfortable silence and the Alpha hadn't realized so much time passed when (name) slumped against his shoulder, sleeping contently and causing the Alpha to freeze unsure what to do.

But his alpha instincts had other plans, gently putting his head on his lap while petting his nape.

God what was he getting into...

Maybe he should see his own future...

Rip the bandaid off...

But Bruno didn't want this... Whatever it was to end, deep down be knew he was beginning to care for the Omega and begrudgingly...

He knew he wanted them to stay.

But he knew better...

He knew that (name) would come to his senses.

It was just a matter of time.

(Name) Stared up secretly while Bruno was lost in thought, not quite asleep yet but he just wanted to admire the other before he succumbed.

The Alpha was so pretty... Slightly scruffy with his curly hair up in a bun with a bit of his bangs framing his face, always wearing that green poncho that (name) had learned was quite soft... And those eyes.

Oh how he could stare at those eyes for hours.

(Name) Closed his eyes once more and cuddled into him....

He wouldn't miss this chance to be close.

And that night was the best sleep (name) and Bruno ever had.

Bruno sighed as he lit a cigarette in an alleyway while everyone celebrates Juiletas wedding, the whole village in attendance as people danced and sang. "I don't think I could convince you to a dance, could I?" (Name) Asked with a slight teasing in his voice and the Alpha glanced at him bored "when the mountains move, I'll dance with you" the Alpha blew smoke in (name)s face, the other coughing slightly with a glare "so why are you hiding from your sisters wedding" (name) leaned against the wall beside him, the Alpha towering comparatively "I have no interest in this shit"

(Name) Hummed and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth from his jacket pocket and unwrapped an Empanada and took a bite before offering some to the Alpha, standing on his toes to get it to the others lips, Bruno raising an eyebrow at this "what are you doing?" His voice bland and slightly confused "I haven't seen you eat yet!" (Name) Huffed and the Alpha rolled his eyes before taking a bite, the food was fucking delicious but he was not about to admit that. "So...?" (Name) Asked hopefully and Bruno leaned down close, lips barely brushing before speaking "I had better" a bold faced lie that Bruno would never admit, seeing the others pout made him chuckle. "So why are you in an alley way with me hm? It's not proper for an Omega to be with an alpha while unmarked"

"It's rather dangerous, Omega" Bruno continued when the other looked confused "left alone with an alpha, anything could happen" it was an attempt to scare the other off but (name) just stared at him with blown out pupils, completely calm "you won't hurt me" (name) said simply and cupped the others face when it got close enough "oh? And how could you be so sure?" Bruno huffed amused, subconsciously leaning into the others touch "because you had countless times where you could have taken advantage of me but you havent"

"Many alphas would have taken any second to take advantage of that but you turned me away at every courting attempt, you don't care about my secondary gender... It's one of the reasons I fell for you" (name) admitted before kissing Bruno's cheek "and I'm in this alleyway with you because you're the only one at this party I want to be beside"

Bruno released the other from his hold, a look of uncertainty in his eyes towards the Omega who looked at him like he hung the moon.

"(Name)? There you are~" a slightly slurred voice called from the alleyway entrance, (name) visibly freezing at the sight of his most persistent suitor while Bruno could smell the faint scent of annoyance from the Omega "oh? And you're with the town's monster? How... Unique" Bruno glared at the other with a venom (name) didn't think was possible. "So Bruno, how is life? Cause more people misfortune? See someone having a miscarriage? Curse an old woman with the death of her husband?" These were things that Bruno had seen prior, things that made the village view him even worse, blaming him for the death of an old man and a baby who didn't have a chance to take their first breath.

"(Name), sweety" the suitor said getting closer and (name) could smell the alcohol on his breath "it would be in your best interest to get away from the likes of him, nothing but tragedy follows Bruno Madrigal" reaching towards (name) to get him away from Bruno but a large hand slapped it away.

Bruno looked murderous "I suggest you go back from which you came, wouldn't want to find out you lose your hair in the future, no?"

The suitors face morphed into one of anxiety and anger but turned away none the less and the two were left alone.

"You can't even do that, can you?" Turning around (name) looked around for the alpha but Bruno was no longer standing there, just (name) and the lingering scent of Bruno.

like that, Bruno was gone.

And (name) was by himself.

(Name) Tried to visit the Alpha the following morning, the Madrigal family watching with saddened expressions when (name) was rejected each and every time "he takes time to open up, give him Patience" Peppa said softly, worried clouds forming over her head while (name) smiled sadly "I know I can be quite forward with the things that my heart desires... I just... When I look at him it's like the world rights itself..." His voice wistful and so loving, it hurt that Bruno kept pushing him away... He knew he should accept that the Alpha didn't want him but he just couldn't step back...

It felt like fate to be with him.

So (name) came by every day and sat infront of the door, chatting to the Alpha about his families book store and even reading from the book he brought and when he had to leave, there was always a basket of treats for the Alpha.... But it seemed the only ones who enjoyed them were the rats.

"At least you enjoy them" (name) whispered to a rat that crawled from the basket, carefully lifting it into his hold "do you know what he's doing up there? If so could you give him this note?" The Omega carefully tied a note to the rat, surprised when the rat seemed to understand what he was conveying before running off.

Bruno's space was destroyed, the Alpha sweating and scratching at himself. He got too close! He got to close to (name), he could have hurt him!

After visit three, Bruno read his future with (name) and...

He saw (name) crying.

Alone and crying, holding a pup... Their pup.

And on his finger was a string...

He knew (name) was his soulmate...

He knew it but he didn't want to hurt (name) the way he would if he pursued the relationship.

But could he change fate? The future was set in stone was it not?

"He came by again...?" He could hear the omegas voice faintly travel through the vast room, his voice calming to his ears but painful for his heart.

This was for the best.

It had to be.

#encanto x reader #Encanto x male reader #bruno x reader #bruno x male reader #bruno Madrigal x reader #omega male reader #omega reader #alpha bruno

179 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 8 months

Text

don't you think of me?

plot; snapshots of your breakup, with one letter underlining it all.

word count; 6.9k-ish

content warnings; swearing, dramatic overreactions, distressing dreams, depression, blood, general sad vibes, drinking and no happy ending (oops <3)

a/n; guys... angst is SO HARD. idk how people write it sooooo well. this fic is inspired by the songs "Sad Beautiful Tragic" and "I Almost Do" and the storyline is based completely on those songs! but there are a few other Taylor song references in the fic too. anyway, this kind of jumps around a lot, perspectives and timelines. so if it's completely incomprehensible, I am so sorry!! lemme know if it's so awful I need to have a re-write lol. I really hope the flashbacks are clear, and that this timeline makes any sense whatsoever <3

(p.s this is basically dedicated to 🍪 anon and bff anon, ty for riding so hard for this fic lol)

(this is non-canon)

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The cold wind hurts Matty's face as he battles against it. Each gust feels like needles prickling his cheeks. But still, he pushes through, not really feeling much of anything these days anyway. The paper in his pocket scratches his hands as he burrows them in deeper, but he just grips it harder. The scratches made him feel more human anyway. They convinced his hazy head that maybe life was still happening around him.

The red post box in front of him is almost taunting. He stands frozen, gripping the letter he’s worked so hard on tightly. He has the passing thought of just letting it go, watching it blow away in the breeze, and never having to think about it again.

He never has to think about you again.

But he knows that's unrealistic. How can he never think of you again when you're all he thinks about? Every waking thought he has is about you. He still thinks about how your breathing changed when you slept next to him. The way your lips curved into the smirk he loved whenever you teased him. The flush that covered your cheeks when he did it back.

Every morning, he still gets out 2 mugs. He still grabs your favourite wine at the shops and doesn't say yes to plans without thinking if he should check with you first. The last time he saw you was still burned into the back of his mind, and he was not sure it could ever leave.

And to be honest, he doesn't know if he wants it to. If healing means forgetting you, forgetting everything you built, then maybe it is better to live in the pain. Each time he begins to heal, he picks up the scab over and over again. The sting reminded him of you, so he picked and picked. Blood poured from him relentlessly, but that was all he could do. Bleeding for you was all he had of you anymore.

He shoved the letter in and walked away briskly. He fought every bone in his body telling him to go back. To smash the post box and filter through every letter until he found his. He imagined a world in which he hadn't sent it, where instead he turned around and marched back to his house.

Or maybe there's a world where he marched to your house instead. Maybe he finally got over himself and told you everything in person. He begged and pleaded for you to forgive him, to look him in the eyes and tell him you've been hurting just as much as him.

Matty isn't sure that world exists, though.

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3 days later, when it arrives, you stare at it endlessly. You move it from place to place in your apartment and try to visualise opening it there. But soon enough, that just becomes you avoiding that room like the plague, and you start to treat parts of your flat like they are infested with a deadly virus. But they're not, really. They're just filled with a small envelope with your name on it and a return address you know all too well.

You decide you aren't going to read it 2 days later. You hold it over a candle and watch the amber flames lick the bottom of the envelope. But before you can set it ablaze, some instinct takes over, and suddenly, it's the most important object you've ever owned. You pull it from the flames and put it out with your fingers, not caring if the fire sizzles your skin. You cry and beg for it to be okay, tears streaming from your cheeks as you frantically pull it open, “No no no. fuck, please.”

But the letter inside was unscathed, just the corner of the envelope was covered in a thin layer of ash. As soon as you see that handwriting, though, you feel the unspeakable urge to burn it again, to set it on fire and watch it burn.

You don’t.

You lay it on the table and go to bed. You decide tomorrow will be the day you do something with it, even though you promised yourself that every day since you got it. But you're sure tomorrow will really be the day. It has to be.

You return to the warm solace of the bed you've grown to know too well over the past few weeks, and the duvet welcomes you in like an old friend.

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It's a few days after he sent the letter and the day after you received it when he sees you for the first time, and he can't quite believe it. There you were, standing in the coffee shop you always went to together.

He wondered if the baristas had noticed you both started to come in without the other. Maybe they started gossiping about it, “Did those customers break up? I never see them together any more” and he could almost see someone else saying “I hope not. They were cute.”

Even though he knew no one would ever actually say that, and that the baristas hadn't noticed anything.

Some force that he couldn't explain pulled him towards you, and before he knew it, he was reaching for your arm. “Hi” he breathed out heavily, staring at you like he wasn't sure you were real. He wasn't convinced that you were anything but a figment of his imagination. Has his delusions about you already gotten to the point where he's having visions? He thought it would take a few more months for that.

“Matty?” You say gently, tracing your eyes over the man in front of you. Hearing your soft voice after months without you felt like heaven on earth for Matty, relaxation washing over him just at the soft dulcet tones of you.

Matty smiled softly at you, and you immediately returned it. He can see the cogs turning in your head on how to greet him. Was a hug too much? Is a wave too little? Is a handshake too formal? Overthinking was one thing you were so good. Matty was sure you could win an award for it. So he decided to take the decision into his own hands and wrapped out up in a hug, burrowing his face in your hair and smelling that familiar floral aura he'd fallen in love with.

Your whole body tensed when he first touched you. The once familiar feeling now was slightly cold and awkward. But Matty felt you relax and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face the the feeling of your head in his neck, the place you always used to lay. He swore he could feel you breathe him in, but soon convinced himself it was wishful thinking.

Reluctantly, you pull away, looking up at Matty with glassy eyes. The barista next to you clears his throat, bringing you both back to earth and out of whatever haze you were in. “your tea is ready” he says awkwardly, eyeing you and Matty with a sly smile on his lips.

“Right! Sorry, yes. Thank you” You grab your cup and turn back to Matty nervously. He can see the anxiety radiating off you, just like it always had. He never thought it would be directed at him, but he tries not to overthink it too much.

“Do you-” You clear your throat, shaking your head as you try to process that you're seeing him again. Seeing your Matty. “Do you want to sit with me? Catch up?”

Matty can see your hands shaking around your cup and the nervousness swimming in your eyes. “Of course,” he says easily. He could never deny an opportunity to spend time with you. Especially not when he hadn't seen you in so long. And certainly not when you still take up his every waking thought.

The conversation flows like you had never left, easily chatting and catching up like you always had. You tell Matty about the cat you adopted and how she loves to sit on top of the fridge to scare you. He tells you about his mum and her latest drama. Her kitchen cupboards were the wrong colour of grey, and it was the topic of conversation for much longer than he thought possible.

The first bout of silence comes when you ask about Annie, and Matty can tell it took every ounce of strength to force the words out of your mouth. You felt like someone had taken one of your vital organs when you left her, and you can still see her face in your mind whenever you close your eyes.

“she's good. Misses you, though. Especially because she doesn't see you at school anymore since you got a new job” he says with a solemn smile. Matty tries to hold eye contact, but he gives up a few seconds into it, instead staring at his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Thankfully, soon enough, the once stilted silence becomes easy chatter and laughter all over again, Matty welcomed the warm conversation with open arms, missing your presence more than he ever thought possible.

But Matty's mouth soon got ahead of him, “so when was the last time I saw you?” he asked thoughtlessly. His brain was on autopilot, and the words poured out of him before he could stop it. The very topic you'd both been dancing around was now laid out in front of you, and it couldn't be ignored.

Matty saw something in your demeanour change, your once soft smile morphing into a faux-happy grimace, “Don't you remember? You screaming at me in the kitchen? And then storming out after saying what you did? Maybe you remember smashing a plate on the floor?” Matty pauses at your words, not quite believing you're deciding to re-hash all of this in the middle of a coffee shop, especially with a massive and slightly creepy grin on your face, but he answers anyway.

“Of course, I remember. And there's not enough words to say how sorry I am but-” he stutters as he tries to explain himself more, but you cut him off, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure you remember? When you left me? Abandoned me? Left me sobbing and alone? What about the 30 phone calls you ignored?” You kept talking, and Matty couldn't get a word in, your voice increasing in volume with each desperate question.

“Look I’m so sorry-” Matty desperately looked around him to see if people were staring at your raised voice, but the cafe was empty. The once bustling coffee shop is now like a ghost town, with no evidence of another human ever being in there.

He flicks his head back to yours, only to be in his kitchen, forced back to that night. He stares at you in your pyjamas, tears streaming down your face. He flicks his eyes down to see him dressed in the same liquor-stained clothes, and he can taste the red wine on his tongue.

“Why” you whispered over and over again, gradually getting louder, eventually shouting at Matty as he stood there motionless.

Matty wakes up in a cold sweat, panting wildly as his brain fights to figure out what the fuck is happening. He scrambles to his phone and realises; it's still the same day. It was just another fucking dream. He knows nightmare would be the better word, but he can't bring himself to describe anything with you in it as a nightmare.

With a heavy sigh, he flops back to his pillow, gripping his phone desperately and trying to fight the urge to call you. It almost doesn't work, and he clicks on your contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button. He sees the unanswered calls and the pleading messages. He can feel the desperation through the screen.

He thinks your new boyfriend must've blocked his number because that's easier than thinking that you just hate him. Each time he reaches out, there’s no reply, and he feels a part of himself die.

He hadn't tried for a few months now, but he still had that urge to type out his every thought, to send it and call you until you answered. But he doesn't.

It doesn't occur to Matty that the real reason that the reason you don't answer isn't because of a new boyfriend or because you hate him. Instead, it’s because you know you can't deal with another goodbye. You can't risk all this happening again. You were already practically ripped open. You can't risk tearing the very stitches you worked so hard to sew closed.

But matty doesn't know that, so with a huff, he clicks off you and onto George, and this time, he lets the phone ring.

“Huh? what-” he hears the groggy voice over the phone mutter, and it's then he realises maybe ringing George at 3 am because he had a nightmare wasn't the best decision. But it was too late now, and he could practically see George's expectant face from the other side of the phone.

“Hi. it um- it happened again” Matty said with a huff, falling back into the pillows and staring at the moonlight dancing across his ceiling. He heard George's heavy sigh and the distinct sound of ruffling sheets, George had sat up instinctively, knowing something was up.

“What was it this time? Did everyone in the crowd turn into her again” George says softly, rubbing at his tired eyes and fighting a yawn.

“No, it started off really nice this time. I saw her again at that cafe we always went to, you know the one near the studio? We were just chatting and catching up. But then she wouldn't stop talking about that night, telling me what happened all over again. And then I blinked, and I was back. I was in that kitchen again, just staring at her.” Matty follows the moonbeams with his eyes, lingering on the two beams crossing over, only for their paths to separate once again.

It reminded him of you and him.

“I think you need to get some lavender oil or some shit. You need to sleep. And these nightmares aren't helping” George says firmly, Matty would usually fight him tooth and nail at the suggestion.

He claimed it was because that stuff had never worked for him, but George knew it was because he saw it as still having a part of you in his life. Even if you were there in the form of his demons, at least they all looked like you.

But to his surprise, Matty immediately crumbled, “Yeah, you're right. Will you come to Boots with me after the studio tomorrow?” George agreed quickly before Matty could change his mind.

But he didn't try to, Matty simply said, “Thanks. Okay, I'll let you sleep now… Bye.” And before George could tell him it was okay, and he’d stay chatting as long as Matty needed, he was gone.

Tears leaked from Matty’s eyes, wetting the same pillow where you used to lay your head. This loop of healing felt endless, and Matty wasn't sure if fixing this was possible when he knew you were still out there without him. Forever wouldn't have even been enough with you, but now he has nothing. What is he meant to do with no you?

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As Matty lay awake in Manchester, you were in the same position in London. The same lonely bed, but different cities. Unlike him, you haven't managed to sleep yet. Instead, you can't stop your brain from imagining what is in that letter. Your mind falls back to that night, and you replay the events over and over again. Every word Matty said was etched in your mind, so it played easily, the same script ringing in your ears all these months later.

//////////////////////

Matty shut the door delicately. Getting home at 2 am. was already bad enough. He didn't want to wake you or Annie in the process. But when he saw the light pouring out of the kitchen and heard the distinct hissing of the kettle, he knew you were awake. And he knew you were waiting for him.

He walked into the kitchen silently, leaning on the counter and watching you potter around, he remember when he used to sit here for hours and dream of you in his house. Now he's not even sure the last time you said I love you to each other. You continue to ignore Matty, but you getting a second mug out of the cupboard tells him all he needs to know. This is going to be a long night.

“At the studio late again?” You ask, passing Matty his mug and leaning across from him. Your eyes trace up his figure, and you can't help but think you don't recognise the man in front of you. His clothes hung off of him, and heavy bags sat under his empty eyes. His hair was standing on end, once perfectly manicured curls now frazzled beyond repair.

“Yeah, George wanted to fix this harmony. Sorry I'm back so late” he knew lying to you was wrong. He really did. But he couldn't bring himself to explain where he actually was, drinking alone in a bar rather than at home with his family.

“Oh. okay.” you pause and wait for Matty to correct himself, giving him a chance to be fucking honest for once. But he doesn't, so you push again.

“That's weird though, because I asked Charli where George was 2 hours ago, and she sent a photo of them together. In bed.”

Matty's eyes widened. He knew he'd just been caught, but he wasn't ready to give up the lie yet. He just needed a few more weeks away, and then he would come back. Then everything would be made right again. So his tipsy mind comes up with a new lie and pleads with whatever God there might be that would believe him, “Oh did I say George? I meant Hann, you know how I get when it's late”

“Matty. You stink of booze. Do you think im an idiot?” You sigh, placing your tea down and crossing your arms over your chest. The anger bubbling within you was threatening to spill over. You felt as if every word from Matty was a stab, yet he kept just pushing the knife deeper.

“So I had a drink at the studio! Sue me, Jesus Christ” Matty sneers at you as he talks, slamming his cup onto the counter, ignoring the burning on his hand from the tea falling over the rim.

“Liar” you click your tongue at Matty and cast your eyes to the floor. Staring into his eyes as he lied to you was agony, and you're not sure how much more pain you can take.

“I'm not lying. I swear I just-” he tries to argue, but you refuse to let him keep going.

“I know you're lying. You're always fucking lying! You weren't at the studio.” you sighed heavily flicking your eyes up to Matty briefly, but the tension was too much, it hurt to look at him.

“Baby, cmon, calm down. It’s okay, yeah? I’m here now,” Matty moved towards you, grabbing your cheek in his hand and moving in to kiss you, prepared to make this all melt away just like he always did. You try to push him away, but Matty stands strong. He had to fix this. He needed to kiss and make up. It was all he knew how to do.

“Would you just fucking listen” you shout, pushing Matty back across from you, “I don't even know who you are anymore! These past few weeks have made you into a man I don't even fucking recognise.” You look up at him with crazed eyes and scoff at the sight of the man in front of you.

You were done with it all. The lying, the running away, the sleuthing around. Done. You were having this conversation, and you were having it now.

“No please don't say that. You know me. I don't know who I am without you knowing me,” Matty begged, sobering up quickly at your words.

He needs to bring this back, claw what little life you had left in you to the surface. Everything that left Matty’s life has had claw marks in it, and he would be damned if he'd let you go without the same scars.

“Don't you understand that's the fucking issue, Matty? You don't know who you are anymore, I don't know who you are anymore. You need to be a person without me.” your words struck Matty in the chest like a bullet.

Were you seriously suggesting what he thinks you are? Do you actually want to break up with him?

Matty baulks at your words. Every feeling he’d had over the past few months was catching up to him, crashing into each other in his brain as they fought to be let out. Anger won because, of course, it won. It seems to always win.

He decides that if you want to break up, then he'll do it himself. He can't let you beat him to it. He knows it's childish, but he doesn't fucking care. He needs to win this. “Please, I've been a person without you for 30 fucking years. I’m a fucking dad! I don't need you to tell me who I am.”

“Annie needs both her parents, Matty. We need you back, please.” The mention of Annie makes outrage bubble within him like it had never done before. He can't believe you'd practically threatened to break up with him one minute and then beg for him back for the sake of his daughter the next. Because that is what she is, she's his daughter.

“You don't know what it's like to be a parent y/n,” Matty mumbles under his breath, but he might as well have screamed it at you because that's how loudly it rang in your ears. He knew he'd fucked up as soon as he said it, but there was no going back now, and he could see that in your eyes.

“I don't know what it's like to be a parent. Are you fucking kidding Matty? What the hell have I been doing here for the past year? Just fucking around? I can't believe you could say that to me.” You hear your voice wavering as you force each word out.

“Annie is just as much my daughter as she is yours” you whisper desperately. The regret of mentioning Annie was building in your chest, and it felt like a rock impeding your lungs, each breath fighting against the weight. but it was too late to take anything back now. Both you and Matty knew it.

Matty scoffs at your words, rolling his eyes as he fiddles with his fingers. He tries desperately to cool his raging mind, but he can't. He figures if he is already in this deep, why not stoop a little lower?

“Just as much your daughter? Please. You weren't here for fucking any of it. Where were you here when she was born? How about when she was sick for the first time and wouldn't let me put her down without screaming bloody murder? Or- or how about when she broke her arm and she cried when she couldn't have a pink cast? Or maybe for any fucking time apart from the last 12 months. I know you liked playing happy families y/n, but be fucking real for 5 seconds. You were her teacher, maybe a fun friend, but nothing more. And if you think you were, you're more delusional than I thought.”

His chest heaved as he finished, not taking a single breath during his rambling speech, he could see your wet eyes and he felt his heart aching but he just couldn't stop himself, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Even if you stayed, even if you never give up on us, on this. You could never be her mother.”

Both of you pause, the silence thick and heavy around you. How long could you stand like this and pretend he didn’t say that? Maybe if you just stayed there and listened to your ragged breathing, something would change.

But nothing did.

“Fuck you. You told me I was practically her mother a month ago. You said to me I was it for you, that your family was complete. I can't believe-” words poured out of you, streaming helplessly as you paced the kitchen.

Matty tried to cut in, desperate to get a word in edgeways. The need to defend himself was all-consuming. He needed to know that you understood he said it in the heat of the moment. Words fall out of his mouth without thinking. He can’t help it.

“y/n, love-”

“I’m not her mother? Tell that to the time I took her dress shopping for your mum's wedding. Or when I took her to A&E with suspected appendicitis. and-”

“y/n. Stop, just listen to me, please.” Matty begs, he almost inches closer to you, but some ineffable force keeps him where he is, watching you pace helplessly.

“Listen to you? Oh, I've done plenty of fucking listening Matthew. All I do is listen to you! But you never fucking hear me-”

“Can you just shut up for 5 fucking seconds” Matty shouted, grabbing a plate from beside him, throwing it against the concrete floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He just needed you to look at him, to tell him you could fix this, but you wouldn't stop talking.

A gasp from you pulls him back to earth, and he feels his heart break into as many pieces as the plate below his feet. Your wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks glare back at him, and Matty has nothing to say. He has no fucking idea what just came over him.

Matty gingerly takes a step towards you, trying to avoid the ceramic splayed over the floor. His fingers shake as he reaches his hand out to your cheek, wanting to thumb away the tears falling.

But just as he does, he sees you flinch. It wasn't even a full movement, practically a micro-expression. But you fucking flinched. And you both knew it. The veil of silence over you is thick as you both stand there motionless with no idea what you could say to fix this. To make the last 10 minutes disappear.

Matty’s touch used to calm you. It was the only reassurance you needed. But now the mere thought of it filled you with some twisted sense of fear. The woman he had planned the rest of his life with was scared of him. And it was all his fucking fault. How had this all become his worst nightmare? How had the very thing he sacrificed so much to build crumbled and destroyed itself so deeply?

“Matty wait- I’m sorry, I was just still on edge. It's okay, im okay. See?” With a shaking hand, you grip his, bringing it to your face despite his protests. You can feel him trying to pull his arm away, but you fight him at every tug. Forcibly placing his hand on your wet cheek.

As soon as your hand drops from his, Matty wrenches away from you. The feeling of your cheek against his palm felt as if his skin was burning. The pain touched his every nerve.

The air is charged with pure fear as you stare at the other, both of your chests heaving and your eyes glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking it through, Matty storms off, grabbing his keys as he pushes through the house. You chase after him, ignoring the blades of ceramic impaling your sock-covered feet, “No don't leave, Matty, please. Stay, stay here.” You reach to grab his arm, but Matty snatches it away before you can even feel his skin against yours.

“I’m leaving. I’m staying at George tonight. Tomorrow I’ll come pick Annie up from school. You will call in and take a sick day. Start packing your shit. I’m done. You're out of my house by tomorrow.” Matty demands, and with that, he leaves. Slamming the door behind him.

Bloody footprints lay in a trail behind you, and your socks start slowly becoming sodden from your weeping wounds. But still, you stood there, unmoving. Shock coursing through your veins.

It was all over. Just like that.

////////////////////

The letter was taunting you from the other room, the blacked corner flashed into your mind whenever your eyes finally fluttered close. The image of you burning the letter played behind your eyelids like a movie, and you almost wish you really had done it.

But you didnt, so it still sat on your living room table, torturing you.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep, tears dampen the pillow below your head, but you ignore the thumping in your head and finally let sleep pull you under.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

You know you're dreaming when you're back in that kitchen. But you can't stop it from happening. The hazy filter that covers your surroundings is the only thing assuring you this isn't real, that this isn't all happening again.

Matty stands in front of you just as he had that night, but he looks different. His once frizzy curls sat in perfectly ringlets around his face, the streaks of grey dancing through them more prominent. His unshaven face was now neatly trimmed, and you admired the salt and pepper hairs within it. You can see the tears brimming in his eyes, glittering on his waterline.

“So you'll forgive me? We can move on?” he says desperately, smiling and moving towards you with tears falling down his cheeks.

You try to speak, but your mouth doesn't move, your lips stay pressed together against your brain's protests. Not even grunts escape you. Silently, you stare at Matty, completely motionless.

“y/n? You forgive me. I can make this right again, can't I?” Matty begs desperately. He grabs your hand but recoils at the cold feeling on his skin, your fingers cold as ice in his grip.

You fight to speak again, to tell him yes. To tell him you forgive him, that you need to try again. But still, nothing leaves your lips.

Matty scoffs at you, ripping himself away from you, “I can't believe you're ignoring me. I thought you'd be more mature than this. Call me when you can actually have an adult fucking conversation.”

He storms off, but all you can do is watch him helplessly. Every nerve in your body is screaming to move, to chase after him. And you almost do, but some inexplicable force is keeping you there, motionless in the same place where your life ended all those months ago.

So you watch him leave again, the haze surrounding you soon becoming darkness.

You know it's a dream, and you keep on telling yourself that. But when you wake with wet cheeks and a heaving chest, it feels pretty fucking real.

You swear you can feel him next to you, awake and staring at the same ceiling. But when you turn to see him, the piled-up duvet is all that's there, along with a cold bed beside you.

It's then you decide to finally give in to that voice in your head, the one screaming at you to just read the letter, to get it over and done with. The one begging you to throw it away and never look back is nearly silenced, and it soon becomes nothing but a whisper in the back of your mind.

The letter stays exactly where you left it, and whilst you know it couldn't have moved, part of you wishes it had. With shaking hands, you grab the pile of pages, and you can feel your heart racing the very same way it used to when you saw him.

The city lights shine onto you as you finally open the pages, looking at the handwriting you knew all too well. The same handwriting that used to give you butterflies, that used to detail how much it loved you, filling pages with adoration.

Now you're not so sure what it entails. But you read anyway, ignoring every screaming signal telling you to stop.

///////////

Hi darling,

I know I don't have the right to call you that anymore, but I can't bring myself to call you anything else. It's been a few months since we've spoken, and I've felt every minute of it. I've filled notebooks writing about you, writing to you. I must have practised this letter a dozen times, and I know this still won't be right.

So, instead of trying to write the perfect letter, I've ripped out some pages from my journal. My therapist told me to write like I was speaking to you, so that's what I did. I’m sure she would be pissed that im sending this at all, but I need to do this for us. To remember what we once were.

Anyway, I hope it makes you understand what this time without you has been like for me. You can ignore this letter completely and I wouldn't blame you. I won't hold it over you if you burn it and never look back. But if you do read it, I just need you to know im sorry. For everything.

(3 weeks without you)

To say the past couple of weeks have been hell for me is beyond an understatement. There is this festering part of me that thinks I will love you forever, and the knowledge that we will never be like we once were kills me, but it has to kill me. Because if I felt anything other than agony, I would come crawling back to you, and you don't deserve that. And I know that. But fucking hell, that doesn't make it hurt any less.

You know me, I don't know what it's like to have surface-level emotions. I either feel it all, or I feel nothing. and with you? I fucking felt it all. I felt every touch, every smile, every fight, every screaming match ending in tears. I fucking felt it. and for some reason- I'm still thankful for it. because at least I felt you.

I wonder if you're at the point where you miss me when you hear my name. And I can't help but think about you hearing my songs, do you change the station? Even if they're about you? But if I’m honest, they're all about you. Every one of them. Even before I knew you, they were about you.

(a month and a half)

I wish you could forgive me. I think if I knew you didn't hate me, I could move on. Or maybe it would do the opposite. I don't know. All I do know is, I miss you.

(2 months)

Sometimes I miss you so much I can't handle it. I go driving and find the places we used to go, I sit there, and I can still hear your laugh. I can feel that all-encompassing warmth that surrounds you. but then someone speaks, or a car horn goes off, and suddenly, it's cold again. I mourn you like you're someone I've lost forever, and in a way, I have.

You know I still feel you every day, everywhere. Because you might have left, but you never really did. I still find your socks down beside the bed, and your hair ties around the house. I accidentally used your shampoo in the shower this week. You know that ridiculous Jasmine one that you pay too much for?

It was like having you around again, I never thought the small of some shitty shampoo would be the thing that brought it all back to me, brought you back to me. Yet it was. But still, you were gone.

So apparently, I decided to fall into the breakup trope of crying in the shower. For 45 minutes, which made me feel slightly pathetic. And it didn't help when George knocked on the door and washed my hair again. with my shampoo. But I still find myself smelling jasmine even when it's nowhere near.

You haunt me in ways I never thought possible.

(3 months)

It's 3 a.m., and I can't stop picturing your face. Just knowing you're still out there makes it so much fucking harder. I don't know how to cope knowing you're there and not here, with me. Even months later there's some sick part of me that hopes leaving me was the hardest thing you've had to do. but I hope loving me wasn't.

I know that's selfish, and that this is all my fault anyway. so I want you to move on, even if it kills me. it's hell thinking that the one person you could never forget is fighting to forget you.

But I hope you find the love of your life. I hope they make your tea just how you like it, and buy you those crazy expensive candles you love. I hope they will follow you to the ends of the earth, just like I would. even now.

(3 and a half months)

I want to say you don't know how it feels to miss you, you don't know how hard it is. but I have to keep hoping you miss me just as much. because if you didn't, if you just moved on without a second thought; I couldn't cope. the fact that we will always just be an almost will live with me until the day I die. I don't want you to be an almost. I want you to be an always. but it's over, and I know that. or at least I'm very good at pretending I know that.

(4 months)

Recently, I've been thinking about “what ifs?” Despite my therapist telling me I shouldn't. But you know what it is like after breakups. It's this all-consuming thing, and you can't help but imagine if things were different.

I think in another universe, we worked out. I got over my massive ego, and you worked through your past, and it fixed itself. We got married, had another kid, and got that cat you always wanted. We'd go to Annie's graduation together. Her wedding together. you'd cry as I walked her down the aisle, I'd smile and kiss away your tears. and I know that's not this universe. but fucking hell why can't it be?

(4 and a half months)

My mum misses you. She asked how you were doing today and if I had reached out yet. I got angry at her and stormed out. If only she knew how many times I’d dialled your number and then turned off my phone. Or how many unanswered texts I've sent.

Annie misses you too, by the way. She's finally stopped asking when you're coming back.

I wish she still asked.

(today)

I don't expect you to read all of this, and if you've just skipped to the end, I don't blame you.

but I'm sending this letter because I think I'm finally at a place where when I think of you, I don't take it as a sign from the universe that we were meant to be together. instead, I think of it as a past life, as proof that we were an almost.

Next time I see you, I hope it doesn't hurt as much as the last time.

Goodbye, my love,

Matty x

///////////

The distinct sound of dripping tears hitting paper was the only noise in the room. You watched helplessly as the ink distorted under the little pools of wetness. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you can't help but fucking hate him for sending this.

How could he do this to you? All you've been doing for months is healing, but he keeps ripping open old wounds carelessly. He has to know you can never go back. You can't trust him.

All you left behind you was a mess. You were both better off this way.

With a scoff, you grab your lighter and cigarettes, stepping onto the balcony with the letter gripped in your shaking hands. You have to flick the lighter a few times before it works, the bitter wind fighting against it.

But soon the flame comes, you sigh happily, moving it up to the cigarette delicately balanced between your lips. You suck in a deep breath, revelling in the feeling of the smoke filling your lungs. The slight crackle brings you more relaxation than anything else these days, but you still have to fight to ignore the familiarity of the scent.

You flick the lighter again, huffing annoyed as it goes out. Once you see the distinct glow of amber, you don't hesitate before placing it against the paper and watching the pages in front of you burn up.

Ashes sizzle your skin, but you couldn't care less. In fact, you welcome the pain. A sick smile comes across your face, grinning around the now-lit cigarette in your mouth.

Isn't it funny how little words mean, when they're a little too late?

#here it is... i am nervous <3 #like i had fun writing it but is it any good?? time will only tell...#angst is difficult but very interesting to write #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 angst #the 1975 fic #teacher au!

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eydi-andrius · 2 years

Text

Don't Get Sad, Get Even V

warnings: mention of injuries, threats, tags were not exhausted

aemond targaryen x wife!reader

summary: You and your House Dressed Up for Revenge.

a/n: thank you for the long wait. it took time for me to write this down. i had to cut the chapters into two, and this one will be the first part. i hope to finish this fic this march. thanks for reading!

Kindly reblog your comments if you can to help me share my stories to others. i appreciate every likes but i also do want more readers to read my works.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Epilogue

+++++++++++++

Cold, glassy eyes stare at you whenever your mind is not occupied. It bothers your sleep and you know you’re pale as a ghost as the days pass by without news about the dissolution of your marriage.

Meanwhile, worry etched on your servants faces the more they looked at you but you dismissed them and told them you were fine. And it was truly not that bad. Your pale face walking around the hallways gave you more power and pity to the servants. While the highborn lies to your face about feeling sorry for you but were waiting for the right moment to bite unto Aemond once your marriage was done. Not that you mind. The more he loses his power to you, the better.

And the living was the least of your concern whenever you see Alys staring in the corner of your room while you work. You see her green lifeless eyes staring into your soul.

The problem doesn't lie to you seeing her. No. It was the truth that you can't tell.

After what happened, the days seem to go on with normalcy. And you knew, they have hidden her death more than they had hidden his assault towards you.

You would lie if you said it didn't kill you each night knowing that they were capable of hiding his murder, his sin.

Then there came a news that Alys was sent back to Harrenhal as she requested to give birth there.

No one questioned it, some tried to get a reaction from you but you were occupied in making sure that once you go back to your home, everything will be set.

Your father will step down as the lord and it will be passed down to you. A plan that was strategized before he went back home.

However, you need to plan ahead. You know you can't be unwed for too long. You only have one moon to make sure the power will be given to you, no questions. And find another suitable suitor as a husband.

Someone who is capable but dependent. Or else what happened with your marriage will happen again.

You were left in your own thoughts as you handled the parchments for the businesses and merchants who wanted access on the road with lesser taxes. And you can't help the disgust that you felt when one of them was a noble who was rich enough to let his children inherit all of his riches yet wanted the poor to handle the responsibility more than them.

He even proposes that you marry one of his children who were notorious for abusing his wives and mistresses. The disrespect to offer marriage when the finality of the dissolution was not yet revealed. And the idea that you deserve just that because they think you will be lower now that you have been married once.

Fools.

Then an idea popped up inside your head to make this lord suffer. You immediately took your quill and wrote down a letter, when your door burst open with your Lady Knight breathing heavily and bathed in her own sweat.

"My lady! It's here!" She raised the parchment on her hand and you stood up.

You stride towards her, heart beating from anxiousness.

What if the same with Alys death, they'll be able to stop your marriage from ending. You know if that happens, your death will follow suit.

With shaky hands, you rolled open the paper and your legs wobbled from what was written there.

"My lady!" Your knight yelled out and immediately went to your aid.

Tears slowly roll down your eyes as you continue reading the parchment.

"My lady, please. I know it will be fine. We'll be here no matter what the decision was." Strained smile was plastered on her face as your lady knight reassured you. Giving you comfort as she realized that the written letter must have been the opposite of what you were expecting.

Instead of telling her, you gave it to her so she can prepare by herself.

You watched as her eyes followed the ink and saw her eyes slowly widening. She breathed deeply and looked at you.

A yelp came out of your mouth when she suddenly let go of the paper and hugged you tightly.

"I'm glad, my lady! You're finally going home!" She places her head on your shoulder and you feel her tears touch your skin.

Relieved, you hugged her back and cried with her the whole time.

You did not know how long you two have cried but once you let go of each other, Rikka came in with a confused look at first when she saw the two of you but then your knight nodded at her.

You don't even need to tell her about it, she knew and she almost flew towards you and wrapped you with her arms.

"Oh gods! I am so glad!" She squealed with delight. She immediately let go of you and stared at your tear stricken face again.

"I believed that was not the real face of a woman who was able to outwit her husband. Come on! We must fix you! She told you as she practically dragged you out of your office and towards your room.

Once seated in front of the vanity, you signaled for her to stop.

"Give me the simplest dress you can find and make sure to style my hair as plain as you can." You ordered her as an idea struck you.

She smiled at you and went to go do her duty.

You looked at yourself and smiled at the tear stricken face staring back at you. A lady who had conquered a dragon and won.

You were not able to ruminate about your thoughts when your door flung open and a disheveled Alicient came into your view.

"My daughter!" A gasp left your lips when you felt her warm arms wrapped you into a hug. You were a bit surprised about it at first but hugged her back when you realized what was happening.

"So you've found out?" You asked.

"I did. The raven was sent to the King's Hand and I was with him when he received it." She shared as she looked at your face and wiped the remaining tears.

"Hmmm." Was your only response as she looked you in the eye and sighs.

"It must have been tough all those years. I came here not to antagonize you further but to thank you for being the best daughter in law I would have in this lifetime. Know that even after this, you are still like a daughter of mine." A tear was able to escape her eyes and you watched as her face was etched with sadness. You can feel how sincere she was and you decided to clasped your hands with hers, reassuring her that you did not blame her for whatever happened with you and her son.

"And you are like a mother of mine too. I am grateful to be part of your family, even for a short period of time." You said with a smile at her.

More tears fell down on her face and you can't help the sad smile you gave her as your hold tightens.

"I know….. this must be selfish of me to ask….especially on how the treatment towards you will change after the dissolution was announced but may I request for you to stay until the tourney ends?" By this time, she removed your hold to her hands and she instead held yours. Her eyes twinkled with hope and you know deep within you that you can't say no to that. She had taken care of you and this wasn't much of a big deal if you stay longer as per her request.

With a nod, you agreed and she gave you the brightest of smiles you ever saw her wear. And by that time you know you did the right thing.

At least that's what you have thought until the announcement of the dissolution of your marriage. The nobles were not even subtle when they isolated you right away. Everyone stares at you and whispers whenever you are around. It was to be expected but you took it too lightly that you forgot how annoying it could be.

A deep sigh of relief left you when you finally arrived at your destination. You have been ignoring this place to lessen the whispers you will hear but visiting here was the only wise decision you ever had as the garden that was gifted to you and your husband was ignored by everyone on the Red Keep like a plague.

"Please leave me be." You asked Lady Godwin when she was about to follow you at the center of the garden.

"But my lady-" She protested but you shook your head.

"I do want you to stay here at the entrance and leave me be. I will stay right there so you can see me even from afar." You reassured her and she frowned for a bit but then fixed herself and stood at the entrance.

You gave her a smile, grateful, and you walked towards the flowers. You bit your lip and sighed once you were far away enough from her. Since what happened and the changes at the treatment of the court, your knight never left your side, not even for a moment.

Something you were grateful about but it slowly suffocates you as her presence adds to the tension you face everyday when you decided to stay for the Queen as she pleaded.

A smile graced upon your lips when you came closer to the red Braavosi flower that was able to live here in the Red Keep even though it shouldn't have. It was just one flower planted in here but somehow it grew and has its own bushes now. A beautiful flower that symbolizes versatility. You're glad it was planted here.

A rustle on your left made you step back from where you were standing. You frown when a man emerges from a turn that will lead to the center of the garden. The mysterious man was average in height compared to Aemond and he was shaking his head to remove the fallen leaves. From the way he moves his head, you were not able to recognize him but when he moved his arms on the side, his sigil revealed who he was. A flock of ravens surrounding a black shield charged with a dead weirwood, on a scarlet field; a Blackwood.

When the man looked up, he almost stumbled backwards when he saw you staring at him. Meanwhile, even from afar, your lady knight was holding the hilt of her sword.

"My lady!" With visible shame, he immediately bowed in front of you.

Willem Blackwood. The first person that came into your mind once you caught a glimpse of his face. They must have traveled early so they'll be able to attend and join the tourney and not just the feast.

You gave him a wry smile when he looked up again. His face was a bit red and his whole stance was screaming uncertainty and shame.

"Apologies, my lady. I didn't mean to bother you from your stroll. I was walking around when I found myself lost in the field-". He was speaking fast trying to explain himself but you quieted his ramblings right away when you realized what must have happened.

"I understand."

"I'm glad you do, my lady." He replied with a look of relief washing over him.

"No one in the Red Keep will be brave enough to visit here intentionally anyway. As this whole garden was a gift for me and my former husband by the King itself." You straightened and walked towards the closest flower. In the corner of your eye, you can see that his body went rigid. And the tension was back on him again.

"I truly deeply apologize, my lady. If I had known, I would have been more careful walking around.-"

"You should be. Vhagar is uncaged." You cut him off again and you noticed how he gulped when you mentioned and threatened him with the obvious dangers around that will bite him from his carelessness.

You looked over Lady Godwin and nodded at her that everything was well. She nodded back and stood on her post.

"So Lord Willem Blackwood, you must have arrived early to join the tourney noh?" You asked as you turned at him.

His surprise face was apparent when you mentioned his name. Being a former wife of a prince and an heir, memorizing every important face in the realm was the simplest task you could do even while sleeping. Knowing their names, faces and houses was a power on itself.

"You knew me." He asked. A smile was plastered on his face for a second but was gone after he coughed and composed himself.

"You must be the one-eyed prince's wife. I mean — former wife." He said, certain of who you were.

All the light was gone on your face when he mentioned your current status in King's Landing. A little more days to endure being called this way but this is getting old.

Seeing how your face changed, he immediately spoke again and explained himself.

"I didn't mean to offend you, my lady—". You looked him in the eye when he referred to you using your house's name. His face looks brighter now. As if something good happened to him while conversing with you.

"Ah here! As an apology for that embarrassing display of my foolishness." He took something out of his pocket and seeing the blue petals of the flower you knew that he truly meant to apologize.

"That flower cannot thrive in our place, no matter how hard our family tries to grow one. I thought I'll bring it back home and dry it but I think your beauty deserves to hold such a precious flower." His whole demeanor changes. His timid action before was completely changed once he called you on your house's name. Your true identity. He offers the flower again when you stare at it. With no choice left, you accepted it.

The smile that graced upon his face was something you're not familiar with. Usually, the twins or Helaena were the only ones who wore this, a pure and genuine toothed grin.

It did not take long for him to converse though, after sometime he excused himself as his family might have been looking for him now. But before he left, he confirmed if you will watch the tourney. When you said yes, he wasn't able to contain his happiness as he walked away with spring in his step.

"Your beauty truly knows no bounds, my lady." Lady Godwin teased you as you walked past her, intent on going back inside when the sun started setting down.

"I was expecting this teasing from Rikka, not you." You said with an apathetic face.

"Haha! Apologies, my lady. I can't help but wonder though. He seems familiar with you. Have you met him before?"

He does, isn't he?

However, before you can respond as you two take a turn to the castle, you've heard a familiar voice spoken to your right.

"Smart girl." You turn towards the source of the voice and you can't help but blink from confusion as to why he was here.

"My prince." You called him. His short silver hair was tied back as he leaned against the wall. His feet crossed at each other and his lilac eyes were looking at his ring before he looked up at you. He was wearing a black leather clothing, his sword, dark sister, strapped to his side.

He raised his eyebrow and looked to your side. Your lip turned into a thin line as you understood what he meant.

"Leave us be." Even though you hesitate to let your knight away from you, one look from Daemon sends shivers down your spine. He usually just ignores you as you were the wife of his nephew, to whom he did not favor the most.

Yet, he was standing here. As if waiting for you.

When your knight did not move or follow right away, you looked at her and nodded. With a frown, she bowed and turned walking away from the two of you. You did not miss the way she looked back though.

"First in the history of the Targaryen that a wife was able to leave her husband while still alive." He continued and you looked at him straight in the eye. You don't know what he needs from you. Since you had been betrothed to Aemond, Prince Dameon and Princess Rhaenyra barely talked to you. Not that you did not expect it, but your father has supported Viserys and Aemma, even before they were crowned so it must have been a shock when his only daughter was married to the son who called her children bastards.

"May I know how I owe this pleasure to converse with you, Prince Daemon." You kept your face as apathetic as you can. However, you cannot help but grip your dress on the side as you felt the fear when he looked back at you.

"Maybe you had married the wrong Targaryen." He replied and all the alarms you felt before started ringing inside your head. Until, sounds of footsteps behind him echoed throughout the hallway. You looked up from its source and immediately bowed your head when you saw Princess Rhaenyra walking towards you.

"My love, I do believe that the lady wasn't interested in marrying a child, the same as I do when I was young." She smiled at you and you masked the fear that surfaced before she came, with a chuckle.

"I'm glad that I am able to meet you today, your grace." You told her as you placed your hands together in front of you.

"It has been a while, isn't it? You were just a young thing when I first saw you and now, you have become a fine lady." She gave you a soft smile. Something you did not expect since she did not take your marriage well after knowing that her strongest supporter decided to marry one of the greens. Yet, she's here. Eyes full of sincerity.

She stared at you for a while before speaking again.

"I've heard about it…… How he attacked you and how the bruises started the rallies on our doors. At first, I never believed it. I trust the Queen, Alicient, to raise her children not to hurt their wives. But then I realized that it wasn't her fault. Children grow and they decide for themselves." She paused. Eyes strayed in the garden. She gave a deep sigh before she continued.

"You might be wondering why I approached you. I…….I felt betrayed when your marriage to my brother was announced. It took too long for me to forgive your father until I realized I never really did offer Jace's hand for marriage to your family. You are his only heir. As a father, he cares for you more than his allegiances to anyone. Something I…..I always wish my father would do for me when he announced me as his heir." A sad smile graced upon her lips as she looked back at you. You can't help but feel her sadness as you recalled how she was left to defend for herself when his father's lack of support made a fool out of his daughter.

"I want what is best for everyone. I hope that the wall that separates us two will be forgotten. I know that you've suffered and I did not lend a hand but this is a start for something new. I offer my hand again and I will help you with your ambition this time. This is a promise between a daughter to a daughter. An heir to an heir." She squeezed your hands one last time before she bid farewell. Daemon's eyes linger for a while before he decides to follow Rhaenyra away from you.

The smile that graced your lips was gone the moment you confirmed that they were far away now to see your reaction.

War is sure to happen once the king dies. More reason to strengthen your stronghold once the dragons decide to breathe their fire against each other.

And this time, your house will not be a pawn or an ally. You'll take everything that you can get from them. They owe you and your father.

It took time for the plan to be put in place. And no amount of forgiveness can stop it from happening.

Dragons have no interest in an iron throne nor politics. Yet, they depended their power too much on those beasts. Starting their own ruin.

How foolish.

Everyone knows that swords melt when under fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your shoes loudly clack on the floor as you do your best to run as fast as you can to the seats near the arena.

The nobles stared at you as you sat down beside your father with no grace, breathing heavily.

"Where have you been?" He calmly asked as he stared at your sweat ridden face. He gave you his handkerchief and you accepted it with a thank you.

"The twins wouldn't let me go. They keep on following me towards the arena so I have to secretly go here or carry them back towards their quarters. It was hard to win a battle against them. I feel like I was competing with our very own game of chase." You said as you carefully dabbed the soft cloth on your face. Instead of saying anything, he gave a low chuckle and shook his head.

"Children do grow so fast and they will outwit you many times. However, I told you to remove yourself from them. You are nothing but a stranger to them now. It is best to care less and move forward."

"I know." With a defeated sigh you replied and looked around. The crowd's excited chatter and howls caught your attention. They seem enthusiastic about whatever that happened in the game. Curious, you turn your question towards your father.

"What did I miss?"

"You miss a lot……" He replied with a knowing grin plastered on his face. You frowned at that but still waited for him to continue.

"Your former husband joined the tourney today. Surprising isn't it?" He looked at the far side of the corner and in there you saw his familiar stance. His silver hair glints with the sunlight. He wore no helmet and eye patch, showing his familiar sapphire eye. He intends to intimidate more than he normally does. And you know that Aemond is a prince who was pitied by others but they choose not to cross his path for this very reason. He is calm, way too calm but you can feel the rage within. Or maybe it was because of the moons you've shared knowing each other, that's why you know by looking at him what he was feeling within. You wonder to whom this anger started though.

Aemond never participates in tourneys. He thinks of it as a waste of time. And you can't lie that you weren't surprised when your father mentioned him being part of this useless game, he used to claim.

"Who is he fighting against this round?" You tilted your head to the side and tried to find the unfortunate knight he would defeat and humiliate in front of this audience.

Your eyes rounded with surprise as you saw Willem on the other side. You saw him gulp before he wore his helmet. His knight is talking to him, probably giving advice on how to defeat a brilliant prince with his sword.

"Like what I've said, you missed a lot, my dear dove. This will be the last round. And I am surprised that Blackwood won. Perhaps inspiration keeps him going? Men love fighting for something other than the game" Your father asked curiously as he looked towards where Willem was standing.

As if sensing your stare, he suddenly looked behind and his eyes caught you. His former nervous stare and stance immediately changed and his demeanor much more enthusiastic. He smiled and waved at you.

In return, you gave a polite smile and nodded. You keep yourself from rolling your eyes when you feel your father's curious stare directed at you.

"Ah. I will not blame him."

"Father!" You scolded him.

"I will also do my best to be noticed by the most beautiful lady residing in the Red Keep."

"You're just saying that because I am your daughter."

"I am saying this because I know. Do you know how many parchments I received after you announced the dissolution of your marriage?" He continued.

"We all know they want our land and power, not me." You replied with a serious voice despite the light air of teasing from your father.

"I am talking about your beauty not men's foolishness, my dear dove." You can't help the chuckle that left you when you hear your father's disappointed tone.

A sound of horn, signaling the start of the fight, stopped your little banter with your father. Booming cheers rang to the air as the last contenders' house names were announced. Especially when it was the prince's turn. The sound was deafening and even some of the nobles joined the shouts. Everyone seems so excited to finally see the elusive but known as gifted prince joining the tourney. Yet, you can't help but feel worried as to what was his reason to win this time.

The fight, if you can describe it in one word, was brutal. No, maybe the right word would be savage.

Willem had no chance with the prince's skills in the first place. It's true that he did slice his face but it was no match with Blackwood's injury.

Aemond took his time by slicing him up. Wounding him slowly until he got the reaction he wanted and decided to break his enemy's balance by slicing his knee. Everyone saw it and was stunned for a second until the crowd roared, announcing his victory. And Willem stayed on the dusted floor of the arena as his people nursed him away and treated his wound immediately.

With a gasp, you stood up and was ready to check on him when your name was called from below the seat.

Your body went rigid, even the crowd stopped their shouts. All the noble's eyes directed at you. And everyone was waiting for your response.

"Again, I ask for my former wife's favor. A parting gift after years of being married, don't you think?" With lips on a thin line, you walked slowly towards the band of flowers. You did your best to smile and not destroy what you're holding as you stepped forward and walked in front of where he was. He raised his sword and with a gritted smile, you bestowed him your favor.

"May the gods favor you as a gift for your first victory in a tourney." You bend forward and gracefully let go of the flower and he catches it skillfully. You end the interaction with a smile and it is good that everyone seems to forget what happened as they continue to praise the one-eyed prince with his victory after the silent tension.

However, you will never forget the way his lilac and sapphire eye glints as his stare took longer than it should be.

It was full of something, akin to an unknown promise.

But you still hope it was nothing but one last hopeless threat for the humiliation he went through.

One last farewell and you prayed that your paths will never cross again after this.

Except, when the greens decide to usurp the throne. You will be there and watch their ruin.

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the-hole-in-terzos-shoe · 1 year

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Intro to Romantic Literature: Prologue

Professor!Terzo x TA!Reader (pretty gen for this part, but the main fic describes fem parts)

CW: implied smut, MDNI, 18+ only please, romantic tension, professor Terzo is a tease ✨

Word Count: 1.2k

I have been working on a Professor Terzo fic for MONTHS now, literally months. I'm getting close to the end, and this prologue popped in my head at 5 o'clock this morning, so I had to scribble it down. Plus, I think it'll make a cute little teaser 🥰 enjoy!

Intro to Romantic Literature: here!

Every day feels like a big day as you barrel towards the end of your degree. The pressure of arranging your final portfolio of works, defending final arguments, typing papers... it's all really starting to get to you.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, the bittersweet thought crosses your mind. You'd finally be done with all this stress and move onto the ease of a consistent career, but you'd also be leaving behind the best job you've ever known. Leaving 𝘩𝘪𝘮 behind.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts, collecting and organizing papers and files so efficiently--you could do it in your sleep at this point--that you don't notice him staring at you, the pained expression on your professor's face that would tell you it eats him up to see you like this: so stressed you're ready to snap.

He reads you like the many leaves and pages studied in his romantic literature class, like a poem written just for him. You recite your feelings to him daily without knowing it; it's in the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head when you rest the tip of your pen on your bottom lip, lost in thought on the class discussion at hand.

Sauntering into his office, you drop your shoulders as you flop into his soft leather chair, taking a deep breath before sorting papers accordingly: lesson plans in the bottom right desk drawer, books on the bookshelf, papers to be graded in the third slot of the black wire rack, anything needing immediate attention left squarely on his desk in plain sight.

"Grazie, stellina," his voice snaps you back to reality, immediately causing your cheeks to flush at the nickname. 'Little star' is what it means. It makes you feel like a teacher's pet, which would've bothered you if it had been anyone else; however, it makes you feel special to earn attention from him. "La mia brava ragazza, you always do such a good job for me." He leans in the doorway, running a hand through his graying locks.

"Thank you, Professor Emeritus," it comes just above a whisper, and you look down at the desk briefly before standing to make your exit.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," he murmurs, catching your waist as you try to pass him in the little room. Spinning you around, he pins the back of your thighs to the desk before leaving some space between you... Just enough space to be respectful, but a clear indication that you're not getting out of this so easily.

You're so caught up in the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne that you hardly hear him when he asks how you've been. "Hm?" you reply, playing naïve.

"Tesoro, please, I can't have my favorite student looking as distracted as you've been lately," he starts, but you interrupt him.

"I'm not your student, I'm your teaching assistant," you remind him with a light hearted smile.

"You are still learning things, no?" he cocks one thick black eyebrow in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, his intense white eye putting you in checkmate.

"I suppose so," you whisper, looking down at his ridiculously shiny loafers.

His fingers under your chin direct your stare back up, "What has you so distant, eh? Would you like to talk about it, cara? Confess your sins... So to speak." He winks at you, earning a small huff of a laugh from you.

"What are you, the Pope?" you joke.

His eyebrows quirk in an unreadable way, but he stays silent, urging an answer from you.

"I've just been really stressed with school," you finally concede, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

"Have I put too much on you?" he worries about the workload he's given you cutting into your schedule.

"No!" you look up at him almost desperately, "No, I enjoy this position so much. It's everything else. The final papers, getting good grades, trying to graduate." You choke on the last few words; it was something you'd been emotional about the last few weeks, plus your professor had your guard down.

"Don't cry, tesoro," he commands softly, but it's already too late as tears flood your waterline. Without a second thought, he cups your face in his hands, wiping away anything that threatens to spill across your cheeks. Wrapping a protective arm around your waist, he pulls you flush to his chest before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course he has one, and dabbing softly under your eyes before offering the piece of silk to you.

"Thank you," you stutter, clutching the cloth in your hand. Hesitantly, you glance up at him before laying your head on his chest, folding your arms under his in a hug.

His hand on your waist falls to caress the small of your back while the other cradles your head, while you regulate your breathing. You can't say for certain, but you think you feel a whisper of a kiss placed on the crown of your head. Holding each other like that for however long, you don't know, but when his fingertips gently start to massage your scalp, you let out an involuntary moan.

Your cheeks blush pink again, meeting a much more heated look in his mismatched eyes. As his warm hands move to grasp at your hips and waist, suddenly all of your worries melt away, as the only thing you can think about is him hoisting you up on the perfectly organized little desk and having his way with you, your panties tossed aside in his office chair, and you laid back and arched up into him while he works every tension from your needy body.

Your fantasy fades away when Professor Emeritus's hand cups your chin again, fingers pressing into your jawbone in a dominant way to lift your face to his. Your gaze wanders to his plump lips... how many times you've thought of having them on you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he leans impossibly closer, and one of your hands smoothes over his firm chest.

But before he makes a move that he can't come back from, he presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your supple lips, stopping himself from crossing the line, even though he so badly wants to... wants you.

He gives you a solemn nod before putting some distance between your bodies, "I hope you're feeling a little better, after our, uh... chat, stellina."

"Uh huh..." is all you manage to breathe out before straightening up. "Yes, sir."

Offering a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he carefully presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you on your way.

Tonight, you'll tell yourself that you misread the situation, that he was only trying to be a kind and caring professor, but somewhere deep down inside you, under lock and key, you know that isn't true. Especially because you felt something hard graze against your hip as you squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but you put that thought far behind you as you head back to your dorm.

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scoonsalicious · 4 months

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Since I'm on a posting break until the 23rd so I can write, I thought I'd entertain you with some Unwanted: Unusables, or, early drafts from the fic that didn't make it into the final cut.

This first one is from an early draft of Chapter 5: Unprofessional. A little bit about the draft: In the beginning, Pocket and Bucky were never meant to actually get into a relationship. They were just FWB until Jade came along (who had many in between names, like Emily, Jewel, Sage, etc., and was NOT supposed to be crazy evil, just... kind of a bitch), and the plan was for only Pocket to catch feelings at first, and for Bucky to sleep with Jade in Russia because he actually liked her and wanted to, and to come back to the Tower with her as his girlfriend and kind of leaving Pocket in the dust.

Obviously, this isn't what ended up happening. I couldn't help myself. I needed these two idiots in love. With that in mind, please enjoy these next few days of "Unusables." This particular one starts off with Pocket going back to her room after giving Jade her Tower tour.

I'm actually scheduling all of these before I start my break, lol, so don't worry-- by the time you read this, I'll be writing more WFLT...

You made it back down to your suite in record time and were delighted to find Bucky sitting in one of your arm chairs, an open copy The Times in his hands.

"Hey there, soldier," you said as you kicked off your heels. You raised your skirt as you approached him, giving your legs the freedom they needed to straddle his lap as you sat down in front of him.

He didn't look up from his paper, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well, hello there, Pocket." His metal hand came up to rest on your knee, fingers tracing circles on your skin. The touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" you asked with a smirk.

Bucky snorted, finally looking up from his paper, one eyebrow raised. "Mouth like that, did they let you into this fancy building, or did you just sneak in through the vents?"

You smiled, tracing the lines of his face with your fingers. "Maybe I just I crawled up through the sewer line," you teased, putting a kiss to his jawline.

"That's my dirty girl," he grinned. You looked at him. You knew he was only teasing you, but he'd called you his girl.

And damn if that wasn't doing something to your insides.

"You okay, Doll?" he asked, looking at you with concern.

You nodded, trying to push away the seemingly overwhelming emotions that were stirring within you. "Um, yeah, I'm fine. Just got lost in thought for a minute; Jewel Carthage is upstairs meeting with Steve and Tony right now. They'll be

coming down to the common room to introduce her to everyone once they're finished."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Jewel's interview was today." Bucky's tone was completely unconvincing. "It completely slipped my mind."

"Oh, we lying to each other now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light and your insecurity at bay. It was totally fine for him to express interest in getting to know a potential new member of the team, you reminded yourself. Totally fine and not a complete rejection of you at all. Okay, who was the liar now?

"Absolutely not," his voice was now deep with sincerity. "Never." You smiled and leaned in to kiss him, but he leaned back and asked:

"So, how did the tour go? What was she like?" You debated whether or not to tell him about what she'd said about him, but decided against it. You found you didn't want him feeling flattered by her disgusting line of questioning, and the fact that you were censoring what you said to him made you feel gross.

"Can't say I was a fan," you told him. At least that was the truth. Just not all of it. "I found her to be incredibly unprofessional and, honestly? Kind of a bitch."

"Hey," Bucky gently chastised, "give the kid a break. She was probably freaking out. It's hard being the new kid in the Tower, you know?" You shrugged; you didn't know, really. You'd been with Tony from the beginning. Bucky went on: "Remember how much of an ass I was when I first met you?" he asked, then impersonating himself, said: "'What the hell kind of name is Pocket?'" You nodded, giggling as you remembered. "But you looked past my obnoxious nerves and I wormed my way into your heart and now you're my best friend and you're stuck with me forever." You nodded, laughing at the memory.

"Well, you're lucky I wanna be stuck with you forever," you told him without thinking.

"Is that so?" he asked, voice growing thick.

"Ugh, don't let it go to your head, Barnes." You buried your head into his shoulder to cover your embarrassment, only for him to put his hands on your hips and roll your core across his clothed erection.

"Oh, it definitely went to my head, Doll," he said as he drew your hips together again, eliciting a moan from deep within you. "I just can't confirm which one." The friction was delicious, and you put your hands on his shoulders to find purchase as you began grinding against him in an increasing rhythm.

"Fuck, Pocket," Buck grunted as he thrust his pelvis up into yours, "how can you feel this fucking good before I can even get inside you?"

"Jesus, Buck," you gasped as you felt the length of him drag along your covered slit, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit every time he pulled you forward, "just like that... Harder, please, God, please.' You were panting, desperate for the release that you were chasing. "You feel so good. God, so fucking good."

Bucky took his metal hand off of your hip and gripped your chin. "Come here," he growled, pulling your lips to his in a desperate kiss as he continued grinding you against him.

"Gonna make me cum in my pants like a fucking teenager," he moaned. His hand gripped the back of your head, pulling your forehead against his. "You're so fucking sweet, Pocket." You loved the words that came out of his mouth the more he came undone beneath you, and the fact that you were the one doing it to him made you feel incredibly powerful.

"Ms. (Y/L/N)," FRIDAY's voice filled your room, causing Bucky to halt his movements, "Mr. Stark is requesting you and Mr. Barnes in the common room for Ms. Carthage's team meet and greet in fifteen minutes."

You groaned, trying to pull Bucky closer so you could chase his lips in spite of the interruption, but he moved his head away.

"We should head up, then, huh?" Bucky gently moved to tug you off of his lap.

"We could be a little late," you said, reluctantly standing up and straightening your skirt. "There's no rule that says we have to be perfectly punctual. Let me at least get you off before we go up." You started to kneel in front of him, reaching for his belt, but Bucky stood up, stopping you.

"I don't want to be rude," he said, reaching up and freeing your hair from its bun, running his fingers across your scalp.

"Oh, God," you murmured as you leaned into his touch, "that feels fucking amazing." He brought his other hand up and began massaging your scalp with both hands, gently tugging at the roots of your hair. The sensation immediately relaxed you.

After a few moments, you felt his hands pull away. Cupping your face, he smiled at you. "Why don't I head up now, and you can get changed and meet me?"

You checked your watch; he really hadn't given you much of a choice at this point.

But then, he abruptly stopped and stepped back, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, doll, we should probably behave ourselves for now." He pulled away and returned to his discarded copy of The Times. You tried to hide your disappointment. He hadn't initiated any intimate contact with you since the day he had seen Jewel's file almost two weeks ago. You were started to take it a little personally.

You had never really thought of him as anything more than your best friend (and someone you had mind-blowing sex with), but lately, there had been moments where you couldn't stop thinking about him. Moments where his touch felt electric, or his voice made you feel something deep in your core.

It was confusing, and part of you was terrified at the idea of giving in to those feelings. But another part of you wondered if maybe there was something worth exploring there. If maybe you were ready for something real.

But his recent distance had given you pause. Had you done something off putting? He had seemed to really enjoy the blow job you'd given him that night, which was the last time the two of you had done anything that could be remotely described as sexual. You made a promise to yourself to broach the topic with him when you both got ready for bed later in the evening, after the meet and greet with Jade was over and you could put her out of both of your minds, for good.

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peppermintstarsonamintyway · 6 months

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cacaoviar content from yours truly

woohoo finally finished that cacaoviar fic- believe me when i say i opted to cut it short cause i didn't know where to go (i am not a writer help me)

anyway cacaoviar mini-fic technically for @limboraptor under the cut :thumbsup: (y'all are free to draw stuff about this btw)

It was an early morning in the snow covered, cliffside, kingdom, truthfully a little too early for more than half the kingdom.

Dark Cacao, dressed in his royal kimono, furred cloak over his shoulders and crown discarded for the moment, was of the only few actually awake, a candle on the chabudai he used as his desk, and a cushion beneath his legs where he sat on his knees.

The contents atop the low built table consisted of paperwork and documents, mostly diplomatic things involving other kingdoms, a small ink vial, and the quill in the nobleman's hand.

If you were to ask him, Cacao wouldn't be able to give you a reason as to why he was up so early, mindlessly filling out paperwork. No one was to be visiting him, especially at such an hour of the morning, so it's not like he was just passing the time with paperwork.

Or, at least, he thought no one was supposed to be visiting him.

Turns out his seafaring, not yet boyfriend, boyfriend had different, specifically unannounced, plans.

Cacao was startled from the calm of methodical scratching against paper by the sound of the door to his quarters being forced open, rather unceremoniously too, the screeching of the sliding door against it's frame greatly unpleasant to his ears.

Before Cacao could look up, a familiarly warm hearted, albeit shivering, voice range from the door.

"Cacao!" A snow covered, and slightly frostbitten, Captain Caviar shouted with delight as he barged into the room, tossing aside his coat onto the wooden flooring.

With a soft sigh and warm smile, Cacao rose from his cushion, clasping his hands together as he moved to meet the sailor halfway.

"Caviar." Cacao greeted with a nod, before he brushed some snow off of Caviar's fluffy hair, unable to help himself from toying with the soft dark curls for just a moment. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too!" Caviar grinned widely in return, his hands placed on his hips as he leaned into that small moment of a gentle hand in his hair.

In the back of his mind, Caviar wanted that moment to last a lot longer than just a few seconds, but, he wouldn't admit that. At least not aloud.

"…You're freezing, aren't you?" Cacao suddenly chimed, narrowing his dark purple-ish brown eyes, as he moved to remove his cloak, draping the warm, heavy duty, fabric over the barely covered sailor, gently bundling him up.

"Whaattt?? I'm fine! A little cold never bothered me!"

"You frequent tropical seas more than you do glacial seas, you are more often on a boat than you are on land, and it's six in the morning."

"…Y-Yeah- so what?-"

"Do you truly expect me to believe that you didn't spend half a day tripping and falling through the snow just trying to get here? I'm well aware sea legs don't mix with multiple feet of snow."

"…Okay fine- I might have fallen a few times-"

Caviar crossed his arms, puffing up his cheeks as he snuggled up in the furred cloak, to which Cacao couldn't help but chuckle warmly at the sight of.

Cacao, taking one of Caviar's hands in his own, his own scarred fingers grazing over the callouses of the sailor's, callouses that he found beautiful in their own way, built from years of hardwork protecting his home.

With a small, gentle kiss to the back of the sailor's hand, the nobleman looked up at him through dark, white speckled, eyelashes, and spoke with loving concern. "My dear captain, do I need to remind you that you can't be visiting my kingdom without weather appropriate wear? One of these days, you'll end up catching a cold."

Caviar however, face flushed with bright red blush, looked away from Cacao, covering his face with his free hand.

"Look, I've been trying alright- wearing such heavy clothing just ain't comfortable-" Caviar tried to argue, yet was met with a look that quite clearly said "and yet you're soaking up being in my cloak".

Without even a proper word from Cacao, Caviar continued. "This thing's an exception alright!" The sailor argued, the nobleman giving not but a small laugh at the sailor's attempts to defend himself.

"I suppose, perhaps, I'll have to have something tailored for you then, yes?" Cacao offered, as he turned over Caviar's hand to nuzzle the sailor's palm, gently kissing the rough skin.

"Y-yeah…" Caviar managed to mutter, a rare sight for the sailor to stutter but one that Cacao reveled in nonetheless. "W-whatever floats your boat-"

Suddenly, Caviar stiffened, his face scrunching up, before he sneezed, his body reacting violently, his entire body bouncing a little. Rubbing his nose with his fist, Caviar was quiet for a few moments, Cacao staring at him in surprise.

Before inevitably bursting into a fit of soft laughter, pulling the sailor closer to him. "I believe my point has been further proven." Cacao murmured through his laughter, pressing his face against the sailor's forehead, brushing away some of his fluffy hair to kiss his skin.

The sailor sniffled, rubbing his face with his arm as he grumbled a little, visibly irritated by the fact the cold had gotten to him this time.

"It was just a snee-" Caviar went to retort, but before he could finish, he was cut off by a small yelp as Cacao clasped his hand, tugging him along after him.

Both grew quiet as Caviar stumbled after Cacao, the sailor's expression softening to match the nobleman's. Caviar would have said he was surprised when he noticed they were headed towards Cacao's bedroom, but truthfully he wasn't.

Nestling into the nobleman's bed with him had become a routine for the sailor, especially when making visits like these. It wasn't like anything had happened yet anyways.

So, without complaint, Caviar carefully clipped off any accessories he had and set them on the nearby nightstand after Cacao released his hand, the nobleman going to make the bed and get some tissues for the sailor's nose.

It took a couple minutes, but eventually, Caviar got comfortable.

Wrapped up in Cacao's cloak, with blankets pulled up over his body, and a plush of the nobleman in his arms, Caviar couldn't help but smile softly.

It wasn't long after Caviar got settled that Cacao joined him, carefully climbing under the covers with him, snuggling up to him despite the possibility of getting sick as well…if Caviar was sick.

"…You're a goof ball." Caviar grumbled despite shamelessly resting his head on Cacao's chest, pressing his nose into the slightest bit of skin the kimono couldn't cover.

The nobleman smiled, bringing his hand up to twine his fingers through the curly locks of Caviar's hair. "But I'm your goof ball, aren't I?" Cacao retort, grinning lightly against the sailor's hair.

Caviar released a soft chuff, rolling his eye in a manner that said "shut up and just cuddle", and quiet Cacao did grow. Aside from the faint rumbles that resonated from his chest alongside his beating heart.

It was an ever snowy afternoon in the cliffside kingdom when Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip found their king fast asleep with the sailor they'd come to know as his unofficial lover.

Neither cookie said a word, simply smiled softly as they looked between themselves and the sight before them. Eventually, they left after making sure the two were tucked in properly.

A small plushie of a rice cake hound was the only thing left behind that implied the two were ever there.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #captain caviar cookie #dark cacao cookie #cacaoviar #i'm surprised i didn't fuck up spelling anything ngl-#anyway enjoy your food cacaoviar community

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raspberrilady · 1 year

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White Roses || William James Moriarty x Reader

a/n: Finally, here, a fic written with my friend as my hypewoman on this William piece, and me being a cheerleader on her Scaramouche fic. Ask her kindly and maaaybe she will translate a thing.

Word count: around 16,000 words divided into a prologue, 9 chapters and an epilogue. You might consider reading it on AO3

Treat this piece as an embodiment of my brianriot that was a sole thought of wanting to see a William with a soft, kind and a bit naïve lady. She will have her character development throughout the story, though. I just wanted some longer angst-fluff fic and it’s a bit dumb and silly and not that majestically written.

Warnings: Female reader, mentions of Christianity, too many scenes involving tea, not that good word choices. Translation isn’t my thing. Angst, fluff and suggestive fic.

Mary Hale isn't sure if she wants to wake her roommate up.

In her eyes, you look terrible and won't be able to get yourself presentable in the next ten minutes, when the next lesson will start. Your hair is tangled, your sleeping face bears a strange expression, and the bags under your eyes are dark. A book with an emerald cover loosely clasped in your hands betrays what [Name] [Surname] was doing all night.

For that, you blame all writers whose passionate, engaging novels keep you awake at abnormal hours. Late nights are the only quiet time in the dormitory. It's soundless enough to keep you focused and dark enough to finely hide dark blushes on your face in case your roommate woke up. She would still scold you for using the lamp, and the mood would be ruined, so you always keep the light low.

Mary Hale rolls her eyes and decides to leave you be. Either way, she doesn't know you well enough to care that much, even if you've shared a room for half a year. She spends her time perfecting her art of flirting outside the dormitory, and you... Well, she guesses you read a lot and don't mind showing up to class unprepared.

She couldn't be so careless in her appearance as you as she doesn't plan to waste her time on books much longer. She will find a wealthy lover and never lift a finger again to work, let herself sink in tons of compliments and be adored by the man of her life. That is her dream, which she devotes herself to.

She leaves the room almost without slamming the door.

Mary has no intention of being late for class. Math isn't that much important as the young professor who is an exceptional candidate for her lover. The thought of a forbidden, somewhat indecent relationship curves the corners of her mouth into a mirthful grin.

Huh. And she is surprised that this kind of thing is preventing you from sleeping, even if only on paper.

Chapter I

You are late.

William James Moriarty notes the attendance with a quick glance as he enters the room. Several seats remain empty: you and another student, who always sits in the first row—August Hearst—are missing. He also notices two unfamiliar ladies, unenrolled students who showed a sudden interest in trigonometry after seeing William. Amazing.

He puts on a gentle professor's smile, closing the door behind him and its hinges click quietly.

„Good morning. I welcome you all to the next class,” he says, standing in the middle of the room. Everyone raises and responds to his greeting. “Before we move on to the next subject, please take a look at your exams and my commentary on them. If you have any inquiries, don't hesitate to ask me. Unfortunately, two people did not pass and-”

The door creaks loudly, although you've been careful when opening it. You slip into the room and with a hasty “I'm sorry...” take your seat.

“...And that is why they will have to attend supplementary classes to catch up. This test was difficult, but I assure each of you that the knowledge you’ll gain after it will be useful in the future.”

He takes the corrected exams. His shoes clatter against a wooden floor as he hands in the exams one by one, congratulating successful students and giving knowing looks to those that don’t have math as their forte.

“Miss [Name],” his soothing tone doesn't sound threatening, yet the shiver runs down your spine. He places a test in front of you, and you notice how your calculations on the first page are almost completely crossed out. “I am inclined to suspect that the day you wrote your test was not your finest moment. Most of the data had already been misspelt in the first lines. Could it be that something was distracting you?”

You look at him with surprise and shake your head vigorously. Professor Moriarty most likely knows that he is (not only) your biggest distraction, especially since in (not only) your eyes he is perfect. Pulled straight out of a novella. Romantic one, probably. You could point which book.

Not that you are absurdly bad at all these calculations and logical thinking. But one could mess this badly only if there was something else involved, like immunity to handsome men.

And yet he plays ignorant and thus makes you even more nervous.

It isn't easy to look for an excuse. After all, you can't really say 'Hiring a handsome, young teacher as a maths was a fatal mistake by the university' or something along these lines.

“I've been having trouble sleeping lately...” Your confession is half-hearted, as you stare stubbornly at the test result which almost makes you tear up.

“Oh? Well, I can't argue that a good novel might keep one awake better than a math book,” he says with a benevolence that makes you even more embarrassed, and you blush. “Perhaps a tea of St John's wort or chamomile will be able to help you.”

You gently turn toward him and nod shyly. He smiles and ends up handing out tests. Then, he goes back to the blackboard and writes down the few formulas that caused the most problems.

Seeing how trivial your mistakes were, you start to question why you are here. Well, you somehow like the classes and your parents wanted you to take up a chance and study. And, of course, William teaches here, but it must've math, that you can't understand at all.

You sigh. How unromantic.

***

For the rest of the lecture, you've been sitting quietly, jotting down the most crucial things. Or you've tried to, as your notes started to fill up with mindless scribbles next to some formulas. You are relieved to get up from your seat when the class’s time is up.

You move towards the door along with the other classmates when you hear your name called.

“Miss [Surname]!” You don't need to turn around to realize that the voice belongs to Professor William. Even that bad mark on your exam didn't make you resent him out of spite, you notice with another beat of your heart as you approach him.

“Yes...?”

“I would like to remind you once more about the supplementary classes,” he says calmly, observing your reaction. He could point to the anxiety in your slightly widened eyes and a stab of frustration in the way your lips twitched slightly. William smiled and was mindful that it is time to change the topic. “Apropos, Miss [Surname], I have heard that the second volume of the 'Taste of Enchantment' has appeared in our library.”

Now William watches as a surprise takes over your body as the bashful redness start to spread on your face, he considers this state better than your silent puffing and pouting.

…

How does he know about this book?

'Taste of Enchantment' is an average romance with an awkward title. The protagonist is a dull lady, but not in a way you could describe yourself, as she was too perfect. You would drop the book by the first three chapters if not for the main character’s significant other, who, as you’ve decided, quite resembles William.

“How did you know I read the first volume?” You ask with an uncertain, polite smile.

William hums lightly. “I happen to be very interested in the literature my students read. I noticed you recently with the book, so I decided to try it myself.”

...That is mortifying. You know so many books and your lecturer had to caught you reading this mediocre crap. The ending of the first volume may have been quite good, you admit it yourself, but overall it was...

…Yeah, mediocre crap is an adequate way to describe it.

“If I had known, I would have had in hand a more interesting novel than this one...,” you chuckle to shake off the awkward feeling and lower your gaze on your watch. There is still some time to eat breakfast. You did a slight curtsey. “Excuse me, professor, but I will be going now. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course, miss [Surname]. I hope to see you in the supplementary classes,” you nod, already resigned to your fate, and he smiles as you take your leave. It sweetens the fact you will have even more limited free time.

If he had stopped you, he would see a scarlet blush covering your cheeks before you got out of the room. Your throat is dry, and any further words would have died on your tongue.

Almost with relief, you leave William's classroom.

'Taste of Enchantment'...

The blush again douses your face, and you close your eyes while rebuking yourself quietly. You couldn’t believe that a crappy romance book that would rather suit a somewhat-read teenager would make your heart beat fast and not because of the frustrating plot.

And you wanted to be a model student, [Name]?

Chapter II

Never before in your life have you been so nervous yet excited for a lesson to start.

Even though you are theoretically here as punishment for not studying enough math or just not being talented enough to master it effortlessly, it is hard to get the nervous smile off your face. You try to not let your fluster show, tightening your fingers on the covers of your books.

With your free hand, you reach for a door.

The class is almost empty and the sight of it reminds you of a lively marked suddenly going vacant. It’s unusual and leaves a nostalgic feeling behind.

“Welcome back, Miss [Name],” William's velvety voice greets you as soon as you walk through the door, and the world around seemed to dim in his presence. “I'm glad you found time for me.”

“O... of course,” you reply hazily, sitting down by the desk that is closer to the blackboard than your usual seat. You don’t want to look impolite, would you take a sit that far away, when there are only two people in the class...

...Or rather, there should have been two people, because the second student—another failure in terms of math—hasn't arrived yet.

“Ah,” William notices your unspoken question. “You are currently the first one to arrive. The most punctual. I'll admit I have no idea whether Mr Hearst will join us. There are three minutes left before the scheduled time... But,” the smile he gives you is charming enough, you can't focus on his words, “we will somehow manage together either way, won't we, Miss [Name]?”

You smile shyly, only nodding in response. You don't like how you can't do anything about your slightly flushed cheeks. Math, math, math. You came here to learn math. Not for your handsome teacher.

You can't let yourself romanticize the situation and face the cruel reality you’re failing your classes.

You spread your books out on the desk. Once you're holding a pen in your hand, William sighs softly and begins explaining everything about trigonometry from scratch. He asks you questions, and you can feel the attention on you, which you both don't want and... somehow, makes you happy.

You solve a few tasks under his watchful eye and encouraging smile. They are easier than what was on the test, but Williams tries to convince you that the solutions are to be crafted with the same scheme.

You are absorbed with the paper in front of you, occasionally biting your lip.

While you’re absorbed with the paper in front of you, William observes watchfully the changes in your expression: from a bit of confusion to concentration and then a smile of satisfaction and surprise as you write down the answer. He approaches you and leans over to take a look at what you have written.

Your tense by the light feeling of his warm breath. He’s so close. You can discern the light smell of roses. Is this cologne?

If anyone else were in his shoes, you would be terrified by this proximity. Now, somehow, you aren't.

“Mhm, both first exercises are correct, but in the third, you have used the wrong formula.” He hums right next to your ear. His voice is quiet, almost coming out as a whisper.

You press your lips together in a narrow line as your cheeks become even redder. You mutter something under your breath, correcting the data. You don't dare to look at him, because your heart’s beat fastened and you don’t want it to jump out of your chest or stop.

…How delightful.

“Professor Moriarty...?” You whisper, drawing his attention back to you from his wandering thoughts.

“Forgive me Miss [Na-]” SHHHHHHHHHHH!! His apology is interrupted by the creak of the door opening. William straightens up and turns around. At the threshold stand two—...two?—late students; Mary, your roommate, and a boy whose locks of chestnut-coloured hair you've been seeing in class around five rows in front of you.

“I'm sorry for being late!” Mary Hale giggles cutely through her apology. She notices William and she smiles charmingly in his direction. She hadn't been invited to extra classes—but who would have a good reason to deny an eager student extra maths lessons?

Still, even as your beloved professor gracefully moves away from your desk, you can smell his cologne. You shift your gaze to the newcomers, distracting yourself from the scent of roses.

Mary greets the professor who answers her with the same courtesy. The man who you barely knew from the classes, hesitantly takes a seat next to you, bowing his head slightly in silent “good morning”.

You smile timidly in return.

“Of course, professor!” The melodic voice of Mary steals your attention once again. You glance again at the... pair that looks very good on each other sides. It pains you how the golden locks of Mary's hair give her a princess look, that matches William's gentlemanly appearance.

…Hm. They look like the main couple from the “Taste of Enchantment”, and you can't help but pout with dissatisfaction.

...Well, either way, William seems to like you a bit more than her! Probably. You guess. You hoped so. Maybe you are seeing whatever you want to see, and want to cheer yourself up, but... You don't know what you would do if you stopped using your imagination.

The warmth on your previously red cheeks suddenly seems to prickle, just as ice dabbed on your skin.

Mary is more... more than you. You can't put your finger on the source of her charm, but you suspect that her big blue eyes, almond-shaped face and feminine curves have something to do with it. Her voice is always layered with honey, and even sweeter words can turn any man into her lover. Hm... Well, maybe you can tell why was she popular, but that doesn't make you any happier.

How can William not resist this charm? His aura that spellbinds people is as strong as hers, and the effects are well-known throughout the academy.

…

You don’t notice the glaze of tears that forms over your eyes before a gentle nudge snaps you out of your reverie.

Someone's hand is extended discreetly towards you with a flower-embroidered handkerchief between their fingers. The consoling gaze of your desk companion is the only thing that stops you from bursting into tears. You really can't understand how can you be so oversensitive about the scenario going over in your head.

“Everything will be alright,” you hear the warm voice of a stranger. “...The very fact that you are still trying to understand math, means that you are a very strong woman.”

You take the handkerchief and wipe away the traces of traces. “...Thank you.” With a gesture, your companion signals you can keep the piece of this beautiful material to yourself. You nod your head in another thank you. “We're both strong, even if our grades say otherwise.”

He laughs heartily. “And that is very good thinking, dear lady!”

“Miss [Name], Mr Hearst,” the two of you look at your professor who must have finished talking with Mary. At William's heavy gaze, Mr Hearst moves away to give a decent distance between you. “Let me start the class properly, please. I will write out some formulas and instructions on the board for you. Try to solve them and bring me your calculations tomorrow. And now, going to the further topic...”

You can feel your eyes on yourself more often than normally. You catch William's gaze lingering on you. Your heart is beating loudly, but not in a joyful rhythm. It was something between a melody of uncertainty and melancholy, that doesn't allow you to raise your gaze. No, you can't do that without hope that helped you today to get up at an absurdly early hour... Absurdly early hour for you, 8 am.

…

You are aware of your jealousy. Comparing William and Mary to the characters from your new favourite book completely ruined your mood, but it was only your fault. You should stop overthinking and get a grip.

You finish the lesson by noting down the formulas. It is hard to do it correctly, because you've been avoiding looking at William, and the fact that he is constantly standing next to the blackboard doesn't help.

The chime of a bell at the end of class sounds angelic.

You cram all your belongings—two books, a fountain pen and a notebook with some pages unintentionally crumpled—into your bag and hurry to the exit. You arrive at the door frame so quickly, that Mary and Mr Hearst have only raised from their seats, and you even have the nerve to pretend that you don't hear your name called.

You open the door and, although no one can say that you are running, your every step is an escape from a certain professor and his classroom. You should keep your joy in books and distancing yourself from Mr Moriarty is the first step to achieving that.

…

Your room. Only now, as you're sitting down on your bed, you begin to analyse your behaviour. You can feel your heart pounding hard, and not just because of your “run”.

Your eyes tear up over again at the memory of your last lecture, and you sink back onto your pillows.

“It's so foolish,” you think. You can't understand why the sight of Mary standing next to William had put you so off balance. Was it because of your naive enchantment? Or was it simply your imagination putting the two of them in the place of characters from a popular novella?

You’re being unfair to Mary right now. The guilt will eat you fully if you ever begin to be rude to her just because of your unfulfilled fantasy. You groan, burying your face in a cushion.

Just as you were about to buy the new volume of “Taste of Enchantment” not so long ago, all you want now is to burn every copy of the book that makes you go through a mental breakdown.

...No, even this book, no matter how cheesy, doesn't deserve that.

Someone knocks on the door. The sudden sound makes you tense up, but you get up after the second knock. With a hasty movement, you wipe your watery eyes and adjust the folds of your dress.

“I... I'm coming,” you mutter, praying that your voice won't falter. Before reaching the door, you glance at your reflection in the mirror and bite your lip at the sight of reddened eyes and cheeks, and you believe you make a sad sight.

After opening the door, the person in front of you surprises you: Mr Hearts, the kind soul who had spent the last moments of class with you. He’s not too tall a young man with dark hair and a gentle face. His cheeks look smooth and squeezable and are slightly flushed, maybe from the embarrassment that comes from the indecency of a man visiting a woman’s room alone.

His laugh is a little awkward as he holds up the loose sheets of paper he has brought with him. “I sincerely apologize for the disturbance, Miss [Name], but... You left some of your notes behind, after leaving so quickly and... They might be important.”

You press your lips into a timid smile. A new wave of embarrassment washes over you at the memory of your behaviour. You feel stupid, knowing that this man took his time to find your room and return your notes, because of… you.

“Oh... Thank you kindly,” you smile shyly, taking the papers from his hands. “Would you like to come in for something to drink?” You invite him uncertainly and move away from the door, but Mr Hearts stops you.

“There is no need, but I appreciate the offer. I came here unannounced, and I believe you might need some space today,” the student smiles a little more confidently, and you notice how charming he looks with such an expression. He must be popular with women.

“Then please let me repay you with a cup of tea someday,” you say. “I feel indebted to you.”

He chuckles. “Alright, lovely comrade in arms of trigonometry.”

“…That’s a long nickname.”

“Then, is ‘lovely comrade’ alright?” He offers, but he isn’t suave in these kinds of talks and you know his throat is going dry. You know the pain of this fellow introvert.

“…My name is enough.”

“Just your name?”

You huff at the way he squints his eyes and burst out in a friendly chuckle. “If you insist.”

“In that case, I would like to be called by just a name too. I’m August Hearst.”

“Thank you, Mr August. Oh, and since you are here...” You open one of the drawers and take out a white handkerchief which roses you have embroidered by hand. “I would like you to keep it... As in exchange for your support in class and your handkerchief.”

You hand him the handkerchief and have to push it aggressively into his hands before he finally accepts it.

Chapter III

August Hearst is a delightful gentleman.

You come to this conclusion in the next several days filled with shared classes. He's been taking the seat next to you whenever possible, greeted you every day with an amiable word and even a kinder smile, and tried to accompany you at each dinner.

Your dream of William Moriarty and the secret romance have been slowly distancing itself, when you were with August. Now you know that all the things that happened in your head were... too surreal to come to this reality. Out of your reach.

If you've learned anything from your romance books, it would be the obligation to back out in the name of others' happiness. And the main character in this story might be Mary.

You smile unconvincingly to yourself.

“[Name],” your attention returns to August again, who just finished tucking his books into his bag and is ready to go. He puts apologies in his mouth when he informs you that he isn't able to walk you back to the dorm today. “I'm sorry about that, [Name], but I promised someone...”

“Have no worry, August,” you interrupt him gently, getting up from your seat. You walked through the oaken door of the literature hall, where, for the last hour and a half, thirty students experienced the torment of detailed interpretation of ancient texts. No one knew there why have they chosen this subject to have scheduled obligatory amount of hours. You squeeze the textbooks closer to your chest. “I was going to excuse myself as well and check something in a library...”

Your companion gives you a nod and visible relief brightens his face. “You take the weight off my heart”.

The farewells exchanged, Mr Hearst disappears with his acquaintances from your sight, and you step into a wide, empty corridor, whose marble ornaments reflect late sunlight and some candles spaced around the way.

It isn't a rare sight—after evening classes it isn’t easy to find any students, who would still want to be in the building after a dozen (or so) hours of focused learning.

You are not here to learn more though. You are walking to get to your favourite entertainment, the world of fictional romance. The books are expensive, and getting your hands on many of them by the privilege of being a student here is something of your guilty pleasure, you wouldn't admit to Mr Hearst.

You won't tell him right away, no. You don’t want him to see how almost the only genre you read is romance. If he finds out, he might think you have too rigoristic standards and that isn't true (or, you hope so). It certainly wouldn't encourage him to make a move if he is interested in you...

…

...Is he interested in you?

…

The library, as you expected, is empty.

You relax immediately. In front of you stand many bookcases filled with stories that only waited for someone who will get enchanted by a pretty cover and gorgeously scribbled titles. Your hands ache to get themselves to work and find another masterpiece.

You keep a slow pace as you walk between racks and read the catchy titles. Sometimes you take a book from its place to leaf through pages, guessing if it's interesting enough to take it back to your dorm by the lines that catch your eye.

Your eyes dart upwards and you find yourself staring at your favourite series and its newest volume, whose charm probably wouldn't understand even your favourite Mr Hearst.

The book you’ve been looking for stands maliciously high.

You don't know what kind of devil was climbing these shelves, but he had a ladder and set another volume higher than your hands could reach. The entire weight of your body falls on the toes of your feet, on which you stand to be taller, closer. It's not enough to reach the shelf.

Yet you manage to get it.

You feel a passive touch on your back, but your attention is sabotaged by a hand above you that grabs the book. You turn around quickly, and the rack next to you helps you to remain balanced.

“Is everything alright, miss [Name]?” Asks a familiar voice of the texture of honey and chocolate. “I thought you might need a helping hand.”

Professor William James Moriarty.

Your eyes met with the shiny crimson of your professor. It's your favourite shade of red, but you can't help but think that they are a bit darker than you remember as if they're covered with a cloud of smoke or heavy emotions.

The book is still in his hands when you greet him.

“Professor Moriarty, good evening...!” You say, your curtsy bow looks and feels stiffer than you would want it to.

“I wasn't expecting anyone here at this hour,” he admits, smiling gently. He looks around the library. “Is Mr Hearst not with you?”

You shake your head. “No,” and add curiously: “Shall I go find him?”

“It won't be necessary. It's nothing urgent,” William assures you, taking a step back from you. The light rose aroma doesn’t leave you though. Was he that close to you if you could recognize such a delicate scent? “To say the truth, I am a little jealous.”

You get choked by a surprise.

“Je... Jealous? You, professor?” And another unsaid question: “Why?”

William's polite laugh rings in your ears.

“Of course. Miss [Name], it's very inappropriate for me to tell this to such a charismatic person as yourself, but I feel a bit lonely, if I dare to say, without your attention in my classes.”

“Ah,” I should've paid more attention to the classes... Are my grades that bad? “I'm sorry. I will focus more on my studies.”

“Let me rephrase this,” he corrects himself immediately as if he could find the doubts just by looking at you. “I would like to request your valued company more often. I found myself dissatisfied we couldn't find time to share a discussion on literature. And there comes an invitation: would you care to join me for a cup of tea if you could spare me an hour of your time?”

You gape at him.

What??

You can feel your body growing warmer and slowly breaking down, like an overheated machine. Your legs are going to give out, even though you want to fly with the butterflies in your stomach. That feeling has taken your ability to say even one word, so you just nod, hoping that this motion will express all of your excitement in a very polite manner.

William gets closer to you. He stands close enough to cover up your whole vision.

You think about moving away, but the back of your shoe is already touching the bookcase behind and your shoulders almost lean on the wall of books. William's hand reaches for the book next to your head, closing you in a half-embrace that limits your movements and the will to escape.

You can still turn around. Or start to scream if you want to get out of here. But...

William cups your cheek and tilts your head enough to have you looking into his eyes. You could see him clearly and be well aware of his gaze that wanders on your face with delight and some kind of excitement, although he keeps the gentleman's shtick that is always expected from every nobleman or professor.

But your observing time has ended, as you feel something on your lips.

The cover of the volume you were trying to reach before is pressed to your mouth. William is still looking at you with warmth, but he's... closer. You can't see his face anymore, mostly hidden by the book.

Your lips are being separated only by the cover and two hundred sheets of paper.

You hear a whisper against the other side of the book that you can’t catch the words, but it’s meaningless—you cannot focus on the same voice you have listened to for hours, relishing the opportunity to get to know such a wonderful voice.

You feel the cover pressed against your lips stay there for a moment, and then encounter the disappointment that William has moved away from you, although he still holds all of your attention.

...A kiss? Was it an indirect kiss? Was it just your illusion, a daydream, even though the untouchable evidence indicates otherwise? Are you going crazy?

You no longer have any perception in your fingers as William gently places the volume in your hands. With a kiss planted on the back of your hand, he bids you farewell. "I wish you a wonderful night, Miss [Name]. Enjoy your reading,” with a smile he leaves the library.

It is long after sunset.

You arrive at your room with a foggy mind.

You don’t open the book, which you set down carefully on the bedside table, although every glance you cast at it makes you shudder.

After two hours you fall asleep. Mary hasn't returned to her room for the night.

...

You wake up abruptly, finding the alarm clock ringing too loud.

Your cheeks burn red as you look around the room and glance at the book next to the bed, feeling your face heat up even more.

You walk briskly to the bathroom to get ready for today's class. You cast a glance at your roommate's bedspread. It is in the same condition as yesterday—a black dress and an ironed shirt lie on a tidy beige bed. The history textbook doesn't seem to have been touched and the box of new slippers Mary had been excited about recently hasn't even been opened.

“She didn't come back for the night...?” It is nothing new, yet for some reason, you feel a pang of uneasiness. You shake your head. She probably fell asleep at someone’s else house. Nevertheless, it’s painful to wake up alone in the room you should be sharing with someone else.

You glance at a book and put a hand on its cover. Somehow, the hope pours into you like a warm honey.

…

“You seem to be in a good mood today, [Name],” Mr Hearst smiles at you, sitting opposite you with his plate of food.

“Is that so? I just feel… lucky today.”

“I wish I had your happiness today. Give me some, please.”

“It’s mine,” you laugh, and he squints his eyes at you in a playful annoyance. His smile looks a little strained, so you decide to ask. “Well then, is something wrong?”

He looks as if he wants to count his misfortunes on his fingers but bites his tongue and sighs. “It’s nothing that critical,” and you imagine another idea came to his mind, but before he says it, Professor William comes to your table.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he says in a worried voice that suggests that something is wrong, “but could I have a word with Miss [Name]? It's an urgent matter.”

“Is something wrong, Professor...?” You throw an apologetic glance at August and move away from the table. Could it be that he wanted to bring up the subject of the previous meeting...? Well, you have agreed to have tea together, but in your spirit, you hope he won't ask for it yet. You wanted to prepare for it... Mentally. Perhaps even arrange a few false scenarios in your head, just in case, as it sometimes enhances your courage.

However, it is not what William had in mind.

“Have you seen Miss Hale? She didn't turn up for our last class, although she promised me personally that she would.”

“Mary...?” You ponder, and the sting of uneasiness from the morning returns to poke your heart. “She didn't come back last night... Maybe she stayed with, um, her friends, but I haven't spoken to her. We've been passing each other a lot lately...”

Within another hour you land in William James Moriarty's temporary office, nervously clutching your skirt and stewing in an atmosphere of concern.

Mary has disappeared.

You don’t yet know if something was going on with her, but the general confusion has sensitised your nerves.

“Here, tea,” a cup of Earl Grey appeared in your hand. It warms your hands. “How are you feeling?”

You take a sip of tea, which is a bit too hot, and gaze into space expectantly. Politeness and etiquette require you to say ‘alright’, but you couldn't think of anything of anything other than your housemate.

You start to regret not talking to her more before as you would have a better idea of what places she goes to.

“Truly...” Your voice cracks. “Truly, no one knows what happened to Mary? She... She was still in class yesterday after all! She was asking me for notes for a test, and.... and now nobody knows where she is.”

William shakes his head and takes the cup from your hands before your grip loosens. He stands at the side of the sofa you are sitting on and leans towards you.

“I won’t make empty promises that everything will be alright,” he says, not taking his eyes off yours, “but you must believe that I will do everything in my power to get Miss Hale back to the dorm in a safe condition.”

You nod gratefully but awkwardly.

“Thank you very much, Professor Moriarty.”

“There is yet another matter we need to discuss. Miss [Name], it would be very dangerous for you to be alone at a time like this. We don’t yet know the cause of Miss Hale's disappearance, so there would be no one there to help you,” you bite your lip so as not to interrupt him and tell him that Mary was not much of a help anyway, “in case of an accident....”

“Will I be moved to somewhere else, then?”

“As all the rooms are occupied and the two other female students cannot be separated either (We wouldn't want to leave either of them alone, would we? That would defeat the purpose). I made a proposal to the management, which will only be executed with your permission.”

You look at him curiously.

“A proposal?”

William smiles.

“You will move into my property... Until the matter resolves.”

CHAPTER IV

You aren’t sure how he did it, but everything has gone just the way he wanted.

Somehow, you got allowed to move to Mr Moriarty. You had never heart of management pulling a move like that—did they really put your safety above the moral principles they were so protective of?—so until you stood before his property, you weren’t fully convinced you were going to move.

You take a deep breath, however, this doesn’t calm you down at all.

The door in front of you opens before William can reach its handle. Into them appears a man resembling your professor with the same blonde hair colour and remarkable scarlet eyes. Your gaze wanders between William and his likeness.

“This is my younger brother, Louis,” William introduced the man, clearly amused by your confusion.

His brother...!

“Pleased to meet you,” he bows slightly.

“Me too, sir...” you reply with the same curtsy.

“Allow me,” he carefully takes over your luggage. You mouth a "thank you" and he brings over the bags without much difficulty and disappears down the corridor. He is back in a minute and by the speed at which he took care of things you think he is one hell of a butler.

“Before we move on to breakfast, brother William wanted me to show you around the estate,” Louis announces, greeting you with a tray of fresh tea in his hand. You wondered if you were being treated too well here. “There's no need to worry. It will be a short trip.”

“Alright,” you nod and, after finding that the tea is not that hot, take a sip of it. A pleasant warmth hugged you from the inside. “This is such a delicious tea...”

Louis smiles because William asked him to be very kind to you.

...Although he still feels that no one is worthy of so much attention from his brother.

…

“This is a library,” the door creaks open and another wonder of the world reveals itself to your eyes. It’s much smaller than the library at the university, but it seems in spotless condition and has more novels and math books. There are maps, history books and psychological documents too. You ignore the staccato in your chest. “Miss [Name], I heard you like books.”

“Ah-!” You look at him surprised. “I do indeed love them. Did you hear about it from Professor William?”

“Yes,” he replies, and the indifference in his voice slowly begins to break. “Brother William said the books brought you closer together or so.”

Well, books were the reason why you thought about Professor Moriarty so often. He was well-read, so you had insightful chit-chats about the literature.

The scene from the library invades your brain once again. William still hasn’t confronted you about the kiss or anything. The tension that magazined in your muscles in the last few days is almost painful.

Louis grunts quietly. “You are invited to come here whenever you would like to. Brother Wi—"

“Oh, is that Miss [Name]?” Another voice interrupts Louis’ words, and a man in a grey suit seems to rise from under the ground and appear before you. Optimism, elegance and style—a lethal mix for sensitive hearts—emit in his every word and movement, and you can immediately tell that the visitor has a much more sociable life than you. “She is even more lovely than I imagined.”

“Miss [Name] This is James," Louis introduces the blond man, and he makes a curt nod.

He smiles, grasping your hand in an almost theatrical way. “At your service,” he said, winking at you. He then shifted his attention to Louis. “Are you showing her around the mansion?”

Louis nods affirmatively.

“We have only just started, but Brother William asked for a brief recce for Miss [Name].”

“I can gladly do that if you want to,” James offers. “Don't blame me, but, in my opinion, there are too many guys here. And a woman here,” for stressing the term he gets a chastising look from Louis, “is something unheard of! You have to prepare everything for our wonderful breakfast, isn't that right?”

Louis thought for a moment and sighed.

He turns to you. “Miss [Name]. Would you mind if Mr James took care of you for the next twenty minutes? I'm quite needed to prepare the meal.”

“Of course not,” You replied immediately, not wanting to be a burden to Louis, who seemed to take care of the whole household on his own. You pondered why an aristocrat and the brother of a professor decided to take on such a role.

“Lovely,” James stands right next to you, ready to make a quick round around the property. He looks at you with a glint in his eye. “So, shall we start with the garden? It would be worth introducing Fred to you and the atmosphere there is just.... muah,” he kisses his fingertips.

Louis moved in the opposite direction to you. “She is… okay,” he admits to himself in thought as he walks through the main hall to get to the dining room. He isn’t sure if okay is enough to hoard so much of Brother William’s attention. “Ah, that's right. I should tell Moran to not—.“

—Slam!!

With a mighty step comes Moran, who has terrible timing. Although Louis hopes he won’t notice you by the breakfast, the man’s gaze almost automatically goes in your direction as you walk out the door with James.

He manages to catch your curious eye.

A smile stretches his lips.

He approaches you with a wry grin, and you carefully scrutinise him with your eyes. You have to admit that he is handsome, however he seems to be more Mary's type, judging by the looks of the men she’d been hanging out with. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of your roommate.

As Moran approaches you, James grows instantly gloomier as if his entrance was some kind of a bad joke you can’t help but sight upon hearing. “What do you want?”

“Is there a problem, Bond?” He rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to say hello,” he turns towards you, and a charming smile appears on his lips. “Sebastian Moran, it's a pleasure to me—"

“Oh, there you are, Miss [Name].” Moran's statement is interrupted by William's voice coming from behind the dark-haired man. You get a feeling that Moran is disliked here, or they are all trying to bully him on purpose. Whether it’s a daily occurrence, but the man only smirks at William’s arrival.

“Professor Moriarty...”

“Breakfast is ready. I would suggest going back inside,” he smiles, sending Sebastian a warning look.

James sighs a little disappointed.

“I will go look for Fred in that case...”

***

The breakfast passes in a pleasant atmosphere, thanks to which you get acquainted with the residents of the mansion. They are very... lively. The meal started with the petty banter exchanged between Moran and Bond and ended with everyone getting busy with their duties. Thanks to them all, you’ve been able to take a little break from the overwhelming reality, for which you were very grateful.

After the tea, you move to the living room at the request of William. You sit down in the armchair opposite him, taking a book borrowed from James. There is a comfortable silence between you, accompanied by the sound of pages being turned. Your body relaxes. You haven't had many opportunities to do so lately, so you appreciate being able to rest at William's side and even hope that such moments could be endless...

“How do you find it here?”

You look up from your book and smile.

“It's lovely here,” you reply without a second thought. There is nothing you would complain about. “And everyone is very nice. I didn't know you, professor, had a brother! Mr Louis is a truly outstanding chef... Any chance he could share the recipe of those tarts that were on the table?”

William chuckles, and you put the book aside. Fictional romances are interesting, but talking to William could draw you in even more. “Of course. Although... I don't know if I'd like it myself.”

You twitch with nervousness.

“O-oh,” you corrected the folds of your skirt, somehow not having the strength to look at William. “If I ask for too much, then, of course—"

“I apologize. I phrased it wrong,” William interrupts you softly, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. Since when did he sit so close to you? Just as you remembered, the floral scent that was in the library strikes you once more. “That's not what I meant.”

He grunts and straightens up, shifting his hand from your shoulder to the palms of your hands.

“The truth is, I have an issue,” he smiles weakly, and your heart leaps with emotion. William trusts you that much to speak freely about his problems? “And it consists in the fact that I have never known what you take interest in,” saying this, he lies. “We’ll certainly give you the recipe but rather as in exchange. I’d love to learn much more about you, so you will be able to count on me even more.”

You choke on your tea.

“I...” Your voice is hoarse and you have no idea how should you respond with your tongue tied with a stir. “I am not sure if it is possible to make me even more dependent on you, Professor. Especially as I am living in your house for the moment, and I’ve been treated with nothing but kindness.”

“Yet I am even more infatuated with you when you’re here,” William whispers.

He dangerously closes the distance. He teases you, moving closer and closer to you more and more slowly and not allowing you to look away from him.

If before, in the school library, you were separated by a book, now there is not one.

…

There is Louis.

Louis knocks on the room and makes you jump away from William to the other end of the sofa. William looks as if he is suppressing a chuckle before turning to his brother.

“Brother William, Miss [Name], the carriage has been prepared,” he says, bowing in a butler manner. “Mr James and Mr Moran are already waiting downstairs.”

“Professor Moriarty, are we going somewhere?”

William takes another sip of tea, seeming completely unmoved in contrast to you. He’s calm yet cannot stop himself from looking up from the brim of his book to watch your reaction.

“We are going to the city, Miss [Name].”

CHAPTER V

London is bustling at this hour. The streets are filled with carriages, finely dressed people stroll along the pavements and children run around them. The image spreading before you had something magical about it, even though it represented the everyday life of the capital's inhabitants.

“Miss [Name]?” William's voice snaps you out of your reverie. You turn an offered arm. You feel shy from the gesture, but you politely accept it.

“...Professor, where are we going?” You ask upon noticing that you are heading to the richer neighbourhoods. Even if someone doesn’t know London very well, the gap between each zone is striking. The buildings here are prettier and you gape at the picturesque area.

“To the tailor,” he says simply, stopping in front of an exclusive-looking shop window.

You freeze in spirit. The displayed gowns are beautiful, richly embellished, and certainly sewn from the highest quality material. You swallow your saliva, glancing uncertainly at Moriarty. You are sure that your money wouldn’t let you afford a little scrape of the fabric, not when it all goes on books.

“Professor Moriarty... I'm afraid it's not for my budget...” You laughed awkwardly.

“Consider it a gift from me. We don’t know how much time we’ll be lucky to share, yet a fine dress might be required if the guests will visit the mansion.”

“I... I don't know if I can accept your gift...” You hesitate. “I am grateful, but, I… Just can’t. I am not accustomed to such gifts and I won’t be ever able to repay you a gift like that.”

“I insist,” he says but it doesn’t convince you. William sighs. “Then, how about a deal?” He suggests. You perk up and that’s not something you should have done because a lady mustn’t be involved in such atrocious activities. “I will buy you a dress, and as... As compensation of sorts, you will show me your favourite place. You’ve been living not too far away from here, isn’t that so?”

“This is not—"

“This is a very fair exchange, Miss [Name]," he interrupts you, knowing what you wanted to say. You press your lips into a narrow line. It is a bad idea, however, seeing how persistent William is...

“If you insist...”

“I very much insist,” he replies, satisfied with your answer. He then smiles as if he had realised something. “One more thing, Miss [Name]. I think we should address each other by our first names for a while if we don't want to stir up gossip. What will people think when someone discovers that an unmarried woman is staying in a house full of strange men? We should give the impression of family.”

...William could not have cared less about the public opinion of him in this situation.

He almost pushes you through the door into the dressmaker's shop. By the time you blink, you are surrounded by a garland of women. One of them speaks to William, and the other gets a signal to take your measurements. You hold your breath as they do so.

Once everything is written down, you and William could move on.

...

“Professor Moriarty...”

“Once again, [Name]. I believe you can manage to call me by name. Only then will I listen to you.”

“Mr William...”

“Almost there.”

“…William.” You say in a half-hearted voice. Saying his name out loud is much more difficult than in your head. “Are you... Are you sure it's not too much? All those accessories... The outfit alone must cost a fortune.”

“If I am sure of anything, it is that it is all money was well spent.”

“…I don’t concur.”

William smiled at your words and took a sip of ginger tea. You’ve been having an awful lot of tea parties lately. The taste of this brew is no match for the one Louis brewed, but it is certainly one of the local delicacies.

The tea and cake shop you are in is one of the most famous establishments in the city. The upper terrace—where you are now—is open to those with money. It’s not one of the more expensive venues, but certainly one of the more charming.

Despite the hour, there are almost no customers.

“Does the dessert not suit your tastes?” William prompts, looking at your plates.

You both have slices of fresh strawberry tart that was made with a thin, soft sponge cake, a layer of heavy cream and sweet and sour strawberry jam in between.

A teapot of tea is constantly warmed on a porcelain stand, and cups in floral patterns stand right next to your plates. Vases of freshly squeezed juices and water were placed on the table next to you.

It is the most varied afternoon tea you've been to recently. And everything is delicious.

“No, I like it very much”' you reply, quickly scooping up a larger piece of cake, which you gracefully shove into your mouth that of course you had to choke on it.

“I'm very concerned about your ability to get into trouble,” William says handing you a glass of water that helped you to swallow the cake.

“It's not that everything I do is that chaotic.” You try to explain, taking a sip of tea, and forgetting that the jug is constantly heated doesn’t help your case.

“Did you burn yourself?” He asks and by the look on his face, you know your actions nor words haven’t convinced him. You croak, a little disappointed in your luck, but more by the burnt tongue. “Please show me the world, it can be more serious.”

“There is- no need for that…”

“That's what ice is good for,” William states as he stands up and walks over to the table next to him. He takes a piece of ice from a small bowl which, although it was meant to cool the juices, seemed perfect to treat your burn.

“I... What should I do about it?” You asked uncertainly. Ice? In the spring? Ah yes, it must have been one of those latest inventions... Refridgerorator? Refrigerator? “Should I... bite it? Eat it?... William...”

“You make it very difficult for me,” he says taking the nearest seat to you and putting an ice into his mouth.

Huh?

…Oh.

Oh! So it was for him! Or maybe, he shows you what you should do with the ice? You will need to grab another cube.

William’s hand finds its way to your cheek, which he turns towards you. You open your mouth to ask if is everything alright.

He’s been waiting for this to move closer to you. His lips fit into yours, and you immediately feel the coolness and heat, the ice and William, bursting in your mouth. The scent of ink, books and roses surrounds you, and a hand on your nape makes sure you won’t pull back from the kiss.

An ice cube gets into your mouth. You forget about the burn, as your lungs begin to run out of air, but you don’t pull away. Neither does William, who even deepens the kiss; his other hand goes to your chair to support himself when he leans into you.

Now you are running out of air.

William moves away, but only because of the footsteps of a client, who likely enjoyed the terrace of the cake shop. William puts a distance between you that would never have suggested that a moment ago.

“The ice should have completely melted by now,” William says softly, and you are struck by how calm he looked. All you can see on his cheeks is a pale blush. “If you want more, don’t hesitate to ask,” he says and looks deadly serious as if he wasn’t teasing you.

You envy him for how composed he looks, as another couple who just got to the floor are throwing you a strange look. You are looking like a mess, for sure.

William crosses his arms. He smiles at you, and you still can’t get a word out. You would like to reproach him for the… act, immediate and rough kiss, but the very fact that you have not yet fled spoke for itself.

“Shall we go to the next place, [Name]?”

You bite the inside of your cheek gently as you nod and grasp his arm. He glances at his watch.

“We still have some time before it starts to get dark... It might be a good time to fulfil the deal on your end, [Name]," he says in a gentle tone.

You sigh softly. Favourite place...? The first thing you think of is the library. It is a too-obvious choice, though. The library at Moriarty’s is also the one you’re currently enamoured with.

…Well, there is one place you remember liking as a child.

How long has it been since you've been there?

“Alright," you smile at him, taking first steps in an unfamiliar direction. William, wordlessly lets you guide him to the place you’ve spent hours dreaming in and about.

CHAPTER VI

The rusted gate is overgrown with ivy and it’s the first thing that catches William's attention. You open it with a loud creak. The place turned out to be... Slightly further away than you remembered, so the sun has already started to set.

You watch William’s face as you enter the wild gardens. Unruly plants grow on the ground and between the paving stones. The place you decided to take William to is an old botanical garden, which no one has been interested in for a good few years.

Well, maybe just you.

“So… This is a place I have great memories from,” you introduce the place, spreading your arms a little like a showman.

“It's beautiful here,” he admits, looking around. “It's a surprising view, considering we were in the city centre not so long ago.”

A content blush spreads over your cheeks. This time not from embarrassment—you’ve been feeling bashful too much lately, you think—but from sheer glee. You are happy that the place appeals to William.

“Romance books were almost forbidden in my home when I was so little. I had to borrow ones from the neighbours and sneak out to read here," you confess, directing deeper into the garden.

“Really? I wouldn't expect such rebellious behaviour from you.”.

“Oh, when I was younger I did much worse than sneaking out of the house," you sigh, stepping ahead of him. William raised his eyebrows, and you felt your legs slowly stiffen. Since when did you stop being a quiet introvert? You feel an urge to explain. “Like, um, stealing food from the kitchen and blaming it on the dogs. Or borrowing my mother’s cosmetics... without asking.”

He laughs at that. “You surprise me more and more, Miss [Name].”

You arrive at your favourite part of the garden. It is a gazebo overgrown with wild roses. In the middle of it stay wooden chairs and a table, swathed by moss.

“I remember losing my favourite doll here, but I was afraid to tell my mother about it because she would find out about my sneaking out," you laugh at the memory, one of many that return while wandering.

You notice how William hasn’t said a word for a while. A pang of guilt pierces your heart. “Oh, sorry! The stories of my childhood are not the most interesting ones.”

“They are. Actually...” He lowers his voice and leans to him to hear the words better. He speaks right into your ear. “It would be my pleasure to hear more... I would like to get to know you better [Name].”

“Well...” You look at him from under your lashes, trying to guess his expectations for you. To your misfortune, neither his smile nor his eyes betray anything except his curiosity. “What would to know about me?”

William points to the space between the hedge and the woodland.

“Let’s speak in a more comfortable place.”

He grabs you under the arm, and you rise from the table. William offers to go ahead, pushing back the tall grass that reached his knees.

“Ah!” You hold your breath. You find it hard not to smile as you are flooded with fond memories. “It's been so long since I've been here that I'd almost forgotten...”

A tall oak tree with a gigantic crown casts a shadow over you. Thick ropes are tied around the thick bough. Perhaps they had once held the anchor of a small ship. Britain is, of course, a maritime country and, in a time of an over-revolutionary world, finding miscellaneous materials from machines outside the city is not uncommon.

The ropes, apart from thick knots on a high branch, are neatly tied to a heavy board half a metre above the ground.

“I couldn't have climbed up here on my own when I was younger,” you admit, your eyes searching for the stone you brought from the bushes to elevate yourself onto the swing. “Although I suspect I would still have a problem with that.”

“I'll help you,” William offers, lending you one hand and entwining the other around your waist.

“ It’s a-all right," you protest, but the grip on your body only tightens.

William does not let go.

William tries.

William learns he is not strong enough to lift you that high, even if you were the lightest woman in London.

“Please don't strain yourself...!” You squealed quietly as you tightened your fingers on the ropes. You use all your strength to pull yourself up and finally sit on the board, which squats under your weight.

Your cheeks are hot and visibly red; his because of the sudden exertion, yours through embarrassment… and maybe endearment.

And delight. Few men would tear through the wilderness to put you on the swing.

“I know you're thinking about something untrue," William says. His eyes are now on the same level as yours, and once again you can admire his features from a different perspective.

His hands stay on both sides of you, clamping the ropes. The swing moves under his force, and your legs move further away from the ground.

“So,” William begins again, moving away from you and letting gravity do the work. You start to sway slightly. “What books did you read as a child?”

“Please don't think I've been... uh, like this all along,” you said quickly. William laughs under his breath, and you lower your gaze to the ground. “I mean... I borrowed some books from my neighbours, but I mostly read what was on the shelves in my parents' house.”

“Was it a big house?”.

“Neither big, neither small. It's not comparable to your residence, of course,” you take a moment to think about it. “But every room there is cosy. I still think it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.”

“More than a library?”

“…They are both gorgeous and outstanding.”

“But if you had to choose one?”

“Don’t ask so difficult questions, please,” you say with a chuckle that William shares.

At that moment a rustle comes from the bushes near you. It is a loud sound, as if staged.

By the bushes, at a very respectful and polite distance, stands Fred, his clothes in no way tarnished, although he seems to be coming from a part of the garden where you have to make your way through the low branches.

He nods in greeting you and waits for the permission to speak.

William helps you jump off the swing and, after taking you under his arm, allows Fred to come closer. He looks at him significantly to weigh his words.

You couldn’t catch the boy staring, but you feel his gaze on you when he opens his mouth.

“We found Mary Hale.”

CHAPTER VII

You hurry into the living room of William's residence. There you find Mary, extremely exhausted, wrapped in a blanket in a large armchair, drinking. She looks very different from the last time you saw her. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her face is almost morbidly pale. Mary's clothes have never been so crumpled before.

“Mary...!” You call out and take her into a tight embrace, glad she is back. Safe. You might not be particularly close, but you’ve been still worried about her.

“[Name]...” Mary struggles to reply, not knowing what kind of words she could share with you. She seems not even to have the strength to reciprocate the hug.

You move away from her and tears create in the corners of your eyes. “You’re okay...! “

She smiles uncomfortably.

“We have notified your family and Mr Hearst as you requested,” Louis announces, pouring tea into Mary's cup.

The girl nodded and seemed to want to say something more, but before that, someone burst into the room.

“Mary! Thank God you're here!” August runs up to her, grabbing her shoulders. She sends him a weak smile, but it dies as August turns his attention to you. “Oh, [Name]! How good that you are safe too. I was really worried when you disappeared so suddenly.”

Mary's face clouds over. She's the one who's been through hell the last few days, so why are you the one who's focused attention on...? Are you and August Hearst...?

She sighs, and William can’t help but notice the dissatisfaction in her eyes. The case is not going his way. He had particularly told Mary that they had found her thanks to Mr Hearst, and she—as he predicted—already took an interest in him. He was a good, wealthy, honest man who had “saved” her.

However, he doesn't seem to notice. His attention is focused on you, which inwardly irritates William.

“I’m fine, August... I was safe at the professor's side, as you can see,” you smile convincingly. August looks with a dull gaze at William and nods. He turns to Mary.

“What has happened to you Mary...?” August asks. “Suddenly a strange anonymous message came to me....”

“Miss, [Name],” you hear Louis' voice near you. “I need you to leave for a while. This is important information in the investigation, and we believe that knowing what has happened might put you in danger.”

“Is… it really that dangerous?” You ask with disbelief and worry.

“We know you care about Miss Mary, yet…”

“A-alright,” you bow slightly and take your leave.

Whatever the meeting was about, you never found out.

From August, you’ve learned that Mary Hale does not want to return to the family home; she will have the week off from classes and is required to stay in another room.

When asked if this meant you were going back to your dorm, William shook his head.

“Miss Hale needs peace,” he replied, and you slowly concluded that you were too low-energy a person to disturb someone like Mary. William smiled. “Unfortunately, but you can be very distracting. She will have arranged a room especially to look after her.”

…You wonder why you couldn't have had the same privilege when you needed a single room as well.

“Miss [Name],” August calls. He seems a little paler than before and is carefully eyeing William as he speaks. The professor sips his tea calmly. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me back to the academy tomorrow?”

You smile at him. “Su—"

...And William answers for you. “Unfortunately Mr Hearst, I must ask you to be present fifteen minutes before class starts. Our lessons must go on, and we've accumulated a bit of a backlog over the last week, don’t you think?”

“Professor Moriarty," August’s voice is filled with a firmness you have never heard from him before. You look at him in surprise which escalates when he gently moves closer to you so that the sleeves of his suit lightly brush against the folds of your dress.

You freeze in place, knowing that whichever way you moved you would find yourself too close to August or William. You hold your breath as if its irregular rhythm betrays your tension.

“Professor Moriarty,” August appeals again, feeling that his words are not getting through to William, who stares at him. Although the chill gaze isn’t directed at you, a shiver comes down your spine. “I don't want to sound rude, but shouldn't you, as a supervisor, be concerned with the safe return of Miss Mary Hale to the dormitory?”

William smiles, although the air around him goes cold.

August stands up quickly and, somewhat forcing you to go with the rules of etiquette extends his hand, which you have to accept.

Your hand finds its way under August's arm. You two—although you not so willingly—leave.

How are you going to return to William’s residence now? Maybe you will stay on campus, or should you get a carriage??

“You have no idea how deep an emotion you evoke in me.”

…?

These are August's words when he considers that you have already moved a fair distance away. His eyes twinkle as he says it, a mottled blush sets on his cheeks and Mr Hearst himself seems like a character straight out of a book.

You can even sum the plot to the current point: a new student and a shy student are assigned to a class together; the charismatic boy quickly falls in love with the typical girl, and she slowly opens up just for him... How many times have you read something with a similar trope?

Not that you want to flatter yourself—being the protagonist of such a classic romance is a compliment, after all, right?—But it's so hard not to substitute August for this gentlemanly extrovert who wins girls' hearts with the blink of his eye.

And the fact that he was now in front of you and stammering over the words he was about to say makes you suddenly stop.

“August, I—"

“The situation with Mary made me realize that… If something like that would ever happen to you, I would go insane with worry.”

You fail to think of anything you can say. Well, you always wanted to have a romance, right?

But…

Every place that William ever kissed you, starts to burn.

“I... Unfortunately, but...”

You read so many romances; there was bound to be some rejectionist dialogue in those. What did they sound like?

“I am... I am truly honoured, Mr Hearst, but...”

The knot in your throat makes it difficult to say the words.

August knows what you want to say; his grip on your hand tightens involuntarily, and a small wave of panic floods your body. He’s doing it unconsciously, he’s in pain right now, but…

You wouldn't be able to break out of his embrace alone.

“Miss [Name].”

Your heads quickly turn towards the voice whose owner turned out to be Louis. He bowed elegantly and, putting his hand to his chest, continued to speak.

“Brother William wanted me to inform you that the carriage is already waiting for you.”

August cuts in.

“I am sorry, but we agreed that Miss [Name] is coming back with me.”

Louis squints at him, unhappy William’s words aren’t accepted just like that.

“The plans have changed. I was told to bring Miss [Name] back.”

You feel on your skin the reluctance with which August releases you from his embrace. Sparks of guilt glitter in his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch uncontrollably. Immense regret pours over your heart as you realise that you have failed to reject him without hurting him.

...On the other hand, would it ever be possible?

August's gaze did not leave you until you got into the carriage. Only then he shakes himself off and with an abrupt step walks away. You suspect your next encounter will not be very pleasant. You’ve just lost a friend.

“Were you willing to accept his proposal?”

You turn to William, who sits opposite you and waits for your reaction. Your skirt is voluminous enough to hide your shaking heart.

Maybe if Mary hadn't liked August so much and if William James Moriarty hadn't been your teacher, maybe then... No.

You shake your head. “I adore him as a friend.”

“So please don’t feel sorry," he says in a calm voice and with a gentle smile offers comfort. “I will make sure that only friendship remains between you.”

...

...?

August Hearst has no idea how he got into this situation.

Ten minutes ago he came to meet Professor Moriarty, who had told him the previous day that he would need to speak to him about the overall backlog.

He never expected William to serve him this kind of lesson.

It's really hard to see what's going on outside when you're locked in a bookcase. Only the gap between the wings of the door allowed him a peek at what was going on inside the hall. He has a view of the blackboard, the very centre of the auditorium and the desks, including his own, where he had sat until a few days ago when he had lectures.

He could feel the thick ribbons rubbing against his wrists and ankles; one of them served to cover his mouth. He can’t say anything or move, but he knows that if he makes too loud a sound, Professor Moriarty, who is fully aware of his presence—as he was the one who has put him here—will kick him out of school.

He didn't even need to warn him personally—the unspoken prohibition hung in the air as soon as William closed the wardrobe.

“William?”

Oh no.

August really doesn’t want to hear your voice. His heart has yet to be rehabilitated. He isn’t sure if a whole year will be enough.

On the other hand, he so badly wants you to come up to that bookcase now. August is convinced that the reason he is in this situation is your relationship with Professor Moriarty. He feels the sting of hatred for the professor, but the gentleness with which William handled you made him unable to consider him inferior in this situation.

“[Name],” Since when does Professor Moriarty's voice sound so warm? August wonders in his mind. “I'm sorry to call you out at such an early hour, but... we're both aware that you also need a repetition of exam material.”

“Of course,” you move towards the chair. William lightly catches your hand in his and brings you closer.

“Today we’ll have a special lesson for a special student,” he replies with amusement at the question in his eyes. “I have tasks already prepared for you. Starting from the beginning...”

You grab a piece of chalk and stand in front of the blackboard. William, along with a file of notes, walks behind your back and saunters in circles.

He dictates the questions. You immediately get to work.

The pattern? You already remember it after you failed the exam six months ago. Since then, it has haunted you even in your dreams.

And calculating it? …Maybe you’ve got a little problem with numbers.

William's drawing of perfect straight strokes presents an irregular triangle with three signed side lengths and its heights.

...The first thing you need to do is to use the cosine theorem. You needed a cosine, an angle.

...

How were the angles calculated?

“William... Uh... I think I'm hugely deficient… Today,” you sigh, lowering the chalk and stepping away from the blackboard. William casts a glance at the blackboard and then at you. “Could I have a hint...?”

A smile stretches his lips.

“But of course,” he replied, walking up to you.

You hold your hand out to him, from which he takes the chalk but also brings itself closer. His fingers intertwine with yours, and your face is right next to his. He leans down, his lips brushing your collarbone and inhales your perfume.

Sweet. Could it be a rose?

You’re matching now.

He nibbles on your skin, and you gasp quietly in surprise. Slowly, you begin to get used to his touch, but the moment you start to crave it he lifts his head so that he meets your eyes.

“That is the fee for the hint," he flashes you a charming smile. So now he is demanding something in return for his help? Was that the purpose of this repetition?

“…William!” you say, feeling your body overheating. This was supposed to be a lesson! A repetition! And you are going to leave it with grace and knowledge, even if you had to lie about whether you liked the whole event or not. “T… this is still a public place!”

He doesn’t let you move away. He teases you by closing his behind your back.

“Please don't worry. It's not like anyone can see us.”

You blush even harder and William casts a fleeting glance towards the wardrobe.

“And if one’s watching, let them watch.”

CHAPTER VIII

You sigh, looking out of the window. The weather today is not spoiling anyone, and the constant rain puts you in a nostalgic mood. Just to think that not so long ago you were just an ordinary student with a slightly over-exuberant imagination and an obsession with romance...

And now? The former may not have changed, but you feel as if you have become the main character of the novella you loved so much. Being an ordinary townswoman, you have gained the attention of your handsome professor-aristocrat, as well as from your colleague... It seemed too... unrealistic. Fictional.

Your relationship with William is... Exactly what is it? Neither of you ever uttered "I love you" or proposed a relationship, yet your interactions...

You blush at the memory of the scene an hour ago. Your actions hint at a close relationship, yet deep inside you feel apprehension. What if your unspoken feelings don't last? If you are going to be left alone? Would you be able to survive this? Will your heart be able to bear such a disappointment?

You shake your head, returning your gaze to the notebook. This is not the time for such thoughts, but nevertheless, your hands tightened on the material of your skirt. You take a deep breath and try to focus on the rest of the lecture.

"William is truly amazing, you think as you watch him. Not only does he teach maths at university, he also helps Mary and you. Your gazes cross for a moment and you reflexively look at your notebook, but there are just minutes left before the end of the class.

William announces the end and the students start to pack their things into their bags.

“Miss [Name],” you hear him after everyone else exits the class. You turned around, looking warmly at William. “I would like to talk to you today about something very important to me.”

***

You are unable to find out where William is leading you. He dismisses your every question like a politician, but in return for not answering, he places a kiss on your finger joints. You don’t break out of his embrace or even comment on it, even when you get into the carriage and his hand is still clamped on yours.

“Aren't you cold?” He asks, looking at the overcast sky. The sun has hidden behind the rain-threatening clouds after you got into the carriage. The wheels rattle against the stones even faster. He wants to hide in some inn as soon as possible, but he cannot ignore the aristocrat's wish or his money.

You shake your head at William's question. You are warm.

Your vehicle doesn’t stop until forty minutes later, under the old church. It is tall and built of heavy stone. The grey sky gives it an underwhelming atmosphere, but the beautiful buildings and decorations that lasted for many years reinforce your belief that it had once been a majestic and beautiful building. It still has its charm and solemnity in its appearance, but you can’t imagine anyone choosing it over the local cathedrals.

William pushes open the massive wooden door. They opened with a quiet squeak and immediately ushered you into the damper, cooler and quieter air. The raindrops were already almost inaudible compared to the sound of your footsteps.

He leads you to the confessional; he doesn’t even glance towards the altar illuminated by flashes of lightning, or towards the pews, the wood of which was indeed soaked with water. They are dark and smell of earth and the weeds that grow around them.

He seats you where a confessor would normally sit. You protest silently, but William proves to have a better understanding of human physics, for he does not use much force, but still seats you deep inside the confessional. You don’t even dare to flinch and look anxiously at the door as if someone is about to reprimand you for your behaviour.

“May He be praised.”

William walks across to the kneeler. He crosses himself without saying anything and leans towards the grating of the confessional. You are sure he could feel your gaze on him, even though you try to avert it from him. Apparently, he doesn’t mind, and just demands your attention, because he nods as if agreeing to whatever you are going to do now.

“I know the text for the confession, but it can't look like that now,” he says rather loudly, not like a repentant man who is supposed to confess his sins. “I am not looking for forgiveness here. I am not looking for repentance, although perhaps you, [Name], could be my path to purification. I... came here to share my sins with you, because I love you dearly,” your heart skips a beat, “but in order to keep you in my life, I need you to let you get to every part of it. I will keep you safe, of course, but I must make you aware of something.”

You nod but are too nervous to interrupt him. It is a gesture so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, but William notices it. He goes on:

“I am.... a person who pursues an objective regardless of the means, as long as someone close to me is not involved. I do this by means of a certain service of a crime consultant and I clear the world of fake people.”

Here he looks at you. You stare at him as if under the spell, but you don’t really know how to answer him.

“This morning,” he continues, “certain aristocrat was murdered... I believe you already know the news, “he says because your eyes glaze over in recognition. “I would not kill an innocent man, [Name]. That man was notorious on the black market. He had four murders of girls as young as twelve or thirteen. They died in torture, all because of him. Did he deserve to live after all of that?”

You keep silent. You feel a huge lump in your throat, and you can’t think of anything you could say. Tears of unhappiness and shock run down your cheeks. Obviously, the person you had to love was a serial killer, just like in the books.

“Did you...” You whisper out, trying to not let yourself sob. “...They... The rest... Louis, Fred... Moran... James... They all...?”

William puts his hand to the grating of the confessional as if he has forgotten that a wall separates you and he cannot wipe away your tears.

“They are all involved,” William confirms. “I want them to have a better world. I want them to... live in it, and be fulfilled in it. And the same I wish for you. Especially you.”

“...And what... what about you?” - You ask, catching a certain nostalgia in his voice. Nonetheless, you are already becoming well acquainted with William's tones, having spent a lot of time listening to every tone of his voice with relish.

“I don't know.”

Here he hesitates, for the first time in a long while since arriving at the church.

“But... Now, I know that I will do everything to make you live in this world,” he said. “Together with me.”

He got up from his kneeler and approached you. This time he doesn’t kneel but bows his head as he pulls a black box from the deep pocket of his coat. He opens it gently and on the velvet cushion shows an elegant, large ruby set into a silver ring. Its colour immediately makes you think of William's eyes.

Now that you stare at it, it reminds you of the colour of the blood.

“This ring is my being, my promises, my future,” he says, and the stone glows scarlet as if to confirm his words. “My name. If you accept it... I will consider that you accept me and my sins.”

You don’t immediately raise your hand. You would have done so just twenty minutes ago when you were still in the vehicle and you were happily lurching to William's side, resting your head on his shoulder. Now it isn’t just your maths teacher standing in front of you.

Now there is a Napoleon of Crime, one of the worst criminals in London. Your heart is awfully heavy, but you know that this is what a secret of such importance should weigh. It hadn't yet crossed your mind that by him sharing this secret, your choices were suddenly limited.

But you raise your hand nonetheless. It stops over the ring. You don’t know now whether the future you had been anticipating will actually be as beautiful as you have dreamed. By taking this ring, you were saying goodbye to your fantasies since you first learned of love.

The ruby is perfect for your finger; it slides in neatly and stays in place.

You tear up at this sight.

“Everything will be fine," William holds you against his chest. His hands continuously stroke your hair, slowly calming your sobs. It takes a long time though, but eventually the touch, his squat silhouette seemed to warm you up in this cold church. Yes, William's gestures were always warm, though his hands were usually cold. “I won't let anything bad happen to you. I will love you always,” and here his voice changed to a whisper. It sounds like a confession for the first time. “I beg you to remember that. Amen.”

CHAPTER IX

You have returned home. (You remember how warm you felt in William's embrace as the carriage wheels clattered against the cobbles on the way back to his estate).

William took his brothers with him to the study to discuss a matter relating to you. (You blushed at Moran’s whistling, having noticed the ring on your finger. Everyone congratulated you, but they didn't look surprised).

James handed you some cosmetics he'd bought in town. (Unrelated to the engagement, but they smelled divine).

You went to bed.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner.

You spent whole days at William's side. You didn't even make it back to university, although William continued to promise that you would be there again in the future.

...

It couldn't have been that long, could it?

Your book, “The Fruit of Infinity”, which you were so engrossed in, was last shelved in your dorm room... how long ago? When was the last time you even had the presence of mind to get a hold of a fictional world once more and get away from the present one? Too many things have been occupying your head.

The first was your wedding.

...

Huh.

When have you agreed to this? When did your parents have time to allow this? When did Louis have time to agree to this? The latter two would fight against the world if you had said anything about a relationship with William at the beginning of your acquaintance, just to keep you from getting married.

When did their resolve soften?

You aren’t going to talk them out of it. You know that everything that has happened to you so far was just a stroke of luck that you had accidentally come across. If only you have chosen a different class, a different major in college… Surely nothing has happened because of your non-existent romance skills.

(Although Moran did offer to teach you a little something if you wanted to flesh out your personality).

(William protested).

You don’t yet know how your life will play out from then on. Is William going to separate you from his plans for the London aristocracy? Keeping you completely unaware will be impossible and that’s why William has revealed his plans to you, but…

“Will's just worried about you,” James says, patting you on the shoulder. He listened intently to your worries, which you have been trying to keep to yourself lately; now that you know how much responsibility rests on the shoulders of everyone in the house, you don’t want to bother them with your silly problems. Bottling your feelings too quickly was breaking you from the inside, and James took you to the gardens as soon as he noticed your first insincere smile. (That's something you'll have to practice more). “The world in revolves is truly brutal. And you, my dear, are very fragile.”

“I don't want to be that fragile," you lowered your head with a slight pout.

“Oh, dearest!” James strokes your head again. You'd noticed that he is in the habit of fixing your hair and you like the childish joy of being cared for like that. “I'll take care of you, alright? Let's give William some more time to enjoy that rosy, adorable you at the wedding. And afterwards, we'll make you quite a weed to fend for yourself and know that people like Moran are low-key!”

You smile slightly. “...I bet you would be an excellent professor on that topic.”

He covers his mouth with his hands and looks at you with pride.

“Is that sarcasm, I hear?” he sighs with delight, taking you in one arm in his embrace. “My dear, I see progress, and in a very good direction.”

…

You guess you won’t mind a family like that.

…

The other thing that pulled you away from the books and the now all too fictional reality was this terrible fear.

Your life will change as soon as you marry William. It is inevitable and knowable, and normally the changes after the wedding are the ones people usually wait for.

You'll have a loved one by your side, plans for your life, and your dream romance with the antagonist (they always have something in them that the main characters lack)... And all of England chasing you.

News of Count Caretling's murder was everywhere. The information about his death is incomplete, always accompanied by a reference to a natural disease that no one had ever known about before. You don’t dare to ask William if he is responsible.

“Dearest,” he told you, sipping his tea. “You can still back out of everything. Just a word of promise that you will not reveal anything about our identity. Most likely, your brothers would force you to move deeper into Europe or to America—your whole family could go with you safely, I promise you. Would that be a more appealing solution?”

He said it quite neutrally. After that, you’ve been frustrated with William, especially as you slowly started to see the tension in the smile and the artificial indifference in those words.

You left his office genuinely angry.

And now you are on your way to America.

...

The theoretical road to America. Or some country in Europe. You haven’t decided yet.

...

You are on your way to travel the world then. With no luggage, no funds, no knowledge of parents, fiancé or friends. In a wedding dress, walking briskly across the seashore knowing there must be a port somewhere. Yes, you're prepared to travel the world.

Your watch indicated that your wedding ceremony would begin in fifteen minutes. You know there have been cases where brides had been far, far too late for their wedding, too engaged in preparing themselves for their special day. If no one has noticed that it's too quiet in your dressing room and they haven't kicked down the door or climbed through the window then you should still have some time.

You can feel your eyes burning, and it’s not because of the sun that shines down on you.

Why are you giving up on your dreams?

Your legs ache and your heart feet heavier with every step. The sand on the beach tries to pull you underground and some part of you wants to let yourself collapse.

You ran away from William James Moriarty because you feared for your life. And not only yours.

If someone stumbles across William's criminal trial and connects the dots to you—would you be able to lie to save your life? Is this more valuable than all those dead? Would you let yourself pretend to be an innocent maiden from a wealthy manor or betray them if you gave anyone a wrong impression? If you left this world in the name of William’s ideals, would your family be punished as well?

You always thought love would help you face anything until you landed in the current situation.

You aren’t able to admit it to William, although in your head you are putting together scenarios of your explanation should he decide to catch up with you.

When he decides to catch up with you.

He appears out of nowhere and you know it must have been due to someone following you. You feel silly with the thought when you thought you had been so clever and discreet in your escape. You have, after all, met Fred and Jack.

William is dressed in a wedding suit; completely black, elegant and unsuited to the beach. You don’t match it either, but as he stands next to you now, you know you suit each other. At least with the clothes.

“So you decided to quit, [Name].”

“...I don't want to put anyone at risk,” you say after a moment, but you struggle to get any words out under William's gaze, which isn’t warm anymore. What were you expecting? “And I also have a selfish reason. William, I won't be able to live a life like you. I— I want to help people, but I don't want to sacrifice my life! Nothing— I haven't achieved anything in my life yet!”

You can’t hold back the tears. They are pouring down your cheeks and you regret like never before in your life that emotions can sway you like that.

William is standing close enough for the hem of your dress to touch the fabric of his trousers, but he does not attempt to deepen the contact.

“My life is inseparable from the death of others,” he whispers, and because the beach is unusually quiet, you hear everything in his voice that you love so much. “You [Name], on the other hand... You remind me of life itself. You are full of it. You can't hide what you feel. You care about each person, and I care about the public well-being. You value everyone and I can’t do that.”

“…You know that's not true,” you say resolutely and with anger in your voice. “William, you put the whole world before yourself. You teach people and want to build things with your own hands. I'm the one who has this selfish desire to have you in every piece... This- I'm the one who messed it all up.”

“Then help me fix the world, if that’s what you want.”

His red eyes are piercing you deeply. Your body fills with a mixture of very different feelings, and William is now allowing you to release them all. You use them up to muster up the courage to say your vows.

“I want you to be mine. And me to be yours. So I can’t give you to the world.”

You grab him by his suit and jerk him towards you. Under the sudden force, he leans over and bumps into you.

You steal a kiss from him.

It stands apart from all the others you have ever shared with him (and those, however, were not too many (in reality. Not in imagination)). It is more violent than all the others because of the sudden desperation.

And then William regains control. He lifts his head higher, just enough to keep your lips from parting, but now you have to exert some effort to reach him and stand on your toes.

You have to make up for your running away.

And you can do so by giving your heart, soul and mind entirely to William.

In exchange, you can keep his life to yourself.

EPILOGUE

“Hmm~ So now it's Mrs Moriarty, no?”

You laugh with a fiery blush on your face at this remark.

You’ve been embarrassed since everyone turned towards the huge doors when the bride and groom were a good half hour late for their wedding. Their outfits were in the sand, the bride's make-up was smudged, the groom’s suit stretched, and they both walked down the aisle without any remorse, with a determined stride.

“You are already the subject of many rumours,” comments James, sitting next to William. He adds in a thinner voice and with exaggerated drama, “Such shortcomings in your outfits on your wedding day, they said. And yet they walked in with such superiority as if their tardiness was nothing, they said.”

“It wasn't too bad,” says Moran, disturbed that he can’t light a cigarette in the cab. He grins slightly in William's direction. “But I'm glad this wedding wasn't perfect! Now everyone, we have some top-tier teasing material on William!”

“Finally something he wasn’t a gentleman in," you say.

“The bride who tried to run away from her wedding was also at fault, I think,” William replies, not looking at you but squeezing your hand.

You squeezed it tighter. “A bride who had a very good reason to do so.”

“So the groom shouldn’t have been chasing her?”

“He should have. Now she finally has a purpose. I think the groom should beware of what a wonderful wife she will become.”

“He won’t mind, as his wife is already wonderful.”

Everyone listens to the exchange in silence, or maybe you don’t pay attention to anyone, completely lost in William who lets himself look at you and gets spellbound by you as well.

Louis sighs, with some kind of relief.

“So brother has finally found his happiness, hm...~” tag: @elvyshiarieko

#eoeoeoe that's one long fic #idk if it has a chance of being popular here #but i hope all thos who were waiting for it will enjoy the fic fully!#william james moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #ynm x reader #ynm #moriarty the patriot x reader #william x reader #fluff #angst #mtp #mtp x reader

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