“I told you, I need to get up,” He’s trying to sit up from his place on the fur-covered bed. He’s bare from the waist up, showing off the cuts, bruises, and gauze wrapped around his arm, hand, and stomach. 

“No you're not.” Sansa’s stern in her refutal, pushing him back onto the bed by his uninjured shoulder. “The maester says you need rest.” 

“I’m fine.” He tries to sit back up, but the strain on his core causes him to wince, which he does a piss poor job at hiding. He cranes his head to glance over Sansa to Daenerys and I. 

“Your sister is right.” Daenerys gives Jon a pointed look. “You need rest. Winterfell will survive one day with you on bed rest.” 

He goes to argue, but it’s short lived. “You’re lucky that the Night King didn’t fully cut you in half. So unless you want to permanently be in that bed, I suggest you listen.” Thankfully, my harsh statement is enough to shut him up (for now). He lays back down and Daenerys pulls up the fur blanket up his chest. Sansa gives him one last look, thankful he’s alive but concerned by the state of his injuries, before walking out the room. Daenerys holds his hand and says something for the two of them to know before turning and walking out behind Sansa. 

Jon slumps into bed, staring up at the ceiling no doubt hating every second he’s in bed unable to do anything.

“If you can, you can watch from the window.” I pointed towards the open window closest to the bed that overlooked much of the castle and over the walls. He turns his head to the window then to me, nodding. 

“I will.” 

I turn, walking out and closing the door behind me. I retraced my steps down from where I came to the lower floor of the castle. Sansa stood to one side with her men, Lord Royce speaking to her in hushed tones. On the other side, Daenerys and her people stand together. 

As if on que, a servant walks into the room, bows to Dany, and addresses the room. “We’re ready.” 

Everyone silently follows Daenerys out of the room. I fall into line quietly, going to stand by her side besides Missandei and Tyrion. We walk through the castle, the aftermath of the Long Night still evident in its effects on the castle grounds. By now, almost everything had been cleared away, the only thing that remained was the damage the battle had done to the castle. Broken fences, doors torn off the hinges, stone walls weakened (and in some cases torn) just by the force of the wights charging at the castle walls. Winterfell had a few scars of its own, just like its people.  

We’re led out through the south walls, where most of the fighting had ensued. The once lit trenches had now smoldered down to ash and were now covered by a thin layer of snow. In front of us lay dozens of funeral pyers with the bodies of those who’d fallen whilst they defended all of humanity. Everyone was already standing outside, waiting for the last rites to be done. 

I leaned close to Daenerys, “you’ll have to deliver the last words.” 

She glanced back, “are you sure that’s a good idea. The northerners already see me as an outsider, imagine what they’d think when I give a eulogy for their loved ones.”  

“Dany look around. What do you see?” 

She peaks over my shoulder, scanning around us. “I see the North.” 

I softly shake my head. “People. That’s what you see. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children– the people of the North. It doesn’t matter if the high Lords and Ladies of the North don’t like you, as long as the people like you you’ll have won.” 

I step back, joining the others off to the side, letting her think of a few words. Carefully, she turns towards the fallen.

“We're here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters. To our fathers and mothers. To our friends.” Her eyes flicker down to the ground, conjuring up the next words. “Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences to fight together and die together so that others might live. Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us and those who come after them for as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men. The sword in our darkest hour. We shall never see their like again. But because of their sacrifice, we stand here today to see another day, while their watch has ended.”  

Soldiers and Wildling step forwards handing off lit torches to Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, Tormund, Sam, Ser Davos, Grey Worm, and I. We fan out in different directions, towards different pyres in front of us. Each one of us stands over one of the fallen, comrades who’d given up their lives for ours. Some of who we knew, who we’ve laughed with, while some we’d only known for a moment. 

Sam stands over Edd, the man who’d been one of his few true friends, who’d stood beside him as they watched the impossible happen– the man who’d had a blade plunged into his back. Sam’s eyes flicker down from Edd to the sky, a silent prayer on his lips, just for the Gods, Old and New, to hear. 

Arya stands over Beric, lump in her throat. His face was covered in cuts and gashes. There’s this feeling crawling up at her that she hadn’t felt since she’d seen what had been done to Lady Crane. He had saved her– risked his own life to save her, just as Lady Crane had saved her. Is this how this was how it would go for her? Is this the fate for all of those who look out for her?

Sansa clenches her jaw trying to keep her composer as she stands over Theon's body. Her heart thrums through her chest and she has to look away from him to stop herself from crying. First her father, then Robb, Dickon, and now Theon. It seemed like one by one, all the men she held dear to her heart were destined to die. She lets herself gaze onto Theon’s face one last time; the hollows of his cheek, his defined cheekbones, his nose. She memorizes his face one last time, something she wished she did with Robb and Dickon when she’d first left Winterfell all those years ago. A single tear falls from her eye and down her cheeks and that’s all it takes for her to cry. She silently cries, mourning another brother. Her hand comes up to the Direwolf pin on her chest, just above her heart. She removes it and places it onto Theon’s chest as a final goodbye. He may have been born and Ironborn, but he was a Stark through and through. 

Daenerys solemnly stands before one of her Bloodriders, one who’d been with her since her marriage to Khal Drogo. He was one of the very first to stand beside her, to accept her as his Khaleesi, to follow her around Essos, sail across the Narrow Sea, and to foreign land, never once hesitating and always loyal. Now, he lay dead on the pyre next to the others who’d followed her– those who shared the same vision as her, one for a better tomorrow. 

Ser Davos stands over Lyanna’s body, face covered in harsh bruises and a deep horizontal cut just beneath her eye. For the first time since meeting her, she looked peaceful. No frown, no orders, no weight on her shoulder. She finally looked like what she was– a child. A child who’d been thrust into a position that she wasn’t prepared for, shoes too big to fill at her age. Davos feels violently sick, something he’d never experienced after all his experience sailing on the Narrow Sea. First Shireen, now Lyanna. Two little girls put into impossible positions, their childhoods taken away from them, and now their lives as well. 

They take their torches and place them into the pyre. Smoke begins to rise and then soon, the pyres become lit with fire. Fire slowly grows from the bottom up, eating away at the wood and kindling before it consumes the dead. More people step forwards to light the other pyres, stepping back and watching as the flames grow. 

Dothraki, Unsullied, Northerner, Wildling, Valemen, Westermen– it didn’t matter. They had all come together to protect the realm and in turn, they had lost their lives. 

Out in the distance, the three dragons who’d been resting screeched loudly for everyone to hear. Their screeches get more rhythmic and change pitch, garnering even more attention. 

“What are they doing?” Someone asks aloud. 

I carefully watched as they carried on, but never once stepped foot towards us or made any hostile moves. “They’re mourning,” I came to realize. 

“Mourning?” Asks Tyrion. 

I nod, but kept my eyes on them. “They’re mourning those who have died, or that’s what I think is happening.” 

The dragon's cries could be heard throughout Winterfell, all the way to where Jon stood in his room, helped up by the castle's Maester, peering through the window to where the funeral took place. He solemnly watches the smoke from the pyres rise up and flow through the air. 

He should be there, for the people who’d died so that he and everyone else could live to see another day. He says a prayer under his breath to the Old Gods, for their souls' deliverance and peaceful eternal rest. He prays for his friends, his brothers and sisters, his fellow countrymen. 

By mid-day the pyres, and those laid onto them, were nothing but smoldering ash. Eventually, someone would gather all the ashes, place them into an urn, and then store them in the crypts below Winterfell as a way to honor the dead and place them among the old Kings of Winter. 

Seeing I had nothing else to do then to either lick my wounds like Jon or plan for what to do next, I picked the latter, finding myself in the makeshift war room in the castle's library. But despite my initial plan to strategize our way forwards, I couldn’t find it in me to lift a finger. I sat there by the fireplace, slumped and staring off into the flames. The calm bustling of the castle outside was muffled by my own mind as Meslisandre’s words echoed in my head. 

I had a feeling that deep down this was going to be the outcome, but I still held on for hope. But I was wrong. I was stuck here whether I liked it or not. 

A hand placed on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts while jolting me into the present moment. I glance from the gloved hand to its owner– Daenerys, who looks over me with a confused expression. 

“I’ve been calling you for a while.” She said, concerned. 

I  breathed in, “I’m fine. Just thinking.” 

She takes the seat across from me. “You were thinking so loud that you couldn’t hear me?” 

I give a half-hearted laugh, looking away from her and to the fire. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You were thinking about that.” She glances down to my bandaged hand where I’d been absentmindedly playing with the dressing. I unintentionally flinched, as if I was being cut all over again and hid my hand, pressing it up against my side.

“Ser Davos says that once the battle was finished the Red Priestess walked into the snow and withered away.” She begins to prod at me to open up. 

I hummed, preparing for the question that was to come. “She said it herself: it was her destiny to die on this land once she’d fulfilled her role.” 

“He says that she took off her necklace and turned into a crone, then a skeleton, and then dust.”

“Once the role her Lord had given her was complete, she didn’t need the necklace anymore.” 

Deciding to bite the bullet, Daenerys dives in. “You asked her how you could return.” 

“I did.” 

“And you received an answer.” 

I glanced away as she stared intently towards me, waiting for an answer. I bite the inside of my cheek wishing for her to change her mind, but instead she calls my name. 

“I’m asking as your sister. Don’t make me ask you as your Queen.” 

I swallowed thickly. “She said I couldn’t return. That I was stuck here for the rest of my life.” 

Whatever expression she had on her face is completely replaced by utter shock and surprise, brows raised and mouth slightly agape. I cringed, looking away. “Ironic, isn’t it? I can face off the Night King, but I hide at the truth.” My eyes began to sting and I turned my gaze from the fireplace to her, “I can’t go back. I can’t go home.” 

“But, surely, there has to be a way– what if..” Daenerys begins to sputter outloud, but I just shake my head. 

“There isn’t, Daenerys. You and I both know that.” I sighed, “there’s nothing anyone can do.” 

“You can’t just give up,” she frowned. 

“I’m not,” I brought my bandaged hand up to rub my brow, massaging the dull ache that was beginning to spread. “I’m accepting the truth. Every night I pray to the Gods of Valyria, the Old Gods, the New Gods of the Andals, the Lord of Light– not once have any of them come to me and said that there’s a way for me to return. Whatever door I walked through to get here is shut forever.” 

Silence hangs in the air and neither one of us is willing to break it. What’s happened has happened and nothing could change that. Nothing can change the fact that I was brought and abandoned here by the Gods. Nothing can change that and it’s better to accept it now then to fight it. Nothing will come from crying about it, that I knew. So the only option I had left was to keep going forwards. 

“What now?” Daenerys carefully asked. 

I sighed, “we keep going forwards. I made a promise to you and I intend on keeping it. And once it’s fulfilled, then I’ll think about everything else.” She gave me a sympathetic look, understanding what it felt like when the world is taken from you within a blink of an eye. “You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to push yourself for my sake–” 

“Dany, I was brought here for you.” I said firmly. “What happens afterwards I can deal with later.” 

“Alright,” she exhaled, “what’s next then?”

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” She echoed. 

I nodded, “we do nothing, but rest.” 

“I can’t afford to rest. Cersei and her army–” 

“She doesn’t have an army. She has the Queensguard, the City Watch, and whatever else she can manage.” 

“She can get more soldiers from the Golden Company.”  Daenerys pressed. “I can’t sit back and let her sell another one of my family's dragon’s skulls to buy herself men.”

“Daenerys, think logically for a second. How long would it take for her to contact the Golden Company, buy enough men, and have them sail to King’s Landing from the Free Cities?” 

She paused, “it takes almost a month to sail from the closest Free City to King’s Landing.” 

“And it’ll take an additional few weeks to gather all the men she’d requested.” I added. 

“Which would give us almost two full months to–” 

“–do nothing,” I said, finishing off her sentence. “While she waits for her army, the people of King’s Landing will starve, those who fought in the Long Night will go back home and tell stories about its horrors, and we’ll do nothing but rest.” 

I stood up and moved around to where the map from the night before was laid out. “We need to assess our losses and then move forwards.” I glanced over the map to where Daenerys sat. “ We’ve just come off of a great victory, not just for your cause but for the living as well, which means we need something else to rally around.” 

“What are you saying?” Daenerys stands and walks over to my way. 

“The North stood behind you because of the imminent threat of the Night King, but now that he’s been dealt with they’re not going to be as willing to stand behind you.” 

“You said that the North remembers– that they’d remember when I came here with my dragons and army to save them–” 

“And they will,” I reassured her with a hand on her shoulder. “The North remembers the sacrifice of Daenerys Targaryen, but they need more. What does the North value the most?” 

She frowned, searching for an answer. “Loyalty,” she realized. 

I nodded, “that’s why they adore the Starks so much.” 

“Are you saying that I need to be loyal to them?” 

“No. What I’m saying is that you need to think about who they’re loyal to, what do they remember that will be the reason for their apprehension.” 

I waited, watching as she finally pieced everything together. Sure, the northerners' apprehension could be attributed to the fact that they don’t trust southerners (or anyone who isn’t from the North in general), but that wasn’t the reason for Daenerys. 

“My brother and Lyanna Stark.”  

“The North remembers.” I echoed. “They remember how Prince Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna from her home and later killed her.” 

“But that’s not true,” she frowned, offended. 

“I know, but they don’t know that. They only know what others have told them to believe.” 

“So let’s tell them the truth, that my brother didn’t kidnap Lyanna,” she argued. 

“It doesn’t matter, Dany. That story has been reiterated for the past twenty years. Even if the truth does come out, people will still believe what they want to.” 

“So that’s it,” she huffed. “I do nothing, but be scored by the North over a lie.” 

“What you do is extend a hand towards the King in the North.” 

“Jon has already sworn loyalty to me.” 

“Not that kind of hand,” I glanced down at the map. I reached over for the figure with the Stark sigil and then the one for house Targaryen, putting them side by side. “Extend a hand that will last generations, one that the North will remember forever.”

Her eyes widened as she pieced the words together. Truthfully, she did think about it when she’d first met Jon, before she’d truly gotten to know him. Afterall, it was the next logical decision and it was the best opportunity to hold the North.

“Sansa won’t approve.” 

I crossed my arms, leaning my hip against the table, “she will once you name her Warden of the North.” 

“And you think that will be enough to appease her?” 

“What Sansa wants the most is to be home with her people, like you. What better way then to be Warden of the North?” 

She thinks it over, glancing away to the side. Her eyes rake over the two figures, Stark and Targaryen. “Jon.” 

I hummed, “he’ll want to tell them.” 

“If he does, they’ll rally around him. He has a stronger claim than me, he has the North in his hands– they’ll want him on the Iron Throne.” 

“But that’s not what he wants, Daenerys.” 

She frowned, “it doesn’t matter. We can’t always get what we want.” 

“Then let’s make sure that we do.” 

–

Jon sat there, covered in layers of fur, staring out the window. His body felt numb, the Milk of Poppy working its effects in dulling the pain. He’d been sitting in bed since after the funeral, with nothing but time on his hands. Time to rest, but more importantly, time to think. 

The Great War was over. With the Night King and his army now finally defeated, Jon could finally catch his breath. He’d been chasing after him for nearly seven years, doing whatever he could to prepare the world of the Night King and his army. But it wasn’t all over. One enemy has died, but another remains. 

Jon turned his gaze from the window to the ceiling. 

Snow. 

All his life that’s what he was called, what he was. Snow. A Bastard. But it turned out to be a lie. The Blood of the Dragon ran through his veins, which in hindsight explained why Rhaegal was so quick to bond with him. But other than his bond with a dragon he mostly felt indifferent to the Targaryen name. Perhaps it’s because of his upbringing as the ‘bastard son of Ned Stark’ that the notion of him being the son of Rhaegar is so distant. 

The Targaryen name wasn’t looked too fondly while he was growing up. The name is attributed to the Mad King who killed Ned’s older brother and father and to the ‘beloved’ Prince who’d kidnapped Lyanna on what was thought to be a whim. Truthfully, he didn’t understand most of what was going on. He doesn’t know why Rhaegar and Lyanna did what they did, he doesn’t understand why Ned kept him so close and why he felt the need to not tell Jon the truth. And, he doesn’t understand why he had to be told about any of this. He was content being a Snow, with being the bastard of Ned Stark. 

The door to his room swings open and Daenerys and I step forwards. I shut the door behind me and Daenerys moves to sit next to Jon on the edge of his bed. He tries to sit up, but she ushers him to stay put while I walk around the other side of the bed and take a seat on the chair near the window. 

“We need to talk.” I said. 

“I had a feeling.” He said, roughly. 

“I know you’re going to tell the truth to the others.” Daenerys lets her hand trail from his shoulder to Jon’s hand. “As much as I would like for you to not say a word, I know that it’s your decision to make.” 

Jon squeezed Daenerys’ hand. “I have to, Dany. They’re my family. I have to tell Sansa and Arya.”

“Sansa would want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne.” 

“She wouldn’t” He said, reassuringly. 

“She's not the girl you grew up with. Not after what she's seen, not after what they've done to her.”  

Jon hesitated before turning his gaze towards me. “What do you think?” 

I sighed, pursing my lips. In the past, Jon’s identity had become known within six people in a matter of days. Jon’s code of truth and honesty, as noble as it is, was also the downfall of both of them. 

“I’m against it.” I bluntly say. “The people already see you as a leader– a King, if this gets out, which it will, they’ll want you on the Throne.” 

“I don’t want it.” He pressed, “I’m loyal to my Queen.” 

“But your sister isn’t.” 

“That’s because she doesn’t know her–” 

“Jon, it doesn’t matter. Sansa isn’t going to trust someone she doesn’t know just because you vouch for her. You wanted my opinion, I’m giving it. Telling Sansa will be the end of you two.” 

Daenerys frowned, “what do you mean?” Her grip on Jon’s hand loosens and she sits up straighter. 

I exhaled, taking the gamble. “Jon’s going to tell Sansa and Arya. Sansa is going to tell Tyrion. And Tyrion is going to tell Varys.” 

“No,” Jon shakes his head. “Sansa won’t. I’ll have her swear it.” 

“And she won’t honor it. She’ll be the first to open her mouth.” I turned towards Daenerys, “she’s done it once and she’ll do it again. Unless there's a way for us to control who knows the truth, telling her will do nothing for you.” 

Daenerys lets go of Jon’s hand, standing up and creating distance between the two. Her eyes are glued to his, “Jon Snow,” 

Jon shakes his head, “Dany, please, don’t do this.” 

“I command you as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, First of my Name, Mother of Dragons, and Protector of the Realm, to secrecy. I forbid you from speaking the truth to anyone.” 

Daenerys quickly turns around, ignoring Jon’s pleas, and storms out the room with the door slamming behind her. 

“You can’t know for sure,” Jon said, attempting to sit up. “Sansa would never.” 

I stop myself from nearly rolling my eyes at his blind faith in Sansa. “I know, because I’ve seen it.” 

He goes still, craning his head towards me. “What?” 

I pursed my lips. No turning back now. “I’ve seen all of this unfold. I’ve seen you tell them, and I’ve seen Sansa betray her oath to you.” 

“That’s impossible.” He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Is it?” I leaned forwards in my chair. “Your brother has the power to look back in time, he’s a mythological being dating to the Children of the Forest. Just a day ago, we fought the undead. Is it that hard to imagine that I have some ability that lets me see the future?” 

“If.. if that’s true, then why did she tell Tyrion?” 

“Because she wants you on the throne and Daenerys gone. It doesn’t matter how much you don’t want it. You didn’t want to be King in the North, but you were. Sansa lived under the thumb of Cersei for years, don’t you think she’d learned a few tricks from her.” 

Jon exhales, closing his eyes and groans as he lays back down on the bed. “What should I do then?” 

“I have an idea.” 

–

Sansa let the door close behind her, stepping out of the northern cold and into the warmth of the Great Hall. She steps in closer and the sound of the lit hearth grows louder. After a long day of trying to bring back some sense of normalcy to Winterfell, sitting by the fire would be a nice way to destress, she thought. Sansa stops in her steps, coming to face Daenerys, Jon, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, and I standing in the middle of the room, in front of the head table. She lets her blue eyes glance over each one of us as her mind churns with thoughts. 

“Good,” Daenerys glanced at us and then Sansa, “we’re all here. We can begin.” She turns and takes her seat at the head of the table. I take the seat to the left of her, Tyrion to the left of me, and Jon to the right of her while Arya, who sports bruises on her left eye, sits across from me and Bran is moved to the right of her, leaving one open spot to her left directly in front of Daenerys. 

“I didn’t realize a meeting had been called.” Sansa steps closer, attentive, and takes the seat across from Dany. 

“I wouldn’t call this a meeting, really,” I said. “We were just discussing and thought, why not bring everyone in.” 

Silence hangs in the air as we all awkwardly sit in place. Jon struggles to sit comfortably, his body still carrying a dull ache. Tyrion looks confused, glancing between our side and Sansa, wondering what was going on now whilst Arya held a neutral expression. 

“How is the aftermath?” Daenerys asks, breaking the ice as well as looking for an assessment of the aftermath of the Long Night. 

“It’s getting there.” Sansa replied. “We’re still counting the casualties and are treating the wounded.” The awkward silence looms over us again as the result of the ‘small-talk’ and I let out a silent exhale. 

Time to rip the bandaid off. 

“I know that for years, you all have wondered who Jon’s mother could be.” I briefly glanced at Jon, “the night before, we finally found out who she was.”

Arya sits up, “what?” 

All eyes turn towards Jon who sits with his hands folded in front of him on the table, eyes trained on his hands. He hesitates, not meeting anyone's eyes except for Bran who he gives a subtle nod towards, a silent ‘go on’. 

Bran shifts his eyes from Jon and to the two sisters, already knowing what to say. “Jon is not Ned Stark's bastard. He’s the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” 

All eyes fall onto Jon in utter shock. Tyrion, Arya, and Sansa all share the same expression on their faces; eyes wide, mouth agape, and confusion and disbelief written all over. 

“How?” Someone asks. 

“Rhaegar and Lyanna fled in secret and as a result Jon came to be.” I replied, keeping it somewhat vague. 

Sansa lightly shook her head, “no, Rhaegar kidnapped our aunt–” 

“Rhaegar was a lot of things, but he wasn't a kidnapper. He thought that he was the one who would bring the realm out of the Long Night while Lyanna was running away from an unwanted marriage to a man she couldn’t love.” 

The words fall into place, turning cogs in everyone's brain. Tyrion's the first to have the pieces fall into place, eyes slightly wide, then Arya, and lastly Snasa. Jon’s hands tighten and suddenly, the dull ache he felt all over his body wasn’t so bad at all. 

“That means that Jon has a claim.” Of course, Sansa is the one to say the words. There’s a hint of confidence behind those words, as if she was ambitious about the thought of it. Daenerys looks as though she wants the world to erase everyone's memory of the truth. 

“Jon has no claim.” I state. 

“If Jon is Rhaegar’s son, then he has a claim.” Arya points out. 

“Except he doesn’t.” I said, firmly. “Unless the laws have changed over the past few years, Jon is Rhaegar and Lyanna’s bastard. Rhaegar and Elia Martel’s marriage wasn’t annulled, nor could it be annulled. Any child Rhaegar sired with someone other than his Lady Wife are bastards.” 

“He was crowned King in the North, despite everyone believing he was our fathers bastard son.” Arya says.

“He was, but that doesn’t apply to the Iron Throne. Before his death, Aenys disowned Rhaegar and his line, naming Viserys as the next heir, but Viserys is dead as well.” 

Sansa turns her eyes to Daenerys who holds her gaze, sitting with her back a little bit straighter and her head held higher. 

“Daenerys is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, by law and claim. The Mother of Dragons will sit on the Iron Throne. But,” I glanced towards my right, at Jon and Dany, “that’s not the only reason why we needed to talk. Far too long, has the North been disregarded by the Crown and now, we’ve all been given an opportunity to right that wrong.” 

Arya’s eyes darted between the six of us, mentally asking herself, is what I think about to happen?

“Marrige.” Sansa cuts in. I couldn’t tell if she had tried to (or didn’t) hide the disbelief in her tone and face. 

“Unity.” I corrected. “Between the House of the Dragon and the House of Starks. A unity like no other.” 

“After all my family's been through, my grandfather and uncles death, my aunt, all of it.” Annoyance, and what I could only assume to be arrogance, pokes through in Sansa’s words. Tyrion watched as she nearly rolled her eyes at the provocation of marriage between the two houses. 

Daenerys, having enough of sitting quietly, finally speaks. “I understand what my father and brother have done to your family is unforgiving. But that is not me. I am not my father, nor my brother. Their sins are theirs alone.” She exhales through her nose and brings a hand to rest atop of Jons, who clasps her hand in his. “I love Jon, more than any man I’ve ever known. And I love the people of the North– of all of Westeros. I’ve spent my entire life living in exile and dreaming of coming back home to live and be amongst my people. Everything I’ve done, it’s so that I may come home and create a better life for all of my people and this union will be the first great big step for all of us.”

Daenerys’s words hang heavy over all of our heads, especially the two Stark girls. Arya, although reluctant, has grown a bit more trusting of Daenerys if not because of her love for the people then for her love of Jon. However, Sansa seemed to be the most on the fence. 

“Whatever is going through your mind right now, stop it.” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Jon’s claim to the throne is not only weak, but nonexistent. This union will benefit all of us, especially the North. Now that the Night King is gone, you’re going to need the support of the rest of the country.” 

“What do you mean?” Arya asks. 

“Winter is here.” I said. “The Night King’s winter is here and it’s going to reach all the way to King’s Landing.” 

“The Night King is gone,” Sansa frowned. “Jon killed him.” 

“He did.” I nod, “but do you really think that that would be it? The personification of an everlasting winter marched down from the Lands of Always Winter just last night. Do you really think that all he brought with himself was an undead army?” 

“What are you saying, My Lady?” Tyion asks, speaking up for the first time.

I glanced at him and then Sansa, “winter is here, and it’s coming in a near decade-long storm that will blanket Winterfell.” I give her a pointed look, “ask yourself, are you ready to lead your people through famine, disease, and death without the help of the rest of the country?” 

To be honest, the idea of the Night King traveling south of the Wall without any ramifications (other than the obvious) was nothing short of wishful thinking, especially after the fact that winter had reached all the way south to King’s Landing. The storm was most likely the Night King’s final ‘fuck you’ to the living, a fail safe for defeating him and his army, a natural disaster that crippled the North during Sansa’s rule as the Queen in the North and led thousands to their deaths. To be fair, she did whatever she could with the knowledge and technology of her time, but the effects of the near decade-long storm did so much damage that it could be seen generations later. 

“The North has withstood winter for generations,” she began, firm in her resolve. “And the North will stand against another.” 

“Except this winter is the last of the Night King’s power, but by all means go ahead and lead your people without the Crown’s help. See how far that gets you.” I quipped back. 

Tyrion, remembering that he was the Queen’s advisor, pipes up. “A union between the Starks and Targaryens is long overdue,” he glanced between Sansa and Dany and Jon, “I can’t think of anything better than the most powerful houses in Westeros coming together, especially now, to lead the country to a prosperous time. Lady Sansa,” he waits until her eyes are on his, “this union will benefit all of us, North and South. You’ve seen what happens when the county is divided, are you willing to let it happen again?”

“And what of the North? We bled for our independence, and now you want us to take it back? Robb died for the North.” 

“Robb died for you,” I said. “Your family didn’t raise their banners because of independence, they did it for you and Arya. Robb, your mother, the North all fought for you to come home. The enemy lies South, not across the table.” 

An intense silence falls between us, neither side willing to cave in. Daenerys runs a dozen different endings in her head in which she either forcefully subjugates the North with her dragons or she walks down the aisle towards Jon. 

“I agree.” All heads turn towards Arya, who takes everyone by surprise. Sansa stares wide-eyed and in shock at her younger sister. Arya adverts her gaze to the older sister. “If what she says is true, then we need Daenerys. With Jon beside her the North’s interests will be as well, and,” she turns to Jon, “I trust my brother.” 

Outrulled, and frankly with no other option, Sansa relents. She turns her eyes away from her sister to Daenerys and Jon, jaw clenched. “If this is what is best for the North and if this is what you want,” her eyes flickered to Jon, “then House Stark will agree.” 

A collective breath of relief is taken by everyone on our side, Jon and Daenerys barely hiding their smiles. Sansa looks away, not able to watch the couple any longer. She goes to stand, chair skidding back. 

“Wait,” I said. Everyone looks my way, “as exciting as this news is, we can’t let it out, the union and Jon’s identity. I’m sure if it does, it’ll only give more ammunition for our enemies.” 

I turn my head towards Daenerys, bowing, “I swear before Queen Daenerys, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, that whatever has been said shall not leave my lips, vēzōt se nykot nyke, I swear it.” 

“I swear it,” Jon follows. Then Tyrion, Arya, and finally Sansa. Pleased, Daenerys stands, the rest of us following after her, and leaves for the bedchambers, holding Jon’s hand both affectionately and to help him walk. When I look back, Arya has already vanished into thin air, leaving only Sansa, Tyrion, and I. 

“Y’know,” I turned to the side table, pouring three cups of wine. “I thought you’d be smarter.” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Sansa. I hand a cup off to Tyrion and take the other two. “I assumed that after all this time, you’d be a lot better at this little game of thrones, but I guess I was wrong.” 

“I stopped playing games the day men began dying for them.”

I hummed, “right, and instead of being politically aware you show open hostility and attitude towards the women with three dragons.” I placed one cup in front of her and the other up to my lips, “if I knew any better then I’d draw some similarities between you and a certain blonde that thinks she’s smarter than everyone.” 

She narrowed her eyes, “I am not like Cersei.” 

“No? Then why do you have her arrogance?” I brought the cup to my lips, taking a ginger sip. “Open hostility towards the Mother of Dragons during your first meeting, or any, is nothing short of arrogant. If she wanted, she could have leveled Winterfell with just one dragon and be on her way.” 

“If she wanted?” Sansa repeats. 

“Yes, if she wanted, but she doesn’t. She has no desire to be the Queen of Ashes, she no desire to spill the blood of innocents. She has no desire to be the madwoman you think she is.” 

Sansa holds my gaze, equally as stubborn in her resolve. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Then you, Lady Sansa, better keep your eyes open.” 

– 

The sun had started to set and dusk would come soon after. I pulled the curtains closed and turned to throw more wood into the fire when there was a sharp knock at the door. I walk over and open the door to Daenerys who’d changed into a newer dress for the feast that was in an hour. 

“Got tired of your lover already?” I asked. She rolls her eyes and I let her in, shutting the door behind her. She makes a B-line for the hearth, soaking up the warmth emanating from it. 

“You’re not dressed.” She eyed me still in my dress and then at the chest of clothes I’d brought with me from Dragonstone. 

“Can’t decide what to wear.” I said, crossing the room and pulling out a few pieces from the chest. “Guess not knowing what to wear is something that transcends hundreds of years.” 

I threw a dress onto the bed, deciding that it was good enough for the feast, and started to rummage for accessories that weren’t too flashy. I peaked over my shoulder at Daenerys who stared off into the fire. “But that’s not why you’re here.” 

“What does it mean?” She turned to face me. “Vēzōt se nykot nyke.” 

I furrowed my brows, confused. “By my blood and name.” 

“I know that’s what the translation is, but what does it mean?”

I thought for a second before answering, “it’s an oath in Valyrian. It’s our version of swearing to the Gods before saying the truth or keeping a promise.” 

She’s silent, staring off into space. “There’s so much I don’t know.” 

“What?” I frowned. 

Tentatively, she looks up. “There’s so much that I don’t know about myself; my language, culture, history. I say that I am the blood of Old Valyira, but I know nothing of it.”

I shrugged, “neither do I. Dany, no one really knows what Valyria was like. What I do know is that for the common folks, it was a nightmare, but for us dragonlords and dignitaries and the 40 families, it was paradise.” 

“The masters live a life of luxury while those at the bottom rot away,” she grimly  reminisced of her time in Slavers Bay, and all her efforts to liberate the cities and free the people from their masters. 

“Despite us being one of the 40 reigning families, our power and influence was small.” I sat on the edge of my bed, “what happened to our home was what I considered divine retribution for the cruelty the Freehold had committed on those deemed less than.” I turned to meet Daenerys’s eyes, “we might have lost the empire, but our stories and culture live on. Once we’ve reclaimed your throne, I’ll take you to Volantis, behind the Black Wall and show you a little piece of Valyria that we still have.” 

“Alright,” she smiled. “One day.” 

I grabbed the dress off from my bed and walked around behind the hand carved wooden partition and began to change out of my dress and into the one for the feast. 

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” I said between the folded panels. “We should discuss our goals for this feast.” 

“Goals?” She repeats, surprised. 

I hummed. “To win over the Lord of the North, or at least get them to loosen up around you.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” 

“First, you anoint Gendry Rivers as Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and the Stormlands.” 

“The usurper's son?” She says, annoyed at the thought of Robert. 

“The sins of my father are not my own,” I reminded. “Make sure you mention the fact that the first Lord Baratheon, Orys, were the Conqueror's own half brother. It’ll hone in the fact that the two families have been connected from the beginning.” 

I had debated over this for a few days, would Gendry be the right person as the new Lord of Stormsend? Originally, he’d married a noble lady from the Crownlands (after Arya’s rejection and departure for what was West of Westeros) and lived out the rest of his days as Lord Baratheon. He wasn’t a bad Lord, always able to think ahead and looked after his people, but he wasn’t the only option. 

Though it’s true that Cersei had killed most of Robert's bastards, she didn’t kill all of them. Two, came to mind: Mya Stone and Edric Storm. Mya was the eldest of all of his children and is serving under House Royce. He’d fathered her when he was a ward of Jon Arryn and loved the little girl, even going as far as wanting to bring her to court, but didn’t due to Cersei. Edric was born between Robert and Delena Florent, cousin of Stannis’s wife. Because of his ‘noble’ blood he was acknowledged as a bastard; however, after Melisandre had brought up the idea of burning him with Shireen, he and his protectors fled to Essos. 

They were good options, but not what we needed. What we need is someone who’d be in favor of Daenerys (even if it's a smidge more than Robert). Edric was too young and, in his eyes, had a ‘relationship’ with his father (even though Robert paid the child no mind) and Mya would’ve been loyal to the Eyrie and to some extent the North/the Starks.

However, Gendry would feel like he'd be indebted to Dany after she legitimizes him. He’d forget about the war his father waged and remember that Daenerys Targaryen gave him the Stormlands. And he’ll remember her more if I’m successful in getting Arya to marry him (which to be honest, is a lot harder than fighting the Night King by myself).

“The Stormlands are without their Lord, and by default under Cersei. Once word is out that there’s a new Lord Baratheon, the Stormlands will be yours.” 

Daenerys hummed, making a mental note. “And next?”

I step out from behind the partition, wearing a long maroon and gold dress. “You have fun.” 

“What?” 

“You need to loosen up, Dany. We’ve won a major war which calls for some relaxing and having a little bit of fun.” 

“The longer I leave my enemies, the stronger they become.” She firmly says. 

I walked to the bed and picked up a pair of pear earrings to wear, “think more rationally. You have the Westerlands, Dorne, the Eyrie, and after your union, the North. What does Cersei have?” 

“The Iron Throne.” She emphasizes each word as to drive in her point. 

“Exactly. A throne.” I said, too blunt for her linking. “Tell me, does the Iron Throne give you some sort of magical powers? No, right?” I stepped closer towards her, “she’s starving the people of King’s Landing and it won’t be long until they’re ready to put her head on a spike themselves.” I bring my hands up to gingerly rest on her shoulders, “we’ve gotten this far. There’s no need to make a rash decision that can cost you everything.” Like how you did before. 

She exhaled a breath, “you’re right.” 

“I know,” I smiled. “Now,” I bowed, holding out my hand, “shall we, Your Grace?” Daenerys smiled, placing her hand in mine and we both walked down to the great hall where the victory feast would be held. 

The hall was already in full swing by the time we’d gotten there. Music was playing, people were laughing and smiling. The guard by the doors glanced at us and began his introduction. 

“Her Grace, Queen Daenerys and Lady Vellarys.” 

The room settled and people stood as Daenerys and I walked up to the main table at the head of the room. Jon, Sansa, and Bran were already sitting in their seats, waiting for Dany and I to take our seats. She takes her place at the center and I take mine to her left. A servant girl comes and pours a glass of wine for the both of us. 

Daenerys takes in the room. “You have all fought well. You’ve not fought for Kings or Queen, Lords or noble Houses, but for each other. You fought for our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, our friends, and the entire Realm.” She grabbed her glass, raising it high. Everyone else in the room follows, hanging off of her words. “Tonight– we live. We live for those we’ve buried and we live for each other.” The room erupts into a chorus of loud cheers as the celebration carries on. 

The celebration carried on into the long hours of the night. The lively atmosphere had simmered down, but that’s not to say the feast was coming to an end. Everyone ate and drank to their hearts content and eventually Daenerys saw an opening. 

Gendry stood from his seat and made his way through to the exits as if he was looking for someone. 

“Gendry,” Daenerys’s voice cut through the noise. Everyone paused as all eyes fell onto the Targaryen and Baratheon. “That’s right, isn’t it?” 

Cautiously, he turned and made eye contact with her. He walked away from the door and to the front of the room, in front of Daenerys. He bowed his head, “yes Your Grace.” 

Jon and Ser Davos exchanged glances, weary for what might come. 

“You’re Robert Baratheon's son.” It’s not a question, but a fact she’s pointing out. Gendry softly nods, unaware if he should speak. “You are aware that he took my family's throne and tried to have me murdered?” 

“I didn’t even know he was my father until after was dead.” 

“Yes. He’s dead. His brothers are too. So who's lord of Storm’s End now?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace,” he replied. 

Daenerys turned her attention towards the rest of the room, “does anyone know?”

No one answers. 

“I think you should be Lord of Storm’s End.” 

Gendry’s eyes widen in surprise while some people start whispering. “I can’t be, I’m a bastard.” 

“No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, lawful son of Robert Baratheon. Because that is what I have made you. Do you know of your house’s origins?” 

Gendry, still confused, shakes his head. 

“Orys Baratheon, the half brother of the Conquerors, married Princess Argella Durrandon and established his house at Storm’s End. Our houses have been intertwined with one another since the beginning of the Conquest. Just as Aegon made his half brother a Lord, as am I. You are Lord Baratheon.”   

Daenerys’s words linger in the air and slowly, Ser Davos stands, glass held high. “To Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End.” 

Everyone in the hall rose to their feet with their own cups held high as they echoed Ser Davos, “to Lord Gendry!” 

Daenerys raises her own glass at him, smiling. He bows his head once more and Jon stands, handing him a glass. Appreciatively, he takes it and turns to the rest of the room, raising the glass to the cheers. 

I glance around the room and catch Sansa staring at Dany and I with a look of concern on her face.

Eventually, the room falls back into its cheerful atmosphere. Gendry leaves the hall with a wave of confidence and people start moving around the room more freely. Tormund and a few northerners and Wildings end up near the front around Jon. The small group jokes around with one another as Tormund shoves his drinking horn into Jon’s hand.

“C’mon,” I said to Dany, grabbing her hand and leading her away from her seat and closer to them. Daenerys softly protests, but I don’t bother to listen. It was about time she loosened up and had a little fun. 

“All of it.” Tormund commands. 

Jon looks between the horn and his Wildling friend. “No, not in one go.” 

“We have to celebrate our victory.” Tormund said. 

Jon shook his head, smiling, “vomiting is not celebrating.” 

“Yes it is.” His friend replied as if it was a fact.

“Go on, I believe in you,” I spoke from behind Jon, who sat on the table. Daenerys comes from behind me and looks between Jon and the horn. 

“Ah!” Tormund looks at Daenerys, “to the Dragon Queen!” The room erupts into cheers and chants as Tormund begins to chug down from his drinking horn. He roars as droplets of wine, or maybe ale, drip down his chin and everyone around laughs. Sansa glances at Daenerys smiling and stands and leaves, but that’s overlooked by Tormund pouring out another one (which he promptly chugs down). 

“I saw him riding that thing,” he says, motioning towards Jon. He lightly sways as the alcohol courses through his body. 

“We all did.” Says Ser Davos. 

“No, no,” he shakes his head, drunk. “I saw him, riding that thing.” 

“That’s right, you did.” Ser Davos said firmly as if he was saying, yeah no shit you did, you’ve got eye’s don’t you?

Jon and I laughed at the two going back and forth– a man drunk out of his mind and another who just didn’t have a lot of fucks left in him. 

Tormund whips around to Jon, “that’s why we agreed to follow him. That’s the kind of man he is.” He placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder, but then threw his arm around his shoulders. “He’s little,” he laughed, “but he’s strong. Strong enough to befriend the enemy and be murdered for it.” 

Tormund smacks Jon’s shoulder and he drunkenly goes on, “most people get bloody murdered, they stay that way. Not this one.” He firmly slaps Jon in the chest, causing him to wince. Daenerys puts a hand on his shoulder as a slight show of comfort.

“Yeah, I didn’t have much say in that.” Jon clarified. 

“He comes back and keeps fighting. Here, north of the Wall, and then back here again. He keeps fighting– he keeps fighting.” The longer Tormund goes on with his story the more he starts to move, spilling his wine everywhere. “He climbed on a fucking dragon and fought. What kind of person climbs on a fucking dragon? A madman or a king!” 

The small crowd around us started to cheer as men drunkenly laughed. Jon, aware of Dany, glanced back at her as if to check if she was okay. She smiled at Jon, who returned the gesture and turned back to whatever antics Tormund was onto next. Feeling her anxiety, I softly squeezed her hands, “calm down. It’s just drunken rambling.” 

I turned back to the small crowd, “that’s a good question, right there. Seeing that we’ve got our Queen right here, maybe she can decide if he’s a King or a Madman.” 

All eyes turned towards Dany and she glanced at me, remembering my words from before ‘just have fun.’ 

“Hm. I would say a King, but he’d need to prove himself.” Her eyes trailed from Jon and to Tormund and then the drinking horn in his hand. As if understanding what she meant, Tormund fills the horn to the brim and shoves it into Jon’s hands. 

“Drink!”

Jon looks between Daenreys and I as if asking either of us if we were serious, but Dany doesn’t budge. With a mischievous smile, she motions Jon to go ahead and drink. He brings the horn up to his lips and drinks as everyone cheers him on. Wine spills from the corner of his mouth and drips down his chin, but he keeps going until every drop is gone, earning a roar from Tormund and a series of pats on his back. 

Laughter and cheers erupt from the group and a more light hearted atmosphere starts to surround Daenerys. Thankfully, the Wildlings were less pretentious and cautious of Dany and I. Between the cheers and borderline shouting (talking), a voice called out to me. I turned my head towards the voice and saw Jamie, Tyrion, Brienne, and Podrick together. 

Seated near the front, Tyrion drunkenly calls me over with a wave of his hand. “My Lady, join us! You must!” 

“Oh, Gods,” I glanced between the four who no doubt were playing some drinking game. I glance at Dany who’s trying to hide a smirk at the antics of her trusted Hand. 

She motions for me to go on, “go, I’ll be fine.” 

I take her word and move across the front of the room towards the drunk quartet. Tyrion dunkingly pours me a glass of wine, “come, sit, sit. We would love for you to join our game.” 

Brienne and Podrick move over to the side, allowing me room to sit while Tyrion places the glass in front of me. “I’ve been waiting for us to be able to play together.” He lightly claps his hands, “lets begin. Who’s turn was it last?”  

Jaime raises his hand and turns to Brienne. He carefully eyes her, “hm. You are an only child.” Tyrion drunkenly pouts at her and puts his head on his older brother's shoulder. 

“I told you I was.” 

The blond lightly shakes his head, “you didn’t.” 

“I did,” she said, sounding both assured and confused if she had told Jaime. 

“I surmised it.” He smirked. She humorously scoffs, but still drinks. 

Tyrion pats Jaime, “go again.” 

“Why does he get to go again?” Brienne asked, setting her glass down. 

“Because it’s my game,” he drunkenly replied. 

Jaime takes his time again, as if he was trying to read her mind. “You have danced with Renly Baratheon.” 

She glanced at Poddrick wordlessly asking him if he’d told Jaime, but he just smiled and shook his head. Everyone watched as she lightheartedly gave Jaime a pointed look and took a drink. Jaime went again, but this time his eyes settled onto me. 

“You have been to Westeros before.” 

The question raises everyone's eyebrows, including my own. He wasn’t wrong, but in some sense he wasn’t right either. I hadn’t been to this Westeros before, but I had been to mine where I’d grown up my entire life. But, considering this was off of a major victory, I reached for my glass and drank, earning a drunken cheer from Tyrion. 

Jaime thinks of another question while Tyrion watches expectantly. “You’ve got a lover.” 

“I do?” I pretended to look around the halls, “where is he then?” 

Tyrion makes a ‘ooo’ sound and playfully slaps his brother's shoulder. Jaime pays Tyrion no mind and reaches for his drink, taking a sip. The game continues and eventually I start to feel a light buzz while the others are more tipsy. Tyrion asks a question directed towards Brienne who smiles and cheers, “wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Drink!” 

The pair laughs and Tyrion obliges, taking a drink. Brienne smiles as it was now her turn to ask a question. “You were married. Before Sansa.” 

“Drink,” Jaime pats his brother on his back. 

“You’re drinking wine, but you prefer ale!” 

“No!” Tyrion laughs drunkenly and Brienne takes a drink. Tyrion shifts, his face more serious. He fixes Brienne with a look, “you’re a virgin.” 

The air around the four shifts. Brienne looked shocked to hear what Tyrion was saying. Podrick looked between the drunken Lannister and the Knight. And Jaime, very aware of his younger brother's tendencies, the more drunk he gets, the less control he has over his words, tries to quickly mend things over (in his own way).

“That’s a statement about the present.”  

Tyrion, in his drunken stupor, doubles down. “At no point in the past, up until this very moment, have you slept with a man. Or a woman.” He adds the last bit, as if it made a difference to lighten the mood. 

I watched from the corner of my eye as Brienne went through a course of emotions, angry, flabbergasted, embarrassed. I shifted in my seat, leaning over to take the cup out of Tyrion's hand. “Isn’t that expected? She’s a noble lady of House Tarth and the heir of Evanfall Hall.” 

Surprisingly Brienne shifts, as if my few words had given her a dash of confidence against the words of the drunken Lannister. But, the words still lingered, and so did the embarrassment. She stands, muttering a few words as an excuse to leave and turns just as Tormund approaches the table. 

Unable to read the room, or just too drunk to care, he cheers aloud. “We did it! We faced those icy fuck. Looked right into their blue eyes, and here we are.” He glanced around the table and guffaws, “now which one of you cowards shit in my pants.” 

Brienne moves around the Wildling, not in the mood for his crude words. “Please pardon me for a moment.” She leaves and a drunken Tormund tries to follow, hoping to provide his version of comfort, but Jaime quickly stands and blocks his way. They exchange a look and jovially gives the wildling a pat on the shoulder before turning to follow after Brienne. 

The cogs finally turn in Tormund's head, putting all the pieces together. He watched, woundedly, as Brienne left the hall with Jamie tailing after her. Tyrion watched and reached for the pitcher, pouring wine into the Wildlings drinking horn. Tormund looks between the Lannister and the wine in his own hand. I brought my glass up, clinking it against his drinking horn with a touch of pity, his first heartbreak. The Wildling digests the reality of it all and turns back to his Free Folk friends. 

I turned back to Tyrion, picking off a small piece of bread and throwing it at him. “There was no need for you to say all that.” 

“It’s part of the game,” he drunkly slurred. 

“It was rude. You know what kind of person Brienne is, there was no need for all of that.” 

He frowned, like a kicked puppy and I stood. “As punishment, you will not be allowed anymore wine, or ale.” 

Tyrion gapes, as if I just told him that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. 

I turned to Podrick, “you’re tasked to make sure no alcohol passes his lips.” 

Podrick nods, happy to oblige as it allowed him to mess with his old employer. I stood up, in need of some fresh air and left the room noting that both Daenerys and Jon had left together, and that Tormund was leaving with a northern girl, it seems like the break is over. As I left, I caught a glimpse of Sansa walking over to where the Hound sat eating and drinking away. 

The northern cold was a welcoming feeling compared to the warmth and constant chatter in the Great Hall. I walked around the inner castle ground, the moon shining and lighting my path when I came across the entrance of the Godswood. I hesitated, should I or should I not? 

I walked the same path as I did nearly twenty-four hours ago, before the Long Night, all the way through the forest and to the Weirwood tree in the center. Snow had fallen over in the last couple of hours, covering where blood had been spilled as if it had never happened. I came face to face with the tree, but this time its carved face didn’t seem to mockingly look at me, and maybe it never did. 

I don’t say anything. What needed to be said, has been said. I’ve got my answer, regardless of how vague it was and however much I tried to deny it. This was my fate decided by the Gods, and nothing could change it. 

I held its gaze one last time, and turned.

With each turn of the carriage wheel, Anthony could not help but think of the monumental task that lay ahead. The very act of finding a suitable bride weighed heavily on his mind, a daunting prospect given the limited pool of eligible young women on the marriage mart. He was, after all, a man of considerable standing, and his own notorious reputation as a capital R Rake would work against him in some capacity. Yet, this was to be the season that the Viscount would begin the race to find his Viscountess.

He had known of the eligible women written upon his list in some capacity since the announcement and celebrations of their birth, their lives and lineages meticulously tracked by gossiping mothers, ambitious matchmakers. He knew their families, their fortunes, and the whispers of their accomplishments or shortcomings.

He knew the lineage of each family, and the scandals that had stained some of them. He knew the social circles they frequented, the accomplishments they had accrued through years of lessons, and the social standing they held. He also knew the whispers of their characters and any flaws that might make them unsuitable, from a quick temper to a propensity for extravagance. This information, while seemingly helpful, only served to complicate matters further, making the selection process feel more like navigating a treacherous minefield than finding a partner for life. The upcoming Danbury ball, which kicked off every social season, loomed large in his thoughts. It was the event where he’d begin his search.

As the day neared its end, with the satisfying and successful presentation before Queen Charlotte, a sense of quiet triumph settled over Sterling House. Although the prospect of marital happiness was merely a guise, Miss Sterling was among the hopeful young ladies who had entered the marriage market.

The meticulous planning, the carefully cultivated whispers, the strategic alliances – all had culminated in a successful debut. The commencement of the first stage of Operation 1814 was without question, as the integration into the Ton had been seamless, a delicate dance performed with grace and precision. However, the true test, the crucible in which reputations were forged and shattered, would come at the first ball of the season. It was there, amidst the glittering gowns, the soaring violins, and the ever-watchful eyes of society, that the true worth of their efforts would begin to unfold.

The whispers of potential suitors, the judgments of the vying mothers, the intricate web of gossip – all would converge, and the success or failure of their carefully constructed strategy would be decided under the twinkling chandeliers, if events fell into place guided ever so gently by their hands as they pulled upon the invisible puppet strings. With the sun having disappeared below the horizon and the other residents of the house already asleep in their beds, a profound stillness settled over the halls of the townhouse. A pin drop would be heard if it were to fall.

As Leigh, Darcy, and yourself remained seated around the grand mahogany dining table, the shadows created by the flickering candlelight began to dance around the room, stretching and contorting the familiar shapes of the opulent furnishings. Discussions of the upcoming Danbury Ball and the Queen’s own soirée had long since fallen by the wayside, replaced by laughter, punctuated only by the soft clinking of silverware from the half-eaten meal. The embossed invitations had promptly arrived one after the other, not long after you had returned to Sterling House.

This would be a night brimming full of whispers and gossip that would linger long after the last waltz. Information was power, especially in their line of work; this would highlight impending obstacles to tackle in the name of the mission.

Now, however, the weight of unspoken anxieties pressed upon you all, a stark contrast to the carefree anticipation that had filled the house less than a week before. The air was thick with something unsaid, a palpable tension that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the room.

Leaving the three of you dressed down in their comfortable pyjamas to reflect on the events of the day. Shadows danced playfully across the walls, their movements dictated by the flickering flames of the candles. Amidst this intimate setting, a light-In this serene moment, Reader, Leigh, and Darcy found solace in each other's company, finding strength in the simple act of coming together to share their thoughts and feelings. And as the night deepened, the flickering flames continued to cast their mesmerising shadows, a reminder of the transient nature of time and the enduring bond that held them together in that quiet, candlelit room.

The clinking of glasses and the gentle murmur of their voices are the only sounds that fill the room until Edward appears, his dark blond hair neatly combed, and a tired smile gracing his lips. He has come to retrieve Darcy, his partner, and with a shared look of affection, they bid Leigh and Reader goodnight and head off to bed. Reader and Leigh head up not long after. It felt as if you had lost no time, that you had stepped right back into the same easy-going friendship that you had when you had lived together.

The social calendar would soon begin to fill with gatherings, dinners, balls, and gentlemen calling upon their preferred debutantes. The season was upon them, and the pursuit of matrimony was in full swing. The whispers of the Ton would soon be buzzing with anticipation, waiting for the next scandal, the next match, the next love affair. As the Queen had not found her diamond of the first water at the presentation, the Ton would turn to Lady Whistledown and the writer’s honest writings as they awaited to see who would be chosen. Her observations held sway, and her pronouncements shaped reputations, for better or worse.

A copy of her latest column lay forgotten in the sitting room, its words already dissected and debated. It had been a hot topic at the after-dinner staff meeting, where the butler had shared the news and opinions, and whether the Sterlings would soon feature in the writer’s next issue was a subject of heated discussion amongst the cooks, maids, and footmen. The staff, privy to the secrets and gossip of the household, eagerly anticipated the latest revelations, knowing that Lady Whistledown’s words held the power to make or break a reputation.

“Inevitably, they will soon catch the writer’s gaze”

Madelyn had left your side after helping you out of the many decorative layers of fabric and out of the restrictive grasp of the corset beneath it all. She had missives to pen with the recent information that she had gathered from her first venture out into London. She was eager to get the task completed before bed; you hoped that she wasn’t burning the midnight oil. But then again, you could not judge when you had done the very same as you laughed through the last few hours with Darcy and Leigh.

She missed the flickering screen of a laptop casting long shadows across the room, illuminating piles of scattered notes and empty coffee cups that bore witness to the late-night sessions of attempting to finish the endless amount of reports. Madelyn remembered the adrenaline-fuelled rush, the shared jokes that masked the mounting anxiety, and the triumphant feeling of finally hitting “submit” just as the first rays of dawn began to peek through the blinds. It was a camaraderie forged in the fires of academic pressure, a bond that transcended the exhaustion and sleep deprivation. It all felt like a different lifetime.

Even with the hidden pipes of running water and buried cables humming with electricity, a constant, low thrumming that hinted at a continuous level of power that flowed between the floors. This was a testament to the ingenuity of the engineers and architects who had outfitted the townhouse.

As far as anyone could tell, the ground floor was the only part of the building that was untouched, creating the impression that entering it was like walking directly onto the set of a period drama. The live performance was poised to begin, with the rooms fully prepared to receive visitors. When the first gentleman made the choice to visit and pay a call on Miss Sterling.

With her blackout blind firmly in place, she could risk turning on a small lamp, Madelyn didn’t want to be the one to raise curiosity at the sight of an unfamiliar source of illumination radiating from a small window on the uppermost floor of Sterling House. After switching off the bedside lamp, she reached over and then climbed into bed.

BRIDGERTON HOUSE/DRAWING ROOM

Vida had taken the opportunity that presented itself; her only day off had fallen on the day after Miss Eloise’s interrupted presentation. She had spoken of going out to visit one of the many markets and stalls that popped up all over the city as she and the other servants broke their fast at dawn. This was far from what she had planned for the day, as she needed a believable alibi. She needed to gather information from within the Bridgerton household using the chameleon technology that she had been assigned before deployment. Developed in conjunction with MI5, the aim was to create a more streamlined and effective system for spying and gathering intelligence.

Upon activation, she would be concealed within a hidden vantage point, perhaps a shadowed alcove or a camouflaged position amongst the environment. From this concealed location, she could observe the target area and monitor the movements of anyone within it. Should any individual's gaze sweep in her direction, the advanced perception filter, a carefully calibrated system of illusions and sensory manipulation, would instantly activate. This filter would subtly warp their perception, rendering her presence invisible or, at the very least, unremarkable.

The observer might see only a flickering shadow, a distorted shape, or perhaps nothing at all. The filter’s effectiveness was dependent on several factors, including the distance, the observer's attentiveness, and any unusual environmental conditions. Its primary function was to maintain her covert status and prevent her from being detected while she gathered critical intelligence or awaited her moment to depart and head below stairs.

The sun-drenched drawing room of the Bridgerton residence was a scene of languid leisure. Benedict lounging in a comfortable chair near the window, sketching in a large pad, his brow furrowed in concentration as Violet stood, observing the dance lesson and Hyacinth, seated on a nearby chaise lounge, with a bowel of pastries and fruit with an air of casual grace. Across the room, Francesca was at the pianoforte, her fingers dancing over the keys within reach, filling the room with a cheerful melody. Eloise, ostensibly “practicing” her steps with Gregory, stumbled through the movements with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

An exasperated-looking dance master, a sour little man in his fifties with a perpetually pinched expression, stood observing their efforts, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath, clearly not impressed with Eloise’s attempts. As Vida quietly slipped into the room, the sound of silverware and the chatter of guests created a vibrant atmosphere that was dramatically different from the silent approach she undertook.

The drawing room, alive with the sound of music and the rhythmic movements of dancers. The dance master directs the steps, his voice cutting through the air. Hyacinth, unimpressed, whispers her thoughts to Benedict, unaware that Eloise is within earshot. Benedict, mischievous as ever, points out the potential consequences of their gossip just as Eloise, from across the room, makes her presence known. Gregory, the unfortunate victim of a misstep, interjects with a plea to protect his feet.

Eloise, unfazed by the commotion, questions the necessity of continuing the dance. Violet, ever the voice of reason, reminds Eloise of the importance of impressing the Queen. Eloise, known for her wit, cleverly deflects the seriousness of the situation. Benedict, always ready with a jest, teases Eloise about her missed chance at being the season's diamond. As tension mounts, Anthony's entrance signals a shift in the atmosphere, setting the stage for what's to come.

Vida observed Eloise Bridgerton with a deep sense of empathy, recognising the unenviable circumstances of her birth. While blessed with a life of luxury, Eloise found herself on a predetermined path, devoid of the opportunity for higher education. Her unquenched ambition, a vibrant spark within her, was destined to be extinguished upon her marriage, unless she was fortunate enough to find a husband with a progressive mindset – a scholar who would permit her access to knowledge and intellectual pursuits traditionally reserved for men.

In stark contrast, Vida, despite her own financial limitations, possessed the freedom to pursue higher education and broaden her intellectual horizons.

Anthony, a flicker of amusement in his voice, addressed the room. "Was anyone else aware that dear Colin has apparently decided to add Albania, or some such exotic locale, to his itinerary as he gads about the world?"

Vida’s gaze follows the conversation as it unfolds. This was one of those comfortable, familiar discussions which were a world away from her own. The Bridgerton so casually spoke of globe trotting as if everyone partook in such an expensive, lengthy venture. Her own family could barely afford a yearly weekend away to the coast. It was a treat; that she had happily waited an entire year for, those two nights spent by the sea. While the wealthy elite could easily afford to travel anywhere at a moment’s notice.

Delicate china teacups clink softly, and the aroma of Earl Grey fills the air. Eloise Bridgerton, a young woman of sharp intellect and a tendency towards witty cynicism, is reluctantly swaying to the distant strains of music. Violet Bridgerton, her mother and the matriarch of the family, observes her with a knowing glint in her eye.

Eloise let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she performed another perfunctory sway. Her tone, though laced with a veneer of polite inquiry, dripped with a familiar exasperation. "No," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of playful rebellion. "But how happy for him that he can simply decide to do that." Her gaze flickered towards the music, a silent, unspoken commentary on the perceived ease with which certain members of their family navigated life's decisions, particularly those involving romantic entanglements or sudden departures.

Just then, the stately figure of Violet Bridgerton turns, her presence commanding and yet warm. A gentle smile played on her lips as she addressed her eldest son as he came into the room, her voice a soothing balm. "Joining us for tea, Anthony?" she inquired; the invitation hung in the air, a quiet invitation to participate in the afternoon's gentle ritual.

Vida’s head followed, jumping between the members of the Bridgerton household gathered within the drawing room. She had to hold back any chuckles that might arise, refusing to give away her position within the shadows. She needed to be invisible, to monitor, to gather any information that might surface within such private conversations as this. Few would look past the meticulously crafted façade, which served as both a shield and a lure for prospective partners.

The future, as meticulously sculpted and rigidly defined long before a child could take its first steps, dictated an unavoidable trajectory of unyielding instruction. Mandatory lessons in language, etiquette, and dance were not mere suggestions but an inescapable gauntlet, demanding not just endurance but absolute excellence. For Vida, the seasoned spy, whose own path offered a glimmer of hope – the freedom to depart once her mission was accomplished, to shed the constraints and disappear back into the anonymity she so expertly navigated.

But for Eloise, the reality was starkly different. This world, so carefully constructed around her, was not a temporary trial but her permanent prison. The austere contrast between their potential fates settled heavily upon Vida, a sobering realisation for someone who found solace and strength in the periphery, in the unseen spaces. It was a poignant, almost unbearable sight to witness the nascent pain etched into the young woman’s eyes, a pain that bloomed with every melancholic sway around the opulent, yet confining, room. The polished floor, a stage for her forced grace, reflected the inescapable nature of her gilded cage.

Vida’s gaze continued to be pulled back to the young miss, the one who was about to enter the marriage market. Vida wished to pick at her mind, to understand the intellectual forced to fit into the mould that society desired her to be. There was no doubt in her mind that if Vida had it available to her, Miss Eloise Bridgerton would thrive in a modern world where women had choices, the same opportunities as their male counterparts. She would have equal footing, but Vida could not, no would not cross that line and drag her off into a world that was no more than a fantasy to a young woman of this gilded age.

It hurt when it should not.

“I will not be distracted, even by my own misgivings,” She muttered, quiet enough that no-one would hear her words above the artfully played melody that drifted throughout the room, as Francesca continued to practice the pianoforte.

The Viscount's voice, a low rumble, cut through the air as he politely declined his mother's offer. His expression remained unreadable, a smooth, polished façade that hid the man beneath. Vida watched, the faint scent of lavender from her gloves filling her senses, trying to discern any flicker of emotion behind the impassive mask of the untouchable gentleman. The man tucked away, only the titled Viscount Bridgerton visible. Vida had studied his profile, and it seemed accurate. Anthony's words, crisp and decisive, echoed in the room: "I am afraid I must pass. Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season has started, I shall need to fill your coffers at the Modiste and oversee the hiring of a few extra staff, and your ring, when you have the chance, I shall need it. The fields by Ferryhallow — I was thinking we might hold off on leasing them this year due to the hard frost."

His mother’s face tightened with disbelief as she listened to him lay out his plans. The quiet hum of the morning was broken by his matter-of-fact declaration, his intent to wed presented as a cold, hard business transaction. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, like a plucked string. “I beg your pardon?” Turning to face her son, trying to understand the logic, the reason that had led him to this very announcement. Yet this was also what Vida had been waiting to hear, the need for more staff as they entered the social season.

“This man had no tact,” Vida mused, wondering how the Sterlings were planning on assisting with the Viscount’s search for a bride. Anthony’s response was specifically tailored to address what he perceived as the core of his mother’s inquiry. “The frost hardens the soil, saps it of nutrients.”

The Dowager Viscountess’s frustration was displayed plainly on her face, unsure how far her eldest son had planned on falling. Chasing a business deal, instead of a love match like she had with his father, Edmund. “That is very well — but you requested my ring?” Violet had to ask but Vida, the silence within the shadows would hear it, the uncomfortable truth hidden within her words, the pain at the loveless future that she was being forced to endure to bear witness to.

The woman’s personnel file, which served as a solitary, pure conduit to her deepest wishes, revealed her profound desire for nothing less than the absolute happiness of her children, and a fervent hope that they would experience the very same quality of love that had so profoundly shaped her own marriage. With very little effort, the Viscount was tearing it down.

“Father’s betrothal ring,” Anthony interjected as he stood behind Gregory. Benedict’s lips curled into a cheeky smile, sharp and bright as a sunbeam, and he asked, “Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, brother?” She was keen to observe his reaction, and the playful teasing had become a favourite sport for Vida to watch.

It was as if she was on the side-lines of a game of verbal table tennis, with far too many active players for her to guess who would bat next. As she swivelled in her plush velvet seat, the rich fabric brushing against her skin, she faced Anthony directly. “I thought all of the young ladies looked beautiful,” she declared, her voice clear and honest, carrying the sweet scent of innocence. Her words, unvarnished and heartfelt, echoed a naivety yet untouched by the sharp, glittering edges of the world beyond the gilded cage of Bridgerton House, a sanctuary that shielded her gentle spirit.

Without causing any noticeable disturbance to her cloaking technology, Vida moves in a way that is so slight it would only reveal a trivial change to anyone who looked at her way.

Anthony’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face, and his voice, though sharp, resonated with the truth of his words. “Not particularly.” A faint scent of beeswax polish hung in the air as he continued, his gaze distant. “And all of the young ladies looked the same. Like young ladies.” He turned to Violet, the rustle of silk from her gown a soft sound in the stillness. “I should simply like to be prepared when the opportunity presents itself.”

A tremor of disbelief ran through Violet’s voice, "The opportunity…" She struggled to process the idea of finding a wife as a mere opportunity, as if he were discussing a business deal or settling a debt rather than a lifelong commitment. Anthony, with a crisp efficiency, declared, "I have already compiled an index of the season's eligible misses and have arranged interviews." The sudden stillness in the room was palpable, all eyes turning to him. Violet managed a strained smile, the corners of her lips pulling tight. “Interviews?”

“Dearest, I shall be more than happy to give you my ring when you find someone with whom you are very much in love. Besides, it is in safekeeping at Aubrey Hall.” Gathering her composure, Violet spoke with a firm and unwavering conviction. With the decision settled in her mind, a troubling worry as she moved towards her second son.

As Anthony rapidly consumed his sweet treat and began to depart, Violet, with evident concern, turned towards Benedict and earnestly requested, “See that he is quite well.” Her voice, exhibiting remarkable clarity, conveyed that the utterance was less of a demand and more of a gentle request;

Benedict replies, surprised at what his mother had asked of him. Preferring to continue with his more artistic pursuits than a morning spent with his eldest brother. “Me?”

Anthony's voice, firm and resolute, cut through the hushed anticipation. "I am not in need of coddling," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the assembled individuals. "I assure you all. Everything is in order." As if to punctuate his words with undeniable proof of time's steady march, Anthony reached into his waistcoat pocket. The familiar, almost rhythmic sound of his pocket-watch began to emanate from within – a soft, yet insistent TICK TICK-TICKING.

He had added one additional stop after receiving a late invite, one that he had been unsure of. Yet, it had arrived; he would call upon them shortly; it would be necessary before he could add another to the list.

Miss Sterling

This was her cue to exit, to make a hasty retreat and back to her room in the servant corridor. Vida had heard enough; there would likely be nothing more to be gained from listening in any further. There were enough information scraps for her to pad out her latest report. Mrs Wilson would likely be on her way up; this was not the time to bump into the housekeeper who had already marked her down as one to watch, one that might bring trouble to this most reputable of houses. Her steps fell in line behind Anthony’s masking the additional creaks of the floorboard beneath her feet as she turned left as he went right.

The prior evening

The confines of his study offered Darcy a space where he could briefly pause and catch his breath. The message had arrived not long after supper the prior evening. It had a terse message that got straight to the point; he had been expecting messages and invites such as this in the days ahead, as the season unfolded. Viscount Bridgerton had taken notice of her, asking for a formal introduction before he could be seen out in public engaging in even the briefest of conversations. All in the name of the rigid rules that governed polite society.

Anthony Bridgerton would call upon them for a proper introduction before the very first ball. The heat of the lit fire caressed his face as Darcy leaned upon the alcove of the fireplace, playing with the paper within his hands. No-one else had seen what had been written within; it was his eyes only. Even Edward, his beloved Eddie, had not been privy to this secret. As he tossed it into the flames, he watched as it vanished from sight.

The slight steps behind him were familiar enough for Darcy to remain still, as arms soon followed, snaking around his waist. “Where have you gone this time? Hopefully, no-one where I can’t follow Love,” Edward was a romantic at heart, but only when it was the two of them alone like this. He leaned back into his partner’s embrace, sighing happily as come the morrow, he could not be as openly affectionate with his other half. They would be strangers beyond these walls, even within it if they had company.

“Lord Bridgerton is calling upon us in the morning; I will break the news to the Captain before she heads to bed. It’s only fair that she is prepared,” Darcy said, knowing that this information would catch Edward off guard.

“Already? I thought that until after the Danbury Ball we wouldn’t be receiving anyone,” Edward said, as Darcy turned his head inward, burying his face into his lover’s chest.

“As a general rule, no, but this situation is different because of who is making the inquiry,” he replied, acknowledging that other gentlemen would have simply taken notice of her and waited. Until Lord Sterling, acting as his sister’s chaperone, the curious lords would then step forward, assuming he would then execute the formal introduction, enabling them to subsequently speak with her in the ballroom or even add their names to her dance card. This wasn’t any lord; this was one target of their mission, Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

“I get that, it just seems out of the norm,” Eddie replied, the very pragmatic man, who would never step outside of his orders. In one way, it was out of the norms of the but yet, father had forged marriage contracts whilst their wives were still heavily with child. Lord Bridgerton was simply trying to secure the best match possible.

“As you know, the rules prevent him from speaking to women of the same social standing without a formal introduction,” Darcy pressed, reminding the man who held him of the situation that they were in. The world that only ran smoothly whilst the rules were enforced.

“Still,”

“I have already extended an invitation; this is our way in Eddie” He had to shut this down; Darcy hated this but orders were orders after all.

“The mission comes first;” Edward replied, stiffly leaning in, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. Softly grazing his lips against the scant visible flesh peeking out from his stiff, pressed shirt. “We have to play along,” Darcy replied, moaning at the slightest touch; it had been an age since he had been underneath his lover. This might be their only chance until the mission was over, until it reached completion.

God, the months apart had been difficult. Yes, there had been brief moments whilst they were in the countryside where they could be together. Whilst his pretend wife and best friend kept herself busy whenever Edward returned with news and updates. Those little moments, no matter how special, were always over by the time that he woke alone with the first rays of dawn; then it would be weeks before he was graced by his presence once more.

Maybe they might retire after this was done. Maybe he might finally broach the subject of marriage and propose to Eddie. Darcy had used his time apart wisely, at least, by procuring the perfect ring under the guise of an alternative engagement ring for Lady Alexandra.

“I know that Darcy, I hope, that the Captain understands that;” With a brief parting of his lips, his partner spoke, then returned with greater passion, his hands yanking at the tucked fabric of his shirt.

“She does, but I will remind her,” Darcy replied; his breath catching in his throat, “I just want to focus on you and me, and breaking that desk.”

A tight, forced smile stretched across your lips, a brittle façade as you fumbled through rehearsed answers. The hurried briefing earlier echoed in your mind – the frantic flipping of flashcards, each question a potential pitfall. Your palms felt clammy, a tell-tale sign of the frantic pulse thrumming beneath your skin. This wasn’t a job interview, but a potential marital match with Viscount Bridgerton, the air thick with unspoken expectations. Your singular goal: fail, but subtly. You had to be a disappointing option, not an outright pariah, a delicate tightrope walk with your future hanging precariously in the balance.

It was a fine line to walk, but yet, a single thought kept cropping up.

“It doesn’t matter what I say; it will never be good enough;”

The subtle shift in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the words you thought were merely whispers to yourself had taken on a life of their own. The realisation that they had been heard, understood, and now demanded a response left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you had not anticipated.

In that fleeting moment of connection, the boundaries between inner thoughts and spoken words blurred, revealing a truth that could no longer be ignored. Your gaze locked with his, searching for understanding, for a way to bridge the gap that had unexpectedly opened between you.

As the weight of the unspoken hung heavy in the air, you braced yourself for what would come next, uncertain of where this unexpected turn of events would lead. As you stood in the dimly lit hallway of Sterling House, the weight of your words hung in the air, lingering between you and the other person. The unexpected reaction on his face mirrored the surprise that welled up within you. It was a moment frozen in time, the silence broken only by the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears.

You softly spoke, unknowingly believing that the words never left your mouth, that they were nothing but thoughts rushing through your head. For you, yourself, and no one else to contemplate when you were sequestered back within the halls of Sterling House. You raise your gaze to meet his, not expecting the look of confusion staring right at you.

As the penny dropped, an uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Lord Bridgerton had heard your words. You could not know the importance of this moment; this had been the first of many instances to come that directed the tide in its proper course. This was where it all would stem from; the seed had been planted, now it needed to be nurtured. Only with the arrival of one Miss Kate Sharma would it begin.

“Semo drio andar via” In that tense moment, the words, hushed and urgent, came not from your friend, but from Leigh, your senior officer and handler. The Venetian dialect had been chosen to relay secret messages. Hearing the melodic sounds, most would label it Italian, yet the unfamiliar vocabulary and unusual cadence revealed a different origin, easily missed by untrained ears.

He endlessly replayed the entire situation in his head, Anthony desperately trying to uncover the true intent behind Miss Sterling’s words, words she never meant for him to overhear, the echo of her voice seeming to taunt him with its hidden meaning. Her reaction to the prospect of becoming his wife was unlike anything the ton had ever witnessed from one of their own. It felt like she was reliving a memory, knowing the future outcome.

Translation: Semo drio andar via - We are leaving now

Moderately affectionate. Doesn’t really like doing it in public, due to wanting to keep her image high. But in private? She’s gentle with you, sweet. Hugs and gentle kisses. She on the other hand, wants to be treated like an absolute princess. Before you kiss you, without missing a beat she's like, "Tell I'm pretty," or "Who's the best girlfriend in the world?"

B → Bonding 𐙚 What’s their favorite bonding activity?

Smoking together, whether that be outside, in her room, at school. She likes having someone to smoke with, even if you don’t smoke, or don’t smoke much everyday like her. Plus, going on shopping trips, which involves you spending all your money on her, because girl is a spoiled princess.

C → Cuddling 𐙚 How do they like to cuddle?

Likes to lay on your chest, or just on top of you. Or leaning against each other when you’re watching a movie, holding hands and such. Princess treatment for her.

D → Dates 𐙚 What are date nights like?

Movie nights, cuddled up next to one another. Holding hands, lights dimmed or off, fluffy blanket across you two. Going to the mall together, or just shopping in general. Like a girls day. And smoking together.

E → Emotions 𐙚 How do they express their emotions?

Doesn’t particularly like talking about her emotions. But if she trusts you enough, and you’ve been together long enough, she’ll open up to you. You can normally and kind of easily tell when she’s mad, because she’ll either snap or smoke more cigs that day than “normal.” Can get a little emotional at times, like after an argument, on her period, stuff like that.

F → Flaws 𐙚 What do they think their flaws are?

Her education, she knows she’s not the smart and hates when people try to correct or teach her. And fitting in, she’s easily influenced by others. So, tell her she’s enough and perfect as is.

G → Gestures 𐙚 What gestures do they do?

Would give you things of her, nothing crazy. Like clothes, lip gloss, makeup, cigs and weed. Sometimes gives you little pecks on the cheek, leaving a lipstick/gloss mark behind. And no one will ever know it was her.

H → Honesty 𐙚 How honest are they?

Decently honest, especially honest when she's mad. She's honest with you though, not a rude honest. A 'does this shirt look good on me?' and she'd respond with, "Here, where this one." And hands you one of her shirts.

I → I love you 𐙚 Who said it first? How often do they say it?

You said it first. Out loud at least, of course she loves you. She tells herself that every day, in her head of course. She's honestly a bit scared saying it out loud. Loving someone is scary for her, because of her parents, she doesn't want the relationship to end up like there's. So yes, she's a little scared.

J → Jealousy 𐙚 How jealousy do they get?

Oh, she gets jealous, but she won't really admit that. She keeps it to herself but does show it kind of in the means of body language. Like if you're talking to someone she doesn't like she'll walk over and put her arm on your waist, or just be like "Whatcha two on about? What's the drama?"

K → Kissing 𐙚 How do they give kisses? What kind?

Again, likes to leave little lip gloss marks on your face, because she knows they're not as bright and noticeable as lipstick marks. Don't ask how she knows that. Also likes to give you quick and secret little pecks before class. She enjoys gently and meaningful kisses, rather than hard make out like kisses.

L → Love 𐙚 What is their love language?

Physical touch and quality time and words of affirmation. Loves to hold hands with you and kiss you, cuddles too. She also craves attention and validation from those around her, so tell her she's enough and she's pretty and smart. Playful bullying too but will stop if you tell it's getting too much.

M → Mirrored 𐙚 What habits to they pick up from their partner?

Again, she feels the need to constantly fit in and be seen. So, she would pick up many habits from you, even if she doesn't admit it out loud. Like your style, you slang or terms, sometimes makeup.

N → Nightmare 𐙚 What is their biggest fear?

Losing you, and not fitting in. She can't lose the person that's helped her fit in the most and the person that loves her so much. She's never felt so loved before; she can't lose all of that. Not you. And not fitting in? She doesn't want to be different, be 'weird.' She wants to be seen as cool and one of the popular kids.

O → Obvious 𐙚 How obvious is their love for their partner?

Not always obvious, when she's with Nicole she tends to not really love on you as much, because she doesn't want to seem uncool and clingy in front of Nicole, one of her closest friends. But alone? She'll express it in her own way.

P → Petnames 𐙚 What petnames do they give their partner? Which ones do they like?

She likes, 'princess' 'darling' 'love', simple things like that, but likes 'princess,' the most. For you, 'baby' 'babe' sometimes 'nerd' just to tease you.

Q → Quirk 𐙚 What’s a unique quirk about them?

Surprisingly good at drawing, has a little sketch book she keeps on her bookshelf. And doesn't have a single mole or birth mark.

R → Romance 𐙚 How romantic are they?

Not overly romantic but tries to be a least a little romantic. But prefers to have you be the romantic partner and treat her like a princess. Worship her. Take her out. Tell her she's pretty.

S → Secret 𐙚 What’s do they’d secretly enjoy?

Enjoys journaling, leaning more to the dairy like side. Writing about her feelings, sometimes writing about what happened that day, if the day was special. But mainly her feelings and keeps that journal in her drawer of her desk.

T → Texting 𐙚 How do they text?

Can be silly, can be sweet, can be serious. All just depends. She could go from, "Could u pick me up some cigs from the store? :33" to "I don't care." Obviously, she does care.

U → Upset 𐙚 How do they comfort you?

Offers you a cig and tells you it helps her calm down. But if you decline or don't smoke, she'll hold you or your hands. Either while she smokes, lets you rant, or tells you that whoever or whatever made you upset is an asshole.

V → Vulnerability 𐙚 How vulnerable are they with you?

She trusts you, she knows you'll listen, won't judge, and sure as hell won't tell anyone. She'll lay her head in your lap and rant about her day. But her feelings and emotions? She's a little more closed off in that area. Eventually she'll open up about them.

W → Whole 𐙚 Do they’d feel incomplete without you?

A little, she doesn't feel like she's incomplete, but she does feel like she's missing the slightest part of her when you're not around. Yes, she loves you, but she doesn't need to be inside you all the time to feel complete.

X → X-Ray 𐙚 How easily do they read you?

She can read you when you're mad or sad or excited, but when it's something deeper. She has a hard deciphering what it is, because half the time she doesn't even know what she's feeling. If it's not an obvious emotion of course.

Y → Yearning 𐙚 How easily do they miss you?

Well of course she'll miss you, but she won't be like dying without you. She'll be out and see something that reminds her of you and be like "you'd like this..." But if it's late at night, and she's feeling lonely, or when it's just not a good week, she misses you more. To the point where she's actually showed up to your house.

Z → Zzzz 𐙚 What’s a night like with them?

Cozy, warm, smells of cigs and her perfume. In her room, lights off or dimmed, LED's on. Tv on with either a stupid romance movie on or a horror movie. You cuddled up to her side, or her laying on your chest. Her smoking a cig, just enjoying each other's presence.

☆Masterlist☆

Tags: @viitalvile @aymmgreen

Two words that came as a whisper in your ear. You listened to the leather seats press underneath his weight, his broad shoulders filling the back seat of the car. Two assistants sat up front with a driver in front of them, all eyeing the obvious breach of rules regarding the closeness between the two of you, and you ignored all three of them.

Until you felt Bucky's fingers barely brush against your forearm. A little tap to get your attention, as if anyone could ever be unaware of him in their personal space. He might've done a good job at blending into the background when he needed to be a silent guard, but next to him? He smelled like sandalwood and whatever ridiculous product he used to keep his hair back and out of his eyes. And his low voice was almost cruel so early in the morning, and even crueler when you were going through the worst predicament of your life.

"I'm fine," you muttered, eyes glued to the window.

You were about as far from fine as you could get. Partially his fault, too, but you couldn't exactly tell him why. So you kept your eyes averted from those ridiculous blue ones that you could feel observing you. Trying to pierce through the makeshift veil you had thrown over yourself. He could probably tell you were sitting too still and too stiff. You were willing your legs to not nervously bounce nor try and press together to hide what was already hidden inside you.

You squeezed the armrest a little tighter, your nails threatening to puncture it. Don't give it away. A forcibly quieted breath came a tad shaky, and Bucky was close enough to hear it. He would've probably already seen it even from where he should've been sitting. Observant bastard. Meant he was good at his job, but still.

He'd interrupted a private time, and you were paying for it in the worst fucking way. What awful consequences to simply trying to enjoy what you'd thought were ten minutes of downtime in the morning. Turned out the clock in your hotel room was five minutes behind, and in your ill attempt to avoid morning stress, you hadn't checked your phone.

Your knee bounced as Bucky's impossibly quiet breath fanned against your neck, still waiting for you to elaborate on your clear lie. But you kept your eyes on the window, ignoring the goosebumps that started to rise at the gentle, warm feeling.

"I'm fine, Bucky," you muttered, giving him a stern look.

Meeting his gaze was mistake number three of the ones you'd already made that morning. The first was thinking you had the opportunity to use the discreet bullet in the time you hadn't had that morning, standing in the bathroom, underwear tugged down your legs, one hand on the wall with the remote in it as you circled your clit with your fingers. You'd been so close to finally having that moment to yourself.

Weeks. It'd been weeks of work. Weeks of lonely nights. Weeks of early mornings. Your fingers kept you from going insane, but you'd missed the feeling of…of being filled, of the extra stimulation, of the fun. Apparently, you weren't allowed that. Or, at least, you could've been if you'd managed to get up earlier than you had.

Late was late with you. It reflected poorly on not just you but your team, and apparently, even being a minute or two late wasn't allowed. You were hardly able to turn the toy off and pull your underwear up when you heard Bucky's horribly timed knock on your door. Apparently, your slightly frantic one second timed with being five minutes behind brought out his keycard to your room.

And there you were, hardly able to right yourself, making the number one worst mistake you could've as you flattened out the bottom of your skirt and looked Bucky in the eye like nothing was wrong. The toy was still pressed inside you, your cunt was still dripping wet, and you were holding the remote behind your back with your bag in hand.

If you looked frazzled, you'd hardly given Bucky the chance to comment on it. He'd seen you in the morning before you'd gotten ready. When you were sick and vomiting. When you were rushed out in thunderstorms, battered by the rain and the wind. Even a smidge drunk while clinging onto his arm for support while going down steps.

A little morning frazzle wouldn't phase him.

You pushed passed him without much of a second thought, trying to rush toward the car with a fucking bullet vibrator inside you. You barely managed to slip the remote into your handbag in the process, praying he hadn't seen it.

Guess he'd noticed something was up. You hadn't done much else than look out the window at the passing scenery since the thirty-minute drive started. You weren't inherently talkative, especially in the mornings, but with all your focus going to not giving away the obvious, you were silent. Apparently, after a few months with you, Bucky knew your habits.

He'd been hired for a reason, and that wasn't just because he wore the black suits well. His skill set was a step above everyone else hired for your protection, but still. There were more than a few cases where you'd wished he'd dialed the skills down. Having just about your every move scrutinized under a group of four people's eyes was more than simply annoying.

He said nothing when he finally sat back. The half a foot of distance was nothing when he commanded so much space. You could still smell him. His knee almost touched yours as he sat to fit in the seat. The quiet whirring of the metal he kept hidden under his jacket and a glove was still audible even under the music playing from the radio–almost like white noise that you normally wouldn't have minded. You'd never admit it to his face, but the sound was soothing during late-night drives and flights, him beside you, occasionally using his shoulder as a pillow as you caught much-needed sleep. But right about then?

Your leg bounced again. You forced it to stop, your cunt fluttering around the toy.

First bathroom you saw, you'd slip inside and just throw the damn thing away. Nobody would know, and you'd just be out a toy you could purchase again later. It'd already been a whole ordeal getting that one, but sacrifices had to be made to avoid cockwarming a toy the entire day. Massive sacrifices considering you were clutching your purse with your other hand, a vice grip that you prayed nobody would notice. If nobody decided to go through your purse–which none of the venues you were attending should–then nobody would see the remote. You'd be safe for those few moments until you could rid yourself of the damn thing.

So long as you didn't jostle your purse too much, either. The buttons were sensitive, and you hadn't the forethought to take the damn battery out of the back in your quick, frantic attempt to simply hide the thing.

Bucky's knee tapped yours in that way that you knew he was trying to get your attention. Whatever look he wanted you to try and decipher, you didn't look to meet it. You'd told him you were fine; he ought to drop it. It was nothing more than his curiosity getting the better of him, and you weren't going to humor it like you normally did.

Fifteen more minutes.

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh.

Fifteen more minutes before you were nudged into a conference about an upcoming fundraiser you were on the board for. Marketing, catering, invite lists, press, dress code. You'd be in there for an hour at least and upwards of three. You couldn't…. You had to find a bathroom. There'd be one down the hall that you knew of already, and there could be one in the lobby. It felt atrocious having to fucking ask your security team and assistants some version of permission to use the bathroom like you weren't a full-grown adult who employed them. But when they cared about your safety, when they were on a time limit that had you already about to run late if you hit any more traffic….

Bucky had a hand on your upper arm as you went up the steps of the building. It wasn't abnormal of him to stick close to you, but it was a newer development. He used to stand in the back, eyes everywhere. You couldn't pinpoint the switch, but there'd just been a point where he'd started to stand a little closer, and suddenly, the unspoken line was breached, and he was beside you on occasion. Like then. A light touch of his bared hand, fingers rough and warm against the sensitive skin on your arm.

He flicked those blue eyes around before he got the door for your assistants and you, another brush of his fingers passing over your arm as you went through the tall opening. In front of and around you, your two assistants spouted things you already knew, and you simply nodded your head. They were far too good at their jobs, and you were far too overzealous with yours. They were supposed to be there to take the weight off your shoulders, but you were stubborn enough to refuse to put any more work than necessary on theirs.

Your heels clacked against the tile flooring of the building when the door shut behind you, and you heard Bucky come up behind you again. His metal arm whirred under his coat, and the sound instinctively sent a shiver down your spine. As soothing as the soft noise was, there were times it was…. You sucked in a quiet breath, shoving away all the times he'd actually let you see it.

Nine times out of ten, it was covered in one way or another. Those other rare moments, he was changing out of a shirt with spilled coffee, a cracked door or curtain on a plane or a quick change in the back of a car before you arrived somewhere important gave you a glimpse. He'd never said anything about it, but when you caught the shiny silver metal, you rudely found your gaze lingering before you'd jerked it away.

"It's fine," was all he'd said when he caught you the first time.

Or…maybe he'd noticed before then, but that time had simply been the most obvious, and it'd warranted a response. It had been in the car, and you were elbow to elbow. You…also weren't the only one caught looking. The driver was the only one who had flashed a quick look before continuing to focus on their task at hand. Your assistants and the other security detail had been less subtle and less shameful about it.

Bucky did look good in the white undershirt he wore beneath it. And there was more than simply a flash of shiny metal to draw attention–his shirts and jackets hid the hard muscles almost too well. You…might've taken a second look after he'd said it was fine. But it wasn't at the arm that you'd seen lift suitcases and trunks that others could hardly carry with two people, let alone on their own like he did.

Your eyes might've snagged on his once or twice when you drew your eyes over the ridges of his muscles. And his fingers as he deftly pulled his shirt on and started on the buttons. And you might've had to quickly look away as your cheeks burned. But at the least the others had taken the attention off of you with a shamelessly whispered damn under their breath, and Bucky had a small smile. A tinge of pink touched his cheeks as he pulled his coat back on, and he went to look out the window.

Your eyes locked for a second as you instinctively peered back at him when he came up behind you. His fingers brushed your arm again as he saddled up beside you. It was a brief second of recognition that he was still there and you were still there, and then his hand fell, and his eyes were glancing around the room.

Your heart stuttered a little in betrayal when his fingers lingered on their drag down, pulling another small shiver and a moment of goosebumps on your skin before they lost contact. In a desperate attempt to rectify your other, far more important conundrum, you quickly tried to find a bathroom. Except…you hadn't stopped walking. You were running later than you should've been, and just as you caught where there might've been a restroom, there was the ding of an elevator, and you were rushed inside.

Oh, no.

Your breath came quicker as you stepped back against the cool metal wall, shoulder to shoulder with Bucky, your assistants talking about half a dozen ideas for the fundraiser. Some you'd worked on together, some they came up with themselves. You had a packet full of them that you'd already looked over late into the night last night, and you tuned out the details you already knew. You stared up at the ceiling, heart thundering, hands squeezing the handles on your bag, and prayed you could slip into the bathroom on the upper floor.

Please.

You tapped your foot a few times before catching yourself. When you brought your eyes down from the ceiling as the elevator got closer to your destination, goddamn Bucky was looking at you again. He has his chin down and a curious look subdued on his face, but it was there. You knew that slight brow furrow, except normally, it was dedicated to someone else.

"I'm fine," you said again, unprompted.

Yeah. Bucky didn't believe you. He narrowed his eyes just a little bit. His hands resting on the metal railing behind you tapped a rhythm that almost mocked how fast your heart was beating. Your throat felt dry when he kept his gaze glued to you. Almost like he was trying to draw the words out of you without saying a damn thing.

Bastard.

There was a ding, and you started to step forward before they even fully opened.

He could express so much without saying a damn word. It was annoying.

You were fine. You definitely weren't thinking about how the bullet sat inside you in the cruelest of cruel ways. Sans anything actually painful, of course. The problem was, every step you took, every attempt to ignore it, every desperate, tiny shift to make sure it wasn't obvious that you had something inside you–it just made it worse. It might not have been on, but it was still a decently sized toy that threatened to rub against all the right places.

You rounded a corner, hands fidgeting with your purse, eyes glued to the fucking wall because where was it? You tried not to listen to Bucky's close steps behind you as he did his job–trailing you to keep you safe. But you could feel his eyes continually coming back to you. And that…that was actually making it worse.

If the situation weren't so dire in not causing a ridiculous scandal, you might've enjoyed the shiver of exhilaration that threatened to slip down your spine every time he looked at you. Yes, it made your cunt flutter knowing he was looking at you while you had a toy in it. Yes, you were realizing new things about yourself amidst the utter panic and anxiety of getting caught. And yes, you were trying desperately to ignore those because they were just making the situation worse.

You could analyze those horribly timed bodily reactions later.

You caught a glimpse of the familiar bathroom signs just down the hall from the conference room and–

Out of order.

You nearly whined. You actually tripped over your own feet when you saw them. Your heels snagged on the slightest lip in the hardwood flooring, and you stumbled, one hand going out for the wall to catch yourself as dread set in. Instead of meeting the wall, you felt something warm on your waist. Something warm and something contrastingly cold, that–another utter betrayal of your body again. Bucky caught your waist and righted you with an embarrassing amount of ease, and you felt your eyes widen as you looked over his arms. How strong was he?

"Woah, you okay?" Rosanna–one of your wonderfully sweet assistants asked.

You actually preferred that to Bucky's silent treatment as he righted you, his fingers giving you a horribly hypnotic press before you were left not feeling them. And they…they ever so slightly dipped lower to graze the tops of your hips before he simply had one hand on your back, pushing you forward.

Oh. You'd stopped walking.

"Yeah, yes. Sorry," you sputtered. "My shoe just caught. I'm fine."

Liar. Bucky's hand twitched on your back, and you almost felt like you could hear him say the word. Like he had any fucking idea what was going on. You almost considered throwing a glare at him, but the panic and the dread were back. Because you couldn't turn around and go back to the lobby to use the bathroom by that point. You were at the doors of the conference room, and turning around to suddenly announce that you needed to powder your nose–or some other ridiculous euphemism–was rude, considering it wouldn't be a simple two-minute trip.

Damn it. You almost cried.

It wasn't that big of a deal. You sucked in a slow breath as you went toward the conference room. Over a dozen other people occupied the space already between other important faces, their assistants, their security, and then your own. Familiar faces were greeted, pleasantries were exchanged, and food and snacks were passed out on dainty plates to pick from during what would surely be a torturous time for you.

No, it wouldn't be that bad. You just had to take your mind off of it. You had to–

Motherfucker.

Your breath hitched as you plopped a little too hard in your chair. Even the cushioning did nothing to stop the shift of the toy inside you, and you felt heat rush over yourself. From your cheeks all the way down to where you clenched involuntarily around the toy. Rosanna and your other assistant, Decklan, went right into business professional mode, seating themselves around you and pulling out the necessary paperwork, notes, and project information. And you…stalled out for a second. Entirely. Just closed your eyes and took a deep breath that you hoped looked like just a sleep-deprived person preparing for a long meeting.

And you felt Bucky's eyes on you again as you reluctantly turned in your chair to pluck up your bag. But bending over…. You jolted as the toy rubbed all the right places, and your fingers twitched before you were able to close them around the leather handles. The slight weight of the bag was a betrayal in itself, making you clench as you lifted it, and there went your legs. You couldn't do a damn thing besides cross them as you tried to steady yourself. Except the position added pressure to your clit, and the sudden contact was like fuel to a fire you were trying to douse.

It sent a rush of dampness against your underwear that you could risk there. In the car, fine. You could make up some shitty excuse and face any embarrassment around your team. But around everyone else in the boardroom? Fuck, no.

You tried to will yourself to not focus on the toy, but then you flipped the flap of your bag open, and there was the remote. Bright and pink. Please, fuck. No. You'd never been more thankful that everyone seemed to be doing their own thing as you tried your best to maneuver around the remote to get what you needed. It was awkward. It was stiff. And you silently prayed nobody standing near the back wall was able to look over your shoulder and see the obnoxious thing. There was no chance in hell you could hide what it was. Maybe you could get away with saying it was accidentally thrown in there, sparing yourself the further humiliation, but it was still there.

Didn't matter the levels of kinky sex every person in that room had or didn't have. There was no avoiding the awkwardness of having a remote to a wireless bullet vibrator in your bag. And maybe it'd just be a joke here or there, but still. You…. Fuck. You were desperately trying to not embarrass yourself.

You frantically tucked your bag away, setting it a little too hard on the floor, and just as everyone settled in to begin, you realized your mistake too late. Realized it way too late. As in, right when hands clapped together and the meeting began at the exact time as your bag hit the floor, and the remote you should've put in a small pocket inside bounced around with pens, pencils, feminine products, a notebook, a book, and a phone and tablet charger.

You choked on your next breath when the toy whirred to life.

Fuck.

You went so still that you couldn't breathe. Panic and mortification hit you like a truck, and you had a call to make. Tears damn near struck your eyes as you flicked your gaze around, looking to see if all attention had suddenly flown to you, but…. Nothing. Nobody even asked if anyone's phone was vibrating. There was nothing. Not even your assistants looked at you. They had their eyes up on the person standing in front of a projector screen, talking about the upcoming fundraiser.

You…. You glanced down at your lap as your legs pressed harder together and then moved further down to find your bag.

Nobody could hear it?

You almost whined. Almost. But you hadn't even taken your next breath yet; there was no oxygen to produce any sounds as you shifted back in your chair, trying to adjust how the toy was currently pressing against your g-spot. Hadn't helped. But even with your little movement, nobody looked at you.

Fucking…. They couldn't hear it. It was the only saving grace to your horrid situation. But you had to turn the toy off. It was already torture on your g-spot, and you were gradually feeling those betraying ripples of pleasure that you shouldn't have been having there. Because what the fuck? You squeezed the pen you held in your hand so hard, you actually wondered if you'd break it.

You had to turn the toy off.

Breathe. You nodded along to something said–you vaguely agreed with it, but you hardly cared. You could give input when you weren't feeling your cunt flutter around a toy while you were surrounded by two dozen people. Just…breathe. You nodded again, humming out some soft sound to show that you were listening–just as the rest of the group did–and tried to shift in your seat again.

You could grab a different pen from your bag. That was all you had to do. Reach into your bag, shuffle around in there for a second, get the remote and turn the toy off, then pull back out with the pen. It was easy. It was fine. You could do it.

You leaned to reach for your bag on the floor, and the sudden position change was agonizing. You felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through you as the toy shifted, downright abusing your g-spot. Holy fuck. You could've climaxed. No, in that position, after cockwarming the toy for over half an hour, after working yourself up to that earlier that morning–holy fuck. No. Your fingers twitched on the top of your bag, and fuck whatever you'd decided to do with any makeup that morning; you dug your teeth hard into your bottom lip as you clenched your jaw.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

Your hand trembled, and your chest moved a little too fast as you desperately tried to do two things at once. Keep your calm as your orgasm inched closer unforgivingly and frantically get to the remote without making a scene.

Please. Please. 

You thumbed through the bag to find it, uncaring that people were talking about theme ideas and marketing tactics. Your assistants said something, but you didn't hear it as your fingers closed around a pen, then some chapstick, then there. Your cunt fluttered rather cruelly as your climax teetered right to the edge. You shuddered out a silent breath as you were so fucking grateful you'd gotten a seat at the end of the table, your thumb pressing down and making the quietest clicking noise on the button.

You nearly deflated when the toy turned off. You prayed silently as you grabbed a different pen, hoping nobody would be looking at you when you sat up. Hoping nobody had noticed. Hoping and praying and damn near begging whatever divine entity might've been listening to spare you.

"Any thoughts, (Y/N)?"

Your blood ran cold as you sat up straighter, every part of you dripping with some mix of dread, denial from your climax, and anxiety. All eyes blinked at you, and you felt like shrinking in on yourself for one second. Two seconds. Then three until Rosanna flicked her eyes to the screen up front where Old Hollywood was written in big letters next to theme.

Motherfucker.

"Oh, I think it's a fine idea," you said, pulling the words out of your fucking ass as you tried to keep a steady voice. "It's vague enough to allow a vast dress code and could make for an interesting marketing campaign while advertising."

As generic of a statement as you could fucking get, but it was all you could muster then and there. But as heat flooded your cheeks and your heart thundered away so loud that you worried they'd hear it, it seemed to take all eyes off of you. And back to the meeting it went.

Holy fuck.

You physically deflated back, both hands squeezed at the armrests of the chair as you tried and failed to uncross your legs. Wet. You were so fucking wet. You wanted to die. You wanted to cum, too–a horribly betraying feeling that was. Breathe. You sucked in a breath that was a little louder than intended, but people were beginning to munch away at snacks, drinking coffee, water, and juice. The sound, thankfully, went unnoticed as anything other than a simple breath.

Fuck.

You swallowed hard and reached for the pen you'd plucked from your bag.

Please, let it be a short meeting. You wrote down notes as you did your best to pay attention. Please. You'd never been so desperate to get out of an important meeting before, and the damp feeling between your legs as they toy nudged inside you with every little movement wasn't fucking helping.

An hour and a half.

Your breath came shakily after a fucking hour and a half passed before the meeting was called. Trembling and stiff, you stood. Shook hands. Smiled. Prayed that your small glance down at your chair to check if you'd soaked through your dress wasn't at all noticeable. Bit back a whine as you bent down to pluck up your bag, feeling your underwear press against yourself as the toy shifted inside you.

And despite wanting to absolutely rush out of there to get to the bathroom, freeing yourself of the toy you'd been cockwarming for so long, you waited. You took your time packing up so you wouldn't have to ride an elevator with anyone else there. Made sure to go through your bag, organizing it and doing your best to keep the remote out of sight as you moved items around. Even went so far as to move the remote into a more secure pocket, quickly fiddling with the back to try and get the batteries out just in case, while nobody's eyes were currently on you and–

A warm brush of familiar fingers hit your elbow. Rough and light, you actually jumped. Full on jolted, letting go of the remote and taking a step back from the table. Motherfucker. You tried to laugh, but your breath came out a little too staccato, and you put a hand over your heart. Every rapid beat made your cheeks heat.

It wasn't helping that Bucky put his other hand flat against your back.

He had a brow cocked as you cleared your throat, idly trying to fix your necklace since you already had your hand there.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said softly; a confused yet amused expression brought a smile to his face that…that was unfair in itself. He had such a nice smile.

"It's fine."

You waved a hand and stepped back toward the table. You were saying that a lot that morning. And you shook your head, forgoing the battery removal in the remote and simply reaching to close your bag. Rosanna and Decklan were already heading toward the door, stopping to top off some to-go cups with coffee on their way.

Fuck. You stopped short, catching a glimpse of the little booklet that'd been passed out for everyone to go over. Bucky got to it first, second-hand nature of his desire to help, and he plucked it up for you. His hand was still on your lower back when he dropped it into your bag for you. It was smooth movement, but the booklet was heavy.

Heavy enough.

The world was cruel.

You should've tried harder to take the batteries out of the remote.

Whatever Bucky said next, you just straight up didn't hear it. His mouth moved and you heard the sound of his voice, but the actual contents? Nothing. You felt the dull vibrations kick into gear as you went still, the toy rocking and rubbing against all the sensitive places again.

Oh, no.

Your cunt clenched, and you took an involuntary step forward, instinctively reaching for your bag, but Bucky had already closed it. He'd already grabbed it. Gentlemanly bastard. He held it by his side as his hand slid up your back.

"(Y/N)," he started, curiosity and almost concern found his voice.

And you weighed your options. Looking up into the pretty blue eyes trying to psychoanalyze your awkward reaction to whatever was going on with you, you made the executive decision to not reach for your bag. There wasn't a chance in hell you could look him in the eye and tell him you needed your bag because you had a remote vibrator going off inside you.

Fuck that.

"Don't we have a flight to catch?" you blurted.

Oh, you wanted to roll up and die. Your voice was strained and a little too breathy. And walking…. Your steps were a little more awkward as you did your best to strut around him, keeping your head as high as you could get it while the toy went off far too aggressively inside you. The kind of aggressive that if you closed your eyes and gave it a little bit of focus, you'd find yourself climaxing with relative ease.

You cleared your throat as you sped toward the elevators, leaving the three people on your team behind, hands pushing down on your skirt as you felt yourself start to gush over the toy. Fuck. You pressed the button three times as if that'd make the elevator return faster. Heat pummeled you in so many different ways, you had to pay close attention to your breathing otherwise you'd begin to pant.

Collect yourself. You shifted your weight around as the toy basically stroked and taunted your g-spot. You felt yourself get closer. Closer.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?" Bucky asked.

"Jesus, Barnes." You jumped again, taking a staggering step away from where he smelled so fucking good and his warm arm pressed against yours. "You have to learn to walk a little louder around me."

He pushed his hand through his hair, eyes up on the elevator numbers getting closer and closer to your floor. Not fast enough.

"Noted."

His fingers shifted their grip on your handbag as he held it by his side, leaving you to eye it with a look that was probably a little too longing, but you were starting to really tremble.

Rosanna and Decklan were in the middle of discussing the upcoming flight you had to make in a few hours, excited to fly. Much more excited than you were.

You felt your thighs get sticky as you tried to adjust your stance again–it wasn't working.

"Should I ask again, or are you going to deflect my question again?" Bucky asked.

Your heart thundered and your breath caught, but the elevator dinged and the doors suddenly opened. You forced yourself to walk as normally as you could as you stepped inside. He followed, his hand finally leaving your back. Decklan and Rosanna followed in next, continuing their conversation as they stood in front of you two.

"I…just don't feel great," you settled on saying, murmuring the words under your breath as you kept your eyes glued to the dropping numbers.

You squeezed the metal bar behind you as hard as you possibly could, trying to fight the torment inside you. The toy rocked and shook and pressed against your sweet spot so perfectly. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, willing the pleasure to just still for a second. Just one moment. And you felt your shoulders push forward a little as your back bowed. So close.

You'd never been so desperate to not cum before.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You couldn't hold it. You could stave it off. You couldn't–

The elevator lurched a little harder than anticipated, and you all staggered before the doors opened. Something must've gone wrong in the process, but the doors were open, and the jostling must've done enough to spare you. Bucky instinctively put a hand on your shoulder as the door opened, and your bag must've hit his leg or something. There was enough movement to jostle the inside of the bag, and the toy managed to not shut off, but the vibrations lowered.

A fucking miracle compared to what was about to happen.

Not ideal, not perfect–but you could actually catch your breath like that. You could actually fight off your climax when the vibrations were barely there, and you managed to walk out behind the slightly freaked Rosanna and Decklan.

Bucky's hand didn't leave you as you walked out of the elevator. It changed from a steadying hold on your shoulder into a light grip around your bicep, keeping you closer than you needed to be, but he was always one to go protective over the slightest thing. A tire blew on your driver's car once, and when he wasn't the one changing it–his desire since the driver had been a man in his seventies–he'd been at your side, making sure you were within eyesight, earshot, and close enough that he could reach out and basically touch you. It'd helped that you'd helped him by handing him the necessary tools, maybe taking that rare opportunity to see him shrug his jacket off and roll up his sleeves.

But it was how he was raised.

It was just part of him.

He bled protectiveness, hence one of his selling points for the job.

Except sometimes he got too protective. Like then, his eyes shooting around the room just in case. You'd never been physically attacked before, and the protection was mostly meant to keep any too-eager parties away from you and those with you, but Bucky had always been that extra level of careful.

So careful that before you could even protest beyond a quiet oh, you were out of the building. The bathroom had been a glimpse–a hopeful, fleeting glimpse. Your cunt fluttered around the toy involuntarily as the interior lighting turned to exterior, and there you were. Outside. Being whisked away to sit in the far back of an SUV, your driver greeting the four of you as you climbed in.

And you clenched your jaw hard as you sat back, feeling the new position that put the toy in. Even with such small vibrations, as the car kicked it into gear and you started the hour-long drive to the airport, you sank back with dread filling you.

Well…at least maybe back there….

You eyed your bag sitting on the floor in front of Bucky's feet. He was too tall to sit in the back. The middle row of seats would've fit him far better, but he had a thing about being too far from you. Normally, there wouldn't have been too much of a complaint there, except you wanted him far from you while you dealt with the toy whirring inside you. You couldn't even withstand the curious look he gave you when he saw you eyeing your back.

Those blue eyes were too damn good at being silently mysterious. They were even better at seeming to pick you apart no matter how silent you were.

Your gazes locked just as the car went over a particularly large pothole, and hell was out to get you. Hell might as well have dragged you down into its pits to torture you. The entire car jostled. Including the toy. Including you. Including the remote.

The vibration speed kicked up.

Oh, fuck. Your thighs pressed together too noticeably. You sucked in a breath that would've been quiet enough if Bucky hadn't been looking right at you, and you felt panic rocket through you when he cocked one brow. You pressed back in your seat to try and pretend that it hadn't happened, but when your eyes tore away from his steely blue ones, you ended up looking at your bag again.

Fuck.

The toy pressed against your sweet spot like it was on a mission to make you cum. Like someone had whispered all your dirty secrets to it, and it was using them against you to coax a throbbing, aching, gushing orgasm from you.

You felt your core tense hard as you jerked your attention away from Bucky–like that'd help. Your teeth were sharp as they dug into your bottom lip, hoping that you could stave the climax off. It was only an hour. You could withstand that, couldn't you?

You involuntarily squirmed in your seat. It pushed your bottoms up, pressed your underwear harder against where the toy was barely poking out from inside you, and brought a new sensation to it. With the seats connecting in the back, you craved death when you brought a hand down to grasp the edge of the seat with a vice grip, and your hand brushed Bucky's.

It was just pinky to pinky, but you couldn't pull away. The only thing holding you together was that grip, and Bucky…didn't move either. Cruel fate–fuck. You clenched your jaw hard as the side of Bucky's hand met yours, and you actually considered grabbing onto it, jerking him closer, and then spilling it all in his ear.

But how the fuck would he look at you after that?

There was no coming back from that.

Was there any chance of coming back from any of this?

How well could you play any of this up as something else? A stomach bug? You could tell him you were just horribly nauseous, and when you finally got to the airport, you'd rush into the bathroom to pretend to vomit, only to free yourself of the torment inside you.

You…you could play that up, couldn't you?

The car jostled again, and you watched from the corner of your eye as the bag moved again. The…the remote did something. You weren't sure what, but the vibrations died down and the rhythm changed inside you. An unsteady beat of slow to fast, then a strong hold of the low vibrations before it paused for a beat. Then it repeated.

Holy hell.

You didn't entirely relax, but it was much the same as earlier. That uneven rhythm was much more bearable than the rest. You could handle that compared to the unyielding vibrations you'd had prior. Still sensitive, still aching, still wet and fluttering–but you could swallow hard and stare out the window.

You could pretend to act like there wasn't something edging you inside your cunt when it was like that.

Still, neither you nor Bucky moved your hands.

And you tortured yourself with glances at the clock every few minutes as the toy continued to whir away inside you. Merciless, yet only gradually growing unbearable. And for a solid fucking hour, you sat in your seat, legs pressing together, cunt leaking as the toy vibrated inside you, getting more and more sensitive as your climax stayed permanently out of reach. Not out of sight. It was there. It was like it was hanging right in front of you, a carrot dangling in front of a horse, but you couldn't reach it.

On the one hand–great. You didn't want to climax in a car full of your employees.

On the other hand–holy fuck. You were trembling, a little sweaty, unable to focus on the semi-important conversation Decklan and Rosanna were having. Bucky grunted or hummed in response when he was asked unimportant questions, but you were forced to actually speak words. Which was damn near impossible.

"Sorry, I'm just feeling a little…." You waved a hand at yourself when Rosanna asked if you were feeling okay. You looked a little off. "Queasy. I don't think breakfast earlier sat well with me."

You put a hand over your stomach for extra effect.

Bucky watched you carefully. You…involuntarily squirmed in your seat.

"Let's just get you on the jet then," Bucky said as the car fucking finally pulled up to the airstrip. "Let you lay down."

Fuck that. What you'd wanted was a bathroom. Your hand finally left its position beside his on the cushioned bench in the back row of the SUV when the car was in park. You felt how sticky your thighs were, and that embarrassment and dread came back tenfold. Had you soaked through your dress? You tried to take a glance back at your seat to see. Tried to do anything that might give you a hint, but Bucky was behind you. And he had his hand on your arm, already plucking up your suitcase and his duffle, pushing you toward the jet you'd pulled up directly toward.

They were still doing checks and fueling, but the stairs were loaded so you could board. An interior bathroom would've been preferred, but a bathroom was a bathroom, and you were almost sprinting to get inside. You had to wait for Bucky to check it first. You never denied him the extra safety checks when it put him at ease. Not that you expected someone to be able to sneak onto a jet without being seen when there were so many people out on the grounds there, but still. Him being at ease put you at ease.

Except just right then and there.

You could actually feel yourself dripping down your thighs, and the only saving grace was that you actively held your handbag behind you to cover any potentially embarrassing damp spots that'd soaked through during the drive.

Wow. You wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

You just needed to get the toy out, change, and everything would be fine. It'd be fucking fine. And you had a change of clothes you could access in your suitcase once you boarded. You'd be fucking fine.

Bucky waved everyone on, and you were in torture taking the steps up. Decklan and Rosanna went over to get comfortable in some plush chairs with a table between them, unpacking to relax in the extra time before taking off. And you went directly to the back of the plane where a curtain blocked off a separate section at the back for the bathroom and any flight attendant that you could opt to join you on your flights. If one was slated, they weren't there yet.

Bucky was, though. He was setting your suitcase and his duffle aside in a back cubby when you stepped through the curtain, eager to get your bag open to at least turn the toy off. Except there he was. Why?

You gave him a tight smile and started to go toward the bathroom door positioned just behind him. He was mid-shrugging his coat off as you passed, and you might've stolen an extra look at how the white shirt moved around those hidden muscles.

"Still feeling queasy?" he asked, giving you a curious look over his shoulder as he hung the dark jacket up on a provided hanger. You stopped, hand on the door to the bathroom, heart pounding.

"Yes."

You jerked the handle back as he slid both hands into his pockets and gave you an expectant look. That look on him was merciless. He'd managed to roll his sleeves up just a little, giving way to that flash of metal and skin before his hands disappeared into his pockets. And the broad spread of his shoulders with the little bit of longer dark hair falling in his eye? He tilted his head forward just a little, and his look changed just enough with a knowing, wry smile that made your cunt clench in a cruel, cruel way.

You held his gaze for a second longer. He held yours.

"You sure it's just queasy?" he asked, and then he was taking a step toward you.

You were a hostage to yourself when you couldn't bring yourself to move. Bucky lifted his hand from his pocket, and pressed the back of it against your forehead. You knew you were a little sweaty, and you were actively trembling as the toy rocked inside you. Yet you merely held your breath as he sauntered up to take your temperature.

"You don't feel warm."

Fuck that. You were burning from the inside out. Molten. About to fucking explode.

"Just…bad food, I think," you breathed, getting a sharp breath of him on it when he stood that close. "I'm just…."

You motioned back toward the bathroom door, slowly turning until you were able to take a step inside. But a hand on your arm stopped you. You were tugged back just a bit before you felt something warm slip into your free hand. Something small. Something plastic.

Humiliation mixed with mortification as you felt Bucky's chest hit your back right as you peered down. His hand engulfed yours as he tucked the little remote into it, and you could feel his breath against your neck as your own stuttered.

"Just tell me next time," he said, his voice so quiet and so…rough….

Holy fuck.

Your cheeks were on fire.

His hand also didn't fall away from yours. His thumb actually stayed over yours as he moved it to do the obvious. But you were frozen a little stiff as you tried to collect yourself. Hard to do with the toy whirring inside you, but even harder when you were trying to figure out how to compose yourself and fix this horrifyingly embarrassing moment.

You just…swallowed hard.

Bucky didn't step back.

"It turned on during the meeting, didn't it?" he asked, his voice even quieter than before.

Decklan and Rosanna were still laughing away up front. Thankfully, the thin velvet curtain kept your embarrassment hidden from them. Only so long as you were utterly silent. You had no clue how sound carried from you to them.

But that was fine because you couldn't do a damn thing besides simply nodding your head once. Stiffly. A shaky breath came next as your thumb traced over the circle that, if held, would turn it off.

Reluctantly, as you flicked your eyes over in the direction of the curtain and back down to the remote, you nodded again. You never knew you could be more mortified than you were then. Yet you felt compelled to speak.

"And in the elevator." You closed your eyes. "And the car."

There was a pause when your voice came out in a hoarse, awkward whisper. And…and you felt Bucky's breath catch. The slightest inhale, but it was there. It caught like a snagging thread, and his chest just barely gave way to the stuttering movement.

"I figured." His hand twitched atop yours. "I swiped it when you got out of the car."

Oh, god. You dared a glance back at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as your eyes locked. He was…so close. And the toy was still on. Why hadn't you turned it off yet? You caught that steely blue glare of his only for a moment before your eyes dipped lower. His jaw was set tight, and his throat bobbed with a swallow.

"And you didn't turn it off?" you asked, trying to sound offended. Trying to sound like the boss you were supposed to be. But it was hard. You were trembling still, the toy keeping that low rhythmic movement inside you, working you still. Closer to that orgasm that it kept out of reach. "Because…?"

Bucky's hand was a warm grasp on your hip, his fingers digging in a little more while his eyes drifted not from you, but simply lower. They seemed to follow the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down over your neck, and to where your dress felt too tight around your chest and shoulders. And the rest of your upper body.

Your heart started to beat uncontrollably when his hand skated up a little higher on your waist.

"Would you accept the answer that I didn't know how?"

His eyes were slow when they made their way back to yours. And his hand…it closed a little more around yours, moving your thumb over the buttons there. He stepped a little closer, only tilting his head for a moment to do the same as you–listening to where everyone was. You couldn't keep up, though–not with how your head was swimming. Not when he had almost his entire front pressed to your back, hidden by a mere curtain.

Your cunt fluttered when he moved, his mouth coming closer to your ear. His hands twitched again as you felt his breath hit the sensitive skin.

"I try to rectify situations, (Y/N)," he said softly. "Not worsen." He put a little bit of pressure down on your thumb, and you moved with it. You already knew what was going to happen. You knew what to steady yourself for, but even still. When your thumb pressed the button, you jolted when the toy grew stronger. "I didn't want to do that."

You staggered one step further into the bathroom, and Bucky followed. His grip stayed on you as your back arched. Half in and half out of the bathroom, Bucky became what should've been the bathroom door. His mouth brushed across your neck as you used him for support, leaning your entire weight against him, eyes fluttering shut, and knees buckling.

The vibrations were not kind inside you. The toy rocked and moved and nudged all the overstimulated places that threw you right back into the chaos of desire. For that release you'd spent the last few hours without. All the nerves, all the anxiety, all the embarrassment.

Bucky wrapped an arm around your midsection to keep you upright, and you felt his lips moving against your jaw as he spoke.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" he asked. He sounded genuine, too. There was a rough edge to his voice that was like pure velvet, and you just felt yourself bite back a necessary moan just at the sound of it.

The feel of his arm around you, the whirring of the metal beneath the white shirt, the cool pushing through to steam against your body heat…. Fuck. Was that his heart you felt racing, or were you just struggling to keep up with your own? His breaths came steadier than yours, but still quickly. You felt them with every move of his chest, and every exhale against your neck. The bottom of your dress was pulled up in the scramble, caught beneath his harsh hold, but you had a hard time finding the ability to care too much when the lean back against him pressed the toy right where you needed it.

Fuck it.

Just fuck it.

You shook your head no, knowing you'd already gone far past anything you'd ever return to with Bucky. Your hands fell, and you felt him quickly catch the remote before it bounced on the floor. A ragged breath seemed to leave the both of you just out of sync as you grabbed onto his arm hard, shaking as the toy pushed you closer and closer to that point.

You felt yourself dripping down your thighs again.

"Just…I need this. Please. I really fucking need this."

You pressed your head back, throwing one hand up subconsciously. You'd touched his hair before. He'd let you fix it before fundraisers and galas and after it was drenched by rain. He even let you braid it a few times when boredom took over on long flights and car rides. But

But when you reached back and threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, curling the dark strands around them, that was the first time you'd ever done that. Especially like this. Especially when–

Something just short of a groan slipped from his lips, and you felt them graze against your neck. His arm held you tighter against him like it was almost subconscious, and he walked you another step into the bathroom, doing all the work for you.

"Buck–"

The remote was a quiet clatter on the counter as you heard the bathroom door shut. It wasn't a soft or smooth sound, and in the second you registered it, your hips moving humiliatingly to try and grind on something that wasn't there, Bucky moved again. His hand was warm against your jaw as he turned your head.

He tasted like mint gum.

Oh.

Your head spun. Your head spun and your body trembled and you finally got a taste of those lips you'd been looking at for months. Fucking cruel, torturous months. He was always there. You were touching each other more often than not. He was always at your side. For fuck's sake. He knelt beside you when you were sick with the flu and rubbed your back when he found you kneeling in front of the toilet, hardly able to stand up.

Fuck.

He seemed far more hesitant than you despite the current circumstances. The kiss was slow and chaste as he guided his fingers down along your throat in the lightest touch. The sigh that it pulled from you was more obscene than the way you gripped his arm as the toy pushed you closer to your climax. You shuddered underneath the tender touch, eyes half-lidded as you looked up at him, the kiss breaking for a mere moment as you gasped for a breath.

And in the second it took for your eyes to lock–in the second it took for the toy to press against that sweet spot just enough to make your back arch and your thighs tremble–Bucky was back on you. His tongue curled as your mouth parted with another subdued moan, letting it slip out as a gasp instead. There was the unbelievable taste of him as he cupped your jaw once more, and you felt like you were being tugged between relief and torture.

"James," you sputtered, tugging the sleeve of his shirt up higher as your climax got right there. "I'm…."

You just wanted a little more. Your clit ached for attention. It'd gone hours without any true contact, and you were going to lose it if you didn't give it just a little taste to push you over the edge. And you tried to keep an ear out for Decklan and Rosanna. You tried to close your eyes as you gasped for another deep breath, listening through the door, but your whole world was turning on its side as you felt your cunt clench around the toy.

You reminded yourself to give Bucky a raise when he moved. One hand came rather gently over your mouth while his lips pressed soft kisses to your neck. And down over your midsection, his other arm kept you pinned against him, letting you use him for support for your entire self, while it moved lower.

You thought you were going to explode when you saw him tug your dress the last little bit up that you'd needed. You yanked hard on his hair as his hand muffled a particularly lewd sound. Just seeing his hand there, just above your cunt…. Fuck. You caught a glimpse of your white underwear entirely soaked through. How your thighs were glistening and sticky. How your legs parted for his hand, even though it'd stopped.

"Please," you whined behind his hand.

Bucky was a patient man but never one to ignore an order from his boss.

The metal on his hand was only slightly warmer as it skated over you, and he didn't go underneath. For whatever reason, you hardly cared beyond the few seconds it took his fingers to brush your clit. That was it. You tugged harder on his hair, earning a groan from him that vibrated in his chest rather roughly, but only slipped out on a soft breath. His mouth trailed burning kisses still as his fingers worked a quickly-found rhythm over your clit, giving you a fucking show of how wantonly desperate you were. How awfully the toy had left you after hours of being stuck with it.

You felt his erection hard through his pants as he panted, and there was the faintest press of his hips forward as he stroked your clit faster. The metal dragged like fucking art over your soaked underwear, and that was it. That was all you had in you. Bucky was stroking your clit, controlling the toy inside you, and coaxing an orgasm out of you that'd been edged and neglected since that morning.

Every muscle in his body went hard as he held you flush against him, and he made a quiet shhh sound next to your ear before you burst. You choked on the sound that tried to slip out, hopefully stifled enough by Bucky's hand still over your mouth. But it was impossible to truly keep quiet. The pleasure that tore through you was almost unbearable.

Your knees gave out, and every nerve seemed to come alight in the best possible way. Your cunt fluttered around the toy, every ripple of pleasure getting coaxed out of you by the way it rocked inside of you; it pressed against your sweet spot with cruel precision, lending you to gush over it enough so that you felt yourself drip. It was a humiliating feeling, but it basically milked you of all you'd had built up. All you'd been denied.

And you'd wanted to scream.

Instead, you gave Bucky's hair a hard yank, fell against him, and sobbed softly into his palm as the pleasure pushed you to your brink.

Your hands only left him when it became too much. Coming down from your high, his fingers were stroking over your clit when it was far too swollen and sensitive. And the toy–holy fuck. You shoved one hand down to grab his wrist–his hand moving immediately–and your other went to the counter. Bucky moved with you, keeping you upright as his hand fell from your mouth as you scrambled to turn the toy off.

With a frantic press of the button, the toy finally stilled inside you.

And with Bucky still pressed against you, your bodies too warm and clothing wrinkled–wrinkled, ruined, and utterly wet, in your case–you both panted. Your quieted breaths filled the otherwise silent bathroom, giving way to the muted sounds of Decklan and Rosanna down the way. Just beyond that thin curtain.

And Bucky….

Oh, fuck.

There was a little mirror that gave away your expressions. Yours, fucked out, lustful, and vulnerable. And his, wild compared to the composure he normally had, a tenderness behind his eyes as yours locked, and…. And a draw that had you nowhere near complaining when his fingers twitched against where you'd shoved them on your inner thigh. They glided over where you'd left your skin wet and sticky.

You swallowed hard. His cock was still hard against you, and his cheeks were a light red. The long strands of hair you'd wrapped around your fingers were left wavy and messy, his pupils were blown, and his mouth as swollen as yours from the kiss. His chest heaved just as yours did, and you…you could feel his heart racing as you pressed into his hold.

"James," you started, voice weak on a whisper.

But you had no fucking clue what to say. There wasn't anything you'd practiced in all your years of being on the Earth of how to look someone in the eye after that. No idea what you were supposed to say to break the tension. You knew what you'd wanted to do if it was just the two of you. If he…if he was really as interested as his cock made him out to be.

But Rosanna and Decklan were out there. And a flight attendant could arrive on board at any moment. The pilot, too. And any workers coming to do last-minute checks. And he…he was Bucky. And you were you.

His fingers twitched against your inner thigh again, and you saw his eyes flick over your reflection. The raw emotion behind them almost had you slipping from his grasp and falling to your knees.

"I'll get you a change of clothes," he muttered. "Take your time…."

He took a few deep breaths as he peered down at the remote. His hand started to move against your thigh, and it passed over your cunt oh-so-very briefly on the way back up.

You almost grabbed it to keep it there.

"Take your time composing yourself." He blew out a long breath, very, very slowly righting himself and you. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "I'll make sure they set out some ginger ale for your stomach."

His eyes glinted as he stepped back. His movements were as stiff as his cock, but that and the burning in his gaze gave him away. He turned you before he reached for the door, and you were too close again. One of his thighs went between your legs as he pressed you against the counter. The edge was freezing cold in your palms as you clutched it, hunching just a bit as you tried to compose yourself. But Bucky made that so fucking hard when he was right there like that. When he had his hands on your waist as he pointlessly fixed the dress you were about to strip out of. When he skimmed his hands over your sides, his thumbs caressing the bottom of your breasts for just a second on their way up to your jaw. He wiped the backs of his fingers beneath one of your eyes, and you saw a smudge of mascara left on his knuckle.

"Thank you," you muttered, but it had nothing to do with what he'd said.

You locked eyes as his fingers brushed along your jaw before his hands fell. His cock was still straining in his pants when his mouth curled into the faintest smile. His hands didn't make it all the way down. One stopped. One gave your chin a little pinch, and you found yourself melting as his eyes fell to your lips.

Do it.

You leaned into his touch as a second passed. Then another.

Your little lean was all it took, and Bucky gracious closed the gap, tugging up on your chin to guide you to him. Meeting halfway, the kiss was a slow, sweet, savoring moment that made the bathroom feel like its own separate entity. The curl of his tongue against yours, the soft gasp that slipped from your lips, the twitch of his fingers as they skated back along your jaw.

You were actively still recovering from your climax when Bucky pulled back, and yet your body had lurched into overdrive for more. To strip that shirt from him, yank his belt off, and steal away all the sweet sounds that might leave his mouth with a kiss as you rode him. You would've. You would've thrown caution to the wind right then and there if that was Bucky's prerogative.

But he was already stepping back, giving you one more lingering look.

He wiped his hand over the rough salt and pepper stubble going along his jaw, and his other reached back for the door. He got it on the first attempt, and nothing else was said as he paused, listening, waiting. And when the coast was clear, he gave you one last glimpse of him as he licked his lips, his eyes seeming glued to you, and he jerked the door open just enough so he could turn and slip out.

Holy fuck.

It shut tightly behind him, and you sank down onto the top of the toilet.

Holy….

You pawed for the remote to take the batteries out of the back, your hands shaking as you did so. All you could taste was him. All you could feel was him. All you could breathe was him. And you had to go survive a three-hour plane ride with him beside you. Agony in its own right, and even worse knowing he was surely nursing an erection that you…you were not going to stop thinking about for ages.

You peered at the door as you heard the soft sounds of your suitcase opening.

Fuck, Bucky.

You let out a shaky breath.

Three hours….

“GIRLY POP” you laugh as you roll your eyes getting out of your bed to meet Jack down stairs in the living room. “What’s up Jack, how was filming?” You asked while you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you, one of his hands on your ass while he kissed all over your face. “It was good, happy we’re almost finished finally” he said sitting the two of you on the couch with you on his lap facing him.

“I have a surprise for you though.” he explained with his hands outlining your hips. Confused you tilt your head  “A surprise, what is it?” “Well since I've been working and stuff I decided to rent out a cabin for a couple of days, it's big as hell and it has a lake and hot tub so get ready for some late night adventures” Gasping you pull him into a hug pressing a kiss onto his lips. “You didn’t have to do that Jack I would have just enjoyed your company here.”  

Shaking his head he lays a kiss to your cheek “It’s fine we need this and you deserve it baby, thank you for sticking by me through this.”, “I packed of a bunch of clothes for you, all we have to do is get in the car.” “Jack be foreal are we really going to a cabin right now?” you asked, thinking this was too much to be true. You remembered how one time he told you that he was taking you to a disney cruise but in reality he took you to a beach and taught you how to ride a surfboard with a Mickeymouse head on it. 

You really hope he was being serious because you were not trying to have your time be wasted. “This isn’t the “disney cruise, okay, we're actually going to a cabin” Nodding your head you decide to trust him. Getting up you two made your way to your bedroom to make sure he didn’t forget anything, surprisingly he didn't so you guys made your way into his white tesla and are now on the road. The ride wasn’t super long it was about an hour. On the way there you guys talked a lot. You were able to tell him about what's been going on at work and with your friend group. 

He told you a little about the movie and about new music that he wanted to make and some celebrity gossip which was very entertaining. As the ride came to an end you pulled up to the cabin that was surrounded by trees and a lake in front of it the sunlight reflecting onto it beautifully. You also noticed how there were already two cars in the driveway. Turning to Jack you ask him “Are there already people here?”, “Yeah you know I had to bring my people with me.” 

Rolling your eyes you buckle your seatbelt back in. “Take me back home.”, “What do you mean?, let go inside.” Shaking your head you respond “No i’m not going in there. I don't feel like being surrounded by a bunch of people whether they're your friends or not.” Sighing Jack ran his hands down his face before reaching over and unbuckling your seatbelt. “Comon don’t do this right now the same way you say you haven’t been able to see me they haven't been able to see me either it wouldn’t be fair to them or you. “

“I really don’t care Jack, you should have thought about that before you did this, now look at you.” Groaning Jack turned toward you, his hand covering your thigh. “Why are you acting like this any other time you have no problem hanging out with our friends, now all of a sudden you don’t want to be around them? You really make no sense to me.”  

“I could literally care less about anything you're talking about right now, take me home or i’m going to get an Uber” you started unlocking your phone and going to the uber app right before you felt your phone being snatched right out of your hands. “Your not getting a fucking uber and i’m not takin ungrateful ass home ethier so deal with it.” “I’m ungrateful because I want to spend alone time with you? Whatever.” You said crossing your arms against your chest. 

“You wanted to be alone with me baby?” Jacked asked  as he ran his hand up and down your thigh your breath heightened as you feel his rough hands on your smooth skin. Looking straight ahead you say nothing, not wanting to give in too easily. “Huh. You don’t hear me speaking to you?’ he asked as he reached over, unbuckling your shorts that you had on along with your panties. 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk, I'll get something out of you one way or another.” Using his hands he moves your body towards his seat to where the back of your head is now  facing the window and you're sitting sideways in your seat (a/n I really hope this makes sense since the reader is facing Jack instead of being across him.) 

With your bare core out Jack spreads your lips with his fingers before he closes his mouth around your clit, his tongue moving in a regular speed causing your head to tilt as you covered your mouth with your hands so no sound would escape from you. Jack saw this and moved his tongue against you faster as you used your other hand to grip his hair pulling him closer to you as your hips moved at their own pace meeting Jack’s pace with his tongue. 

The need you had to moan was unbearable. Your body felt hot as you could hear your boyfriend’s tongue move against you which caused you to get even more turned on as you felt your body start to shake. Two fingers enter you as you meet Jacks eyes as plunges his fingers in and out of your before his takes your cliit in his mouth again feeling you come undone against him as you gasped for air. 

He didn’t care though not even when you tried to pull him away from you he kept going. “Jack stop, baby i’m done!” you said as you felt him licking up the creamy substance that had escaped you. “You done fighting with me y/n?” He asked his head now laying on your stomach ,you nod still trying to catch your breath. “C'mere and sit on my lap pretty.” He commanded, pulling his seat all the way back unbuckling his pants and pulling his cock out of his boxers. 

Reaching over you put both legs on the side of him straddling him as you guide the head of his cock into your entrance. You both sigh as you ease him inside of you, missing him inside of you. Grabbing your hips Jack moves you along his cock make you take all of him and when you got all the way inside of you he threw his head back with his eyes closed shut. 

“C'mon give it to me Jack” you pleaded as you moved your hips toward his thighs starting to burn a little bit. “Fuck this pussy is way to fucking good to me pretty.” he groaned as he started to move his hips from under you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you attach your lips to his neck as you feel him starting to twitch inside of you. 

“Your going to make me cum so hard baby fuck” he exclaimed when he felt you cleching around him as you were appraoching your second orgasm. “Cum inside of me, fill me up with all of your cum” you said as you started to cum squeezing your eyes closed until you saw white feeling Jack fill you up with his cum as you tried to to control your breathing. 

Jack rubs your back and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead. “Next, time we’ll go on a trip with just the two of us, I just wanted to be able to please everyone at the same time, next time I got you though, maybe we’ll actually go on a disney cruise this time” Hitting his chest you laugh as he places a kiss across your cheek.

*Ring*

"We talked about this," he whispers, standing completely still, but doesn’t turn around.

Yeah, you talked about it, but that was months ago, before you decided to do anything, before you shared your worries with each other in the hushed silence of a shared bed, before he would claim that it’s too late to go back to his place and you’d watch movies cuddled on the couch together, before you began to let those moments get to your head. 

Before you fell for him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, “We did.” your voice was shaky as you held your breath to avoid tears spilling out. He turns around then, to see you looking towards the side table, there’s nothing of any special notability on top of it, but it’s better than looking into his piercing eyes.

You didn’t know that they were anything but piercing, more soft, when looking at your eyes glistening with unshed tears and the uneven pacing of your bare chest rising and falling with each exhale and inhale. 

“So you know…we can’t...” he begins remorsefully, not wanting to utter the word out loud in fear that it would hurt you more by insinuating something he can’t provide you.

“Yeah.” You cut him off. You didn’t want him to continue. It was embarrassing enough lying in bed fully nude while the guy you love just walks away like you're nothing, then bluntly telling you he doesn’t want to be with you. “...can-...can you leave?” you look at him then. 

He doesn’t want to, but he obliges with your wishes. He puts on his shirt and socks. He’s not fast by any means, concerned with leaving you alone. He scrambles for a minute to find the ring that flew off earlier in his…haste, but eventually it is finally time for him to depart. He stands with his knees flush to the end of the bed and looks at you with your head now buried under the covers, just the crown of your head visible, and he hesitates. Not wanting to leave things on such a bad note, he gives you a kiss on your crown and quickly makes his exit. 

After applying his shoes and coat at the front door, he steps into the cold. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he takes one last look to your door. He knows what this means for the future of his relationship; you do too.

And neither of you are ready to accept it.

(･ω<)☆

I realized as I was posting this that the ring part makes it sound like bro is married and him and reader are having an affair 💀 That was not my intention lol. but you can think that if you want 🤷‍♀️btw I lowkey want to write more for this or like, a second part, but I have no idea what I’d write lol. anyway, thanks for reading <3