#but my other options are two very fancy things just because of the fabric i have........

[liefdesleven]

im sooo stressed with zero reason....im so stressed about SEWING CLASS a thing i actively enjoy. agoraphobia is insane

[sweet-villain]

Cause I Believe ~7~ Older Eddie Munson

Part 6

Summary : You take Eddie one a date, a thing happens and a real talk happens too.

You rummaged through your closet, the fabric of your favorite shirt brushing your fingers. An old band tee, rough at the edges. Perfect.

“Eddie’s never seen you like this,” you muttered, slipping into a pair of boots. The mirror reflected a spark of excitement.

Eddie strolled into your apartment, a lopsided grin beneath his wild curls. He held a worn cowboy hat, tilting it to eye it nervously. 

“Does this make me look… ridiculous?” He scrunched his face, hand pressed against the brim, weighing it. He added a toothpick to the corner of his mouth

“Only if you don't wear it right,” you shot back, grabbing it from his hands. With a swift move, you placed it on his head, adjusting it playfully.

His hands brushed the felt, fingertips lingering on the edge. “I don't know, this kinda feels like a costume party. Are they gonna laugh at me?”

“They’ll envy you. Just watch.”

He shuffled his feet, both anxious and curious. “And you really want to take me line dancing?”

“Trust me. You’ll look good out there—just… follow my lead.”

Eddie shrugged, lips twitching up into a reluctant smile. “Fine, but if I step on your toes, I’m blaming you.”

" Stop being such a drama queen.....Edward.. your full name is Edward?" Eddie rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile crept onto his lips. “Not even close. Eddie Munson, through and through, no fancy names needed.” 

"Suit yourself, Edward" you teased, while he huffed. “Very funny. Let’s hope the dance floor doesn’t chew me up and spit me out,” he quipped, his fingers brushing against the guitar pick necklace that hung loosely around his neck. 

" You'll be fine, a rockstar like you dancing like that would sure catch attention.." 

Eddie snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, because all the hotshot musicians just waltz into honky-tonks to show off their two left feet.” He adjusted the hat again, this time tilting it slightly to the side.

" You look good, but didn't you wear this shirt the other day?" you poked the sleeveless shirt that was torn on the bottom. 

Eddie shot you a mock glare. “You have no proof.” He crossed his arms, the pinky of his left hand gripping the collar like a shield. “Plus, it’s got... character.”

“Character, huh? More like it you need a new wardrobe" 

“Hey, this is vintage!” Eddie pronounced, his eyes widening as if he held the most valuable treasure. “A real piece of nostalgia. It’s a whole vibe, you know?”

" Yeah a vibe, I bet you only owe like three pair of pants" 

He chuckled, pushing the brim of the hat up with a finger. “Three? Try five. Every rockstar needs options.” He flashed a grin that danced across his face like a flickering flame.

“Do you have leapord pants too now? " you teased. 

Eddie leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only on wild nights when I need to bring out my inner animal.” 

You laughed, imagining Eddie in a pair of leopard print trousers. 

“Please, hold your horses. We're not going to any rockstar show. Line dancing. I wanna see what moves you have." 

“Moves? Is that what we’re calling this?” Eddie wiggled his hips in an exaggerated fashion, his hat nearly slipping off. “I don’t think these hallowed halls of line dancing are ready for my signature moves.” He says. 

" Oh they aren't ready for two left feet Eddie Munson" you teased. Eddie rolled his eyes, his grin wide, revealing that spark of mischief. “Two left feet? I'm just saving my energy for the big show. The crowd can only handle so much.” 

“Right. And I’m sure they all are dying to swoon over your feet" 

Eddie straightened up, hands on his hips, feigning a pose. “I’m a wild card, baby. A real showstopper.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he failed to suppress a grin.

" Okay wild card, let's go before we're late" you pushed him out the door and locking the apartment. 

As you stepped into the brisk evening air, the sound of the city buzzed around you. The moon hung low, casting a golden color over everything. 

He opened the passenger side door for you. 

"Such a gentleman," you quipped, sliding into the seat. 

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn’t mask the grin spreading across his face. “I gotta score some points before the toe-stepping starts.” He settled into the driver’s side, starting the car. 

" You need to clean this car once in awhile, Munson" you shoved some candy wrappers into the cup holder. 

Eddie chuckled, tossing an amused glance your way. “It’s character! Makes it feel lived-in. Besides, it matches my wardrobe perfectly.” He revved the engine, a low rumble that vibrated through the seats.

" It smells like someone died in here too" you waved your hand around. 

Eddie’s laughter blended with the rev of the engine as he arched an eyebrow at you. “Now you’re just being melodramatic. It’s called… ambiance.” He shot you a wink, shifting gears as he pulled onto the parking lot onto the road. 

" Do you know where we're going, Eddie? I'm suppose to be taking you on the date.." 

Eddie glanced at you, smirking. “Well, I thought I was the one supposed to be leading the way.” He turned onto a side street, tires crunching against gravel. “ Besides I don't think I'm all ready for you to drive my car" He adds. 

You looked disbelief, throwing your hands up. “What? Scared of my stellar driving skills?” 

“Let’s not test the limits of either my car or my sanity tonight.” Eddie leaned back, a mixture of amusement and mock horror dancing across his eyes. 

You gave Eddie the directions to go. 

" Wait, you must like me a lot to do this. You're not the type to like things like this" you turned to face him.

Eddie’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel, the rhythm of the car matched by the pace of his heartbeat. “You’re right. I don’t typically pair my dark aesthetic with sparkly boots and cowgirl hats.”

“Sparkly boots? Eddie they have glitter on them and it's barely showing" you chuckled, shaking your head. 

Eddie chuckled, his laughter warm against the cool evening air. “Just because they don’t shine like a disco ball doesn’t mean they don’t pack a punch. Besides,” he added, glancing sideways with a sly grin, “maybe I'm looking to impress you."

Heat washed over your cheeks, and a laugh escaped before you could catch it. You glanced out the window, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across the dashboard, trying to mask the flutter in your chest. 

He parks the car in front of the small like resturant that blaring music inside, Eddie scrunches his nose not liking it to his taste. He leaves the car running as he looks over at you. 

Eddie’s gaze shifted to the entrance, where flashes of neon painted the night. “So this is the place, huh? Looks like a set from an old Western flick.” He chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty beneath the tone he was using.

"you'll have fun" you reassured him by putting your hand on top of his on the sterring wheel. 

Eddie glanced down at your hand, fingers curling slightly as if absorbing the warmth. His brow relaxed, though uncertainty still lingered in his tight smile.

“Right, line dancing. This is totally my scene,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. " Born to do this" he groans. 

“Come on, rockstar. Embrace it!” You nudged him playfully, your touch lingering a moment longer than needed. The anticipation bubbled within you.

Eddie sighed, " You're lucky your cute." 

You laughed, caught off guard, the compliment hanging between you like a soft note. Eddie turned to face you, his expression a mix of challenge and intrigue. “Alright, cuteness. Let’s see if I can charm the boots off someone tonight." 

He turns off his car and walks around the passenger side to open the door. 

" After you princess" he says offering his hand out to you. 

You took his hand, a jolt like electricity sparking between your palms. With a confident stride, you stepped out, feeling the weight of the night settle around you. Eddie followed, the sound of his boots thudding against the pavement. 

His hand found yours as he locked the car behind him, following you as you led him inside. He stops in his tracks over looking the scene and feels his anxiety building up.

Eddie froze like a deer in headlights.

His hand was sweating against yours. 

You took a breath, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth seep through your skin. “It’s just dancing, Eddie. Just people having fun,” you whispered, trying to anchor him as the neon lights flickered with riotous energy.

He shook his head, looking down at the ground. 

" Not my scene" 

You stepped closer, letting your fingers slip from his grasp, gently guiding his chin up. “Look at me. You can do this.” Your voice was steady, anchoring him. 

Eddie met your gaze, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah, but what’s the worst that can happen?” he replied, a hint of humor creeping into his tone even as doubt flickered in his eyes.

As you lead him to the dance floor, he followed slowly and took deep breathes. He didn't want to do this. 

" We don't have to if you don't want to" you tell him, bringing his fingers up and kissing them. The rings brusing agaisnt his lips.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. “What was that for?” 

You shrugged, heart racing under his gaze. “Just giving you a little push. It helps to think about the fun, not the fear."

His cheeks flushed red as he looked down at you. 

" I'm not the age I used to be, my body isn't the same" he scratched his beard. 

“Age is just a number, Eddie. You’ve got spirit,” you countered, a playful lilt dancing in your tone.

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Spirit? Is that what you call nearly tripping over my own feet?” 

“We’ll start slow, I promise,” you said. You started to show him how you danced when a whirl of cowboy boots and laughter filled the air as the group encircled you, their movements following like clockwork.

You started to do what they were doing, smiling along. 

Eddie watched, mouth slightly agape, as you glided across the floor, spinning through the rhythm with grace. You pointed to your feet, mimicking the simple steps of the dance—a gentle as feather. Eddie moved slightly but he felt his anxiety eating him alive.

Eddie stood there, still rooted to the spot as you twirled and stepped, the pulsating beat pulling you like a magnet toward the rhythm. 

You saw how awkard he felt and started to pull him off the dance floor to the side.

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your breath brushing against his ear over the fading chords of a country tune. “Stay right here. I’ll grab us something to drink. Just breathe.” 

" Do my best" he says. Eddie stood awkwardly, his fingers tracing his own guitar pick necklace, until the woman approached him with an easy smile that glinted under the lights. 

“Hey there, stranger,” she said, " you alone?" she flirted putting her hand on his arm. " Nice tattoos" she adds. 

Eddie’s heart raced as her eyes sparkled with interest. He tried to shift his weight, but his feet felt glued to the floor, a sudden wave of heat rushing to his cheeks. 

“Uh, yeah, just, uh…” He didn't know what to say. You turned to walk back to the table and stopped in your tracks seeing the woman with Eddie. 

You paused, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. The woman’s smile broadened, her fingers grazing Eddie's arm.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” you said, stepping back, placing the drinks a little too hard on the table. You didn't look at Eddie. 

Eddie’s expression shifted, surprise etched on his features as his gaze flickered between you and the woman. 

“Uh, hey,” he stammered, stumbling over himself as he realized you had returned. “This is, uh…” He looked wide eyed not knowing the woman's name. 

" Brittany" the woman says leaning closer to Eddie. 

Your heart sank, and the heat pooled in your cheeks. 

“Brittany, huh?” you said, forced cheerfulness lacing your voice. You crossed your arms, glancing between her and Eddie, whose face reflected confusion mixed with embarrassment. 

" Yeah, didn't you hear?" She scoffed. 

“Eddie here has got some killer taste in music,” she said, leaning closer, the laugh spilling like melted honey from her lips. 

Eddie shifted, his eyes darting between you and Brittany. “Right, uh, music. Yeah I uh..." 

" You two have fun then" you rolled your eyes, a thin smile on your lips. 

Eddie seemed to wilt under the weight of the moment, his eyes wide with confusion. “Wait, no, I—”

“Right?” Brittany interjected, a laugh following each of her words like a melody. “We were just talking about how handsome you are" Brittany ran her fake nails across his beard.

Eddie’s eyes darted between you and her, helplessness creeping into his expression. “I—thank you?” He stumbled over his words, a sheepish grin forming as his gaze landed on you.

You forced a chuckle, but a roll of eyes added. 

" I'll find my own way home" you mumbled. 

Eddie’s facade cracked, confusion etched across his face. “Wait—what? No, don't leave. I—”

“Hey, no worries!” Brittany interjected, winking at you as if claiming a piece of the night. “You don't need to worry about him. I'll take good care of him." 

You forced another smile, but the tightness in your chest felt suffocating. 

Eddie glanced between you and Brittany, his expression a mix of disbelief and guilt. “No, seriously, you don't need to…” 

But Brittany, sits in his lap as she wraps her arms around him. " What's your name, sugar?" She asked him.

Eddie shifted beneath her, eyes darting between you and the woman . “Uh, it’s Eddie,” he replied, voice barely rising above the music. 

You downed your drink and headed towards the door feeling sick watching him have her on him like that.

The front door swung open, the crisp night air slapping against your face like a wake-up call. 

You should of known flirting with Eddie was all it was going to get you. He wasn't about to choose you over some girl that walked up to him and sat herself on him. 

You stepped outside, the rush of cold air biting against your flushed cheeks as your mind raced. 

" Y/N?" A voice called out to you. You turned to see Steve. 

“Hey!” Steve jogged over, his brow knit with concern as he took in your pale expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

" I was suppose to go on a date with Eddie..." you mumbled.

Steve nods knowing you were suppose to.

" What happened?" 

“It's just… he’s sitting there with her.” You gestured back toward the entrance. The neon lights and thumping bass pulsed behind you, but all you could focus on was the sight of Eddie and Brittany’s laughter echoing in your ear.

" With who?"

“Brittany,” you spat, the name bitter on your tongue. “All it took was one glance from her and he’s wrapped around her finger.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed, concern deepening in his eyes. “But it was suppose to be about you guys" 

“Exactly,” you spat, crossing your arms tightly against your chest. Anger simmered beneath your skin, mixed with a thrum of hurt. “It doesn’t matter, though. He’s obviously enjoying himself.” 

The warmth of Steve's embrace enveloped you, but the tension coiled tightly in your chest refused to melt away. He held you there, grounding and steady.

" When did you grow out a scruff?" you poked it.

Steve chuckled, his hand scratching the stubble. “Not sure—I guess just got tired of looking like a kid." He leaned back slightly, brow cocked, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “What do you think? Too much?"

" No it suits you" The door opened and you frowned seeing who it was. 

Eddie stepped out, the neon lights dimming around him, but the glow of confusion lingered in his eyes. Brittany trailed behind him, still radiating confidence, her laughter trailing like a ribbon in the wind. 

“Y/N!”Eddie calls out. " Why did you leave?"

You forced a smile, but your heart twisted at the sight of him emerging from the dim light. Confusion laced his expression, a mixture of guilt and concern.

“Just needed some air,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. Eddie eyes Steve arm around you.

Eddie’s gaze flickered between you and Steve, uncertainty clouding his expression. “Did something happen?”

" Could ask you the same thing" Steve says as he pushes you behind him.

Eddie blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?” His brow furrowed, confusion deepening. Steve eyes the girl besides Eddie. 

" Her" Steve pointed to Brittany.

Eddie's gaze flicked to Brittany, who stood with a smirk, hand on her hip, reveling in the attention. “What? We were just talking,” he replied, defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“Talking?” You echoed, snorting too. " Yeah, talking" you hissed. 

Brittany rolled her eyes, as if she were somehow above it all. “Is there a problem here?” She stepped forward, her stance wide and unfazed by the tension. 

“ Yeah, he should of been with the person he came on the date with instead of some bimbo." 

Brittany smirked, her confidence showing “Oh, honey, I’m not the one who walked away.” Her words dripped with false sweetness, but her challenge hung heavily in the air. 

Eddie shifted on his feet, and you pursed your lips seeing he wasn't going to say anything. 

" You call me a kid, Munson when you can't even use your mouth to talk" you mumbled. 

Eddie’s mouth opened, then closed again.

" Right" you nodded. 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to…” he started, but the hesitated. 

" Make me feel like a second choice?" 

Eddie’s brows furrowed, confusion and frustration etching deeper lines on his face. He opened his mouth to object, struggling with his words, but the silence felt heavy between you. 

“C'mon, Y/N. It’s not fair" he says. 

“Not fair? What’s not fair is watching you swoon over someone else while I hang back like a forgotten accessory,” you shot back, arms crossed tighter against your chest. 

Eddie stared, mouth agape, searching for the right response.

" Grow up, Munson" 

His eyes flashed with something—embarrassment mixed with urgency. “You don’t understand,” he pleaded, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just—”

“Just what? Just happened? You lost your words as soon as you saw her tits?" 

Eddie flinched at your words, his face flushing crimson. He took a step closer, desperation mingling with frustration in every line of his face. 

“Y/N, this isn’t—” Eddie started, his hands clenching at his sides, but you cut him off.

“Isn’t what? Isn’t fair? Look at you,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “You can't even tell her that you came here with me. On a date. With me. Not her." 

Eddie hesitated, his mouth working silently as if the words tangled in his throat. “I—”

“Just stop.” Your voice firm, the anger spilling over. “I don’t want excuses."

Eddie’s hands fell to his sides as he swallowed hard, eyes darting away. " What do you want me to do?" He asks.

" Just once don't make me feel like the second choice" 

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel that way.” 

" You did, you can go with her. This date is over" you shrugged. 

Eddie shifted back, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. “Y/N—”

“Just… go, Eddie. Enjoy your night,” you said, voice trembling, trying to appear happier for him even as hurt rippled through your chest. 

Eddie steps towards you, " No." 

Eddie stepped toward you, pleading in his eyes. “No,” he repeated, voice low, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

You turned away, arms crossed tighter, to ignore him. But he turns you around and cups your face. 

Your breath caught as he cupped your face, warmth radiating from his palms. His brown eyes starting down at you. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, his voice a low murmur . “I don’t want this to be over.”

" Then why didn't you push her off her lap when she sat on you? Why didn't you kissed me or something in front of her?" 

Eddie's eyes flared with a mix of determination and regret, his grip on your cheeks gentle yet firm. "Because I didn't see it coming. One minute I'm just being me, and then she's… she’s all over me." 

" The correct words you could of used was to tell her to fuck off" 

Eddie's brow furrowed, a spark igniting in his eyes. “I know! I should have,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I just—everything happened so fast.” 

“Fast?” you scoffed. " You were just too scared to hurt her feelings." 

" I'm not paying attention to her" Eddie starts. " She caught me off guard." 

You pulled away slightly, feeling the heat radiating from his hands as you tried to process his words. “Caught off guard? Is that your excuse now?” 

Eddie’s frustration bubbled to the surface, his brow furrowing deeper. “ Look" Eddie was trying to find words to explain but finding none. He took matter in his hands and kissed you. 

Eddie’s lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, then deepening as a surge of warmth swept over you. The world around you faded. He continued to kiss you while his hands went into your hair. 

You melted into the kiss, warmth spreading through your body like wildfire. His breath mingled with yours, soft yet electric, awakening every nerve ending. 

He pulls away breathless, " I like you." He kisses your forehead. 

He kissed your nose. " I like you" 

" I'm still here" Brittany mumbles. 

Eddie’s gaze flickered over your shoulder toward Brittany, eyes sparking with an unfamiliar mix of irritation. “Well, that’s sweet,” he said, irritation edging his voice. “But this is between Y/N and me.”

" You walked out with me, sugar" Brittany says. 

Eddie's expression hardened, his frustration flaring. “This isn’t some playground. You made your choice, and I make mine,” he snapped.

" I thought she wasn't your choice" Brittany says, scoffing. 

Eddie’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing on Brittany as if she had just crossed an invisible line. “When did I ever say that?” He stepped closer to you, grounding himself in your presence. “Y/N is the one I came here with, the one I like. I don't know you." 

" But you could" Brittany stepped closer to Eddie. 

“I’m not interested, alright? I’m here with Y/N, and that’s where I want to be.” 

" What can she offer you that I can't?" Brittany asks. 

“Y/N doesn’t have to offer me anything. It’s about the connection, the chemistry we have. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Brittany scoffed, " We can have more chemisty.. even in the bedroom" she smirks. 

Eddie’s jaw clenched, fire flickering in his eyes. “What part of ‘not interested’ didn’t you get?” He stepped forward, effectively putting space between you and Brittany as if to protect you from her unwanted presence. 

Brittany chuckles, " I know you want more. I mean I have a better ass than her" 

“That doesn’t matter. You think you can just waltz in and assume you’ve got me wrapped around your finger?” His voice rose.

" She kinda did" you mumbled. 

Eddie shot you a glance, confusion mingling with frustration. “No, she didn’t. You think I’d let that happen?” 

" You did when she sat in your lap" 

“I didn’t want it to happen, alright? I didn’t know what to do!”

Brittany folded her arms, a smirk plastered on her face.

" It's called pushing her off and telling her to fuck off!" 

“I get it, okay? I messed up. But I’m not going to stand here and let you dictate what I want.” 

" Then what do you want? Because, we keep going in circles." 

“I want you. Just you. Can’t you see that?”

Brittany crossed her arms, unimpressed, leaning back slightly as if she were observing a theatrical performance. “But look how she's still here and you haven't exactly told her to fuck off" you tell him motioning to Brittany who was watching. 

Eddie's gaze flickered between you and Brittany, frustration simmering as he ran a hand through his hair. “Why do you think I’m giving her the cold shoulder?” 

" You're not really, the words you need to use is fuck off to her" 

Eddie clenched his jaw, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “I know!” His hands balled into fists, but then he exhaled sharply, trying to calm in his temper. 

" Then do it!" 

He turned fully toward Brittany, eyes fierce beneath furrowed brows.

“Listen, I’m done with this charade,” he said, his voice rises. 

Brittany raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Charade? Honey, I was just keeping the fun going.” Her smile never stops.

“No,” Eddie stepped closer, " I like her" he points to you. " and you" He points to her. “...you need to back off,” he finished, voice steady, grounding himself in his decision.

" What Eddie means..." you stepped towards her" He doesn't need you to flash your fake tits his way, no thank you." 

Brittany’s expression soured, losing her playful facade. “How charming,” she spat, sarcasm coating her words like poison. “Real sophisticated, calling me out like that.” 

" You probably have more done on yourself than have the real thing" you point to yourself. 

Brittany’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flashing across her face. “At least I don't have to rely on some wannabe rockstar to feel good about myself.” 

You stepped forward, jaw tightening, ready to swing. 

Eddie's hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could take a swing. “Y/N, don’t,” he urged, his voice a steady.

“Why not?” you shot back, glancing at him. " She can't talk to me like that" you add.

Eddie's grip tightened around your wrist, a mix of urgency and concern flashing in his eyes. “Let’s not make this any worse, alright?” 

“You heard what she said,” you snapped. 

Eddie's grip softened, his thumb brushing gentle circles over your wrist, grounding you both. “I did. But fighting her won’t solve anything. Just... stay with me.”

“Why? So I can watch you flirt with her some more?"

Eddie shook his head, frustration etching deeper lines on his forehead. “Flirting? You think I was flirting?" He looked incredulous. “I was just trying to be polite!”

“Polite" you scoffed, " yeah right" you snorted.

" Okay that's it" 

Eddie lifted you effortlessly, settling you against his shoulder. “What are you doing?” you squealed, the surprise stealing the breath from your lungs. 

“You’re overreacting,” he declared, striding confidently toward the car. “ I'm not!" you punched his back.

Eddie grunted, adjusting you with surprising ease, his laughter blending with your protests. “You're definitely overreacting,” he teased, sneaking glances back over his shoulder at Brittany, whose expression morphed into amusement.

“ Don't look back at her!" you slapped his back.

Eddie smirked and kept striding toward the car as if you were just some prize he'd won at a carnival. “I can’t help it if you’re throwing a tantrum,” he teased, shifting you slightly to adjust for comfort.

He opens the door and puts you inside before he leans in and pecks your lips. 

The kiss was light, a fleeting brush, but it sent shivers through you. Eddie pulled back, his eyes searching yours, a mix of challenge and tenderness glimmering in his gaze. 

“Can you just breathe and look at me?" he asks. 

You blinked, trying to collect your thoughts as his eyes searched yours. 

"I'm looking," you replied, " not much to look at.... grandpa.." 

Eddie chuckled, his expression shifting from playful annoyance to genuine pleasure. “Grandpa? That’s rich coming from someone who’s about to throw a tantrum over a little flirtation,” he said. 

You huffed, crossing your arms, " So you admit you were flirting..." 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, the smirk tugging at his lips. "No, no. Misunderstanding, actually. What I meant was—"

“Don’t cover for it,” you interrupted, shaking your head. " Always the flirt with everything that has a pulse." 

Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it, frustration mingling with amusement. “You make it sound like I have a reputation for hitting on everyone.” 

“Please,” you shot back, arms crossed as you leaned against the seat. " Never can get attention from one woman. It has it be more." 

He sat in the driver seat.

Eddie’s brows furrowed, the playful glint in his eyes dimming slightly. “That’s not true,” he argued, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “I like you.

" You said that already" 

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have come here with you if I didn’t like you.”

" Maybe I don't like you" 

Eddie’s brows knitted together, surprise flickering across his face. “Seriously?” He leaned back in his seat, the playfulness evaporating. “You can’t be saying that.”

“and why not?" 

“Because I know you like me,” he replied, brow furrowed, voice tinged with worry. “Last time I kissed you, you didn’t exactly push me away.”

" It was just a kiss" you shrugged. 

Eddie's voice took on a softer tone, his brows knitting together as he leaned closer. “Just a kiss? Is that all it meant to you?” 

“Just a moment, Munson.” 

" I'll show you a moment" he growled. 

With one swift movement, he closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was rough, deep and full of passion.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you. 

His beard rubbed against your mouth making you feel a burn. A burn you liked. 

The kiss deepened, an electrifying rush that stirred something inside you. You could taste hints of cigarettes and something sweet, sweet enough to cloud your thoughts.

Eddie broke away, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. 

" How is that for a moment?" 

The warmth of his forehead against yours felt electric, a tangible reminder of the space that had just shrunk between you. 

You leaned in wanting to kiss him more. 

Instead of retreating, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his one more time. Eddie chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

“You want more?"

You smiled against his lips, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you like a familiar blanket. “Maybe a little,” you replied, pulling him closer, your heart racing like it had when you first stepped onto the dance floor. 

Eddie smirks as he flicks his tongue across your lips. 

His breath mingled with yours, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. “Is that all you want, Y/N?” His voice lowered, teasing. 

You leaned back slightly, gauging his expression. “What else would I want?” 

Eddie’s gaze sharpened, curiosity and mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“Say it,” he insisted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if challenging you to break the teasing barrier between you both.

" I don't know what your talking about" 

Eddie’s smirk widened, his confidence radiating as he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Playing coy now? Oh, come on. I didn’t just kiss you so you could keep me guessing.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully. 

" I don't know" you shrugged, playfully. 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Playing the game, huh? Alright, let’s change the rules then.” 

“Since when did you become a strategist?” 

" Since you want to keep kissing me" 

" Well I don't wanna kiss you anymore" you lie. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure you don’t,” he teased, leaning back slightly.

" Maybe if you kissed me a lot better, I would tell you" 

Eddie leaned in, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Is that so? You think you’re the judge of my kissing skills?” 

“Justice must be served, Munson,” you shot back, a grin dancing on your lips. 

"You asked for it" 

" Alright... sugar" you teased using the nickname Brittany called him.

Eddie’s expression shifted, a mix of amusement and irritation flashing across his eyes. “You’re gonna pay for that one, you know.” 

“Oh, I can’t wait,” you said, a playful smile stretching across your face. 

Without anymore words, he leaned over kissing you deeply with his tongue in your mouth. His tongue meets yours for battle. 

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if he wanted to imprint this moment into memory. You moaned agaisnt his lips for a moment. 

His hand grips your waist, rubbing circles on the skin he finds there. 

It ends way too soon for your liking. 

" Now what?" He asks. 

You leaned against the seat, breathless, heart pounding like a drum through your chest. " How about we go get a burger and some fries? I have the key to the diner" 

Eddie laughs, " you're playing dangerous, you sure you won't get in trouble with Harrington?" 

"If you won't tell, I won't" 

Eddie tilted his head, a playful sparkle igniting in his eyes. “A covert operation? Count me in. What’s the worst that could happen, right?” 

" Start driving then" 

Eddie chuckled, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he revved the engine. “Oh, I’m all in for this late-night escapade. Just call me your partner in crime.” 

" Good thing you're cute, grandpa" you teased. 

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto his face. “Cute, huh? Just don’t expect me to knit you a sweater or anything,” he shot back, shifting into gear as he pulled out onto the road.

" The world isn't ready for any of your sweaters or anything" 

Eddie flipped the radio on, the sound of electric guitars filling the car, drowning out the fading echoes of the bar behind you. 

"You ever wear a sweater?” he asked.

" No I walk around naked" you rolled your eyes answering him sarcastically. 

Eddie burst into laughter. “Now that’s a scene I could get behind,” he joked, winking as he focused back on the road. 

" Hey can I ask a question?" you asked.

Eddie glanced over, curiosity sparking in his brown eyes. “What’s up? You know me, I’m an open book.” He reached to turn down the knob of the radio, the electric guitars fading into a softer melody.

“With your music, do you ever think your actaully going to get big? And if you do, are you going to forget me? us?" 

Eddie tightened his grip on the steering wheel, a look washing over his face. “Wow, that’s a heavy question for a late-night burger run.” 

You leaned back against the seat, arms crossed as the engine's hum filled the air. 

" I just wanted to know, in the back of my mind I think about it" 

Eddie glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “You really think I’d forget someone like you?” His voice softened, genuine concern pooling in his gaze.

“People change, Eddie. Success changes people,” you murmured, your hearteat racing, " you might find someone else." 

Eddie's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white under the dim cab light. “Yeah, but I’m not just some dude focusing on fame and fortune. I like where I’m at. I like my friends. I like you. I like our thing. I am not rushing." 

" I'm sorry I asked" 

Eddie glanced over, concern furrowing his brow. “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re allowed to ask questions,” he said, his voice steady. “I just don’t want you thinking I’m some rock star who’d turn his back on people he cares about." 

" .... and what if you know.. get married to some chick with blonde hair or something..." 

Eddie’s laughter erupted, filling the car with a warmth that sliced through the lingering tension. “Married? To a chick with blonde hair?” He shook his head, hands still gripping the wheel as he navigated an empty road. “That's a long road to marriage." 

" Do you ever want to get married?" 

Eddie's brow knitted in thought as he shifted gears, the rumble of the engine filling the silence. “Honestly? I never really thought about it, you know? Too busy daydreaming about rock stardom and selling out arenas.”

You nodded, looking out the window. 

" How about you?" Eddie asks.

You thought for a moment, the streetlights blurring past as you stared into the night. “ yes." 

Eddie’s brow arched, surprise etched across his face. “Really? You want to settle down and wear a white dress, or something?” He glanced at you, curiosity shimmering in his brown eyes.

" Not a white dress exactly, but I want to be someone's wife. I don't know. Might sound silly to you. But I always wanted a wedding, not a big one. Small one." 

Eddie’s smile softened, his gaze steady on the road. “Not silly at all. That sounds nice. A small wedding, just close friends and family?” 

“Exactly,” you replied, your fingers tapping nervously on your knee. “Halloween themed." 

Eddie let out a bark of laughter, his eyes brightening with genuine intrigue. “Now that I can get behind! Imagine the cake—black velvet or maybe a pumpkin spice assassination with bat-shaped sprinkles.” He grinned. 

" Red bloody roses, in a small garden or somwhere where you can see the fall weather." 

Eddie's eyes widened with delight, a broad smile spreading across his face. “That sounds like a scene from a movie! A killer wedding, literally.” He laughed, his excitement infectious.

“Right? I’d have to walk down the aisle to the person I love, having them cry over me a little bit. I would want Steve to walk me down." 

Eddie's laughter faded, replaced by a soft smile that lit up his face. “That sounds perfect. And here I thought all you wanted was a burger after line dancing.”

You elbowed him playfully, your spirits lifting with the conversation.

" Shush you" you glance down at your hands. Eddie covered yours. 

" Any guy would be lucky to marry you.." He says. 

The sincerity in his voice surprised you, sending a warm tingle through your fingers where he held your hand. You glanced up at him, meeting his earnest gaze.

“Are you serious?” you asked, the words slipping from your mouth before you could say them. 

He nods, " and if you do get married... to you know someone else.." he goes quiet. 

“Someone else?” you repeated, " You don't think you'd want to marry me?"

Eddie paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He bit his lip, considering his words. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to marry you. It’s just…” he hesitated, glancing at the road, then at you, " I have dreams." 

You felt the weight of his words settle in the air like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. “Dreams?” you echoed softly, the bump in your throat rising with the unspoken tension between you. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, hands in his hair, " I really want to make music, travel the world..." 

“It sounds incredible,” you replied, trying to mask the heaviness that pressed against your chest. “But what does that mean for us?” 

" Let's take it one day at a time" 

" I don't want to hold you back..." 

Eddie’s gaze softened, his hand still enveloping yours as he navigated the winding road. “You’re not holding me back. You’re part of this ride, Y/N. The music, the chaos, all of it. I want it all but in life sometimes not everything happens.." 

You stared at him, watching the shadows dance across his face as he focused on the road, each bump in the pavement causing a slight jolt. 

You bite your lip knowing you had connections to the music industry from your parents. 

"You know," you said, your voice soft but deliberate, "my parents have connections in the music industry. If you ever need help—"

Eddie cut you off, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Y/N, no. But when were you going to tell me that?" 

" Well it's not something I talk about after losing both my parents" 

Eddie’s eyes softened, a mixture of regret and understanding washing over his expression. “Y/N…” he started, the weight of unsaid words hovering in the air. 

" I'll get you a connection, Eddie" 

Eddie’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed slightly, his eyes flickering to you with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. “You really mean that?” 

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I just want to see you succeed. You deserve the world and the world deserves to know Eddie Munson." 

Eddie's expression shifted, something between disbelief and appreciation flickering in his brown eyes. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re not just some rockstar to me, you're someone I care about.. someone..." 

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. Eddie's gaze flickered toward you, searching for the weight of what you hadn’t finished saying. 

“Someone…” he prompted, his voice softer now, inviting.

“Someone I like... a lot" you turned to face the window as he parks in the parking lot of the diner. 

The car came to a stop, the engine's rumble diving down into silence. You sat in the stillness of the car, the engine fading into a whisper as Eddie turned to face you, his expression caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty. 

“You like me a lot?” he echoed. " Let's just go inside" you were about to open the door when he reached and closed it. 

“Not so fast,” Eddie said, his voice low but steady as he leaned towards you, his intensity drawing you in. 

“You can’t just throw that ‘I like you… a lot’ into the air and expect me to let it linger." 

" You can" you went to open the door, and again he shut it. 

“Seriously?” you shot him a look, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

" We're talking about this" Eddie says. 

You crossed your arms, ready to bolt from the car, but Eddie shifted forward, his gaze locking onto yours with unexpected intensity. 

“Y/N, you can’t just drop that bomb and expect me to pretend like it didn’t explode!” He says. 

" I said what I said" you shrugged. 

" There is more to it, isn't?" He asks.

Eddie leaned closer, his gaze piercing yet soft, urging you to unveil the thoughts you buried within. 

“Y/N…” His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with expectation.

" Eddie.." 

Eddie leaned closer, his brow furrowed as if he could pry the truth out of you with sheer determination. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitated, heart racing as his earnest gaze held yours. 

“I just… I don’t think I wanna say" 

Eddie’s expression shifted, concern etching deeper lines across his forehead. “You don’t want to? Or you’re scared to?” 

You looked away, tracing the seams of your jeans with your eyes. “Maybe a bit of both,”

" Hey, it's me" Eddie says, " just us here." 

His voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you amidst the whirlpool of thoughts inside your head. 

“C’mon, Y/N." you look at him and this time he sees the struggle in your eyes, the tears that are coming. 

Eddie’s eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers gently brushing away a stray tear that escaped down your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise I won't judge.” 

You took a deep breathe, shaking your head. 

Eddie’s thumb lingered on your cheek, his brown eyes searching yours. “Please, Y/N. Just be honest with me.”

“I...” You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. “What if I told you that I was afraid?"

Eddie's brow furrowed deeper, concern flooding his features as he leaned in closer. “Afraid of what?”

“Afraid of losing you.” Your voice trembled, the admission hanging in the air like a fragile thread, ready to snap. " If you leave..." 

" Because you have dreams Eddie, to be this rockstar" 

Eddie's gaze softened, his brow furrowing. “Y/N, I know it seems like a wild ride, but I don’t plan to leave anyone behind. You’re a part of my journey, whether you realize it or not.”

“But you don't get it" 

“I do get it. You think I’m just gonna vanish once I get a taste of success?” He shook his head, the frustration brewing in his voice. “That’s not who I am.”

" No you don't get it" Your voice wavered, uncertainty creeping into your words. “You might think that now, but how will it feel when the world suddenly wants a piece of Eddie Munson? The fame, the attention... What happens when someone else catches your eye? What if someone else loves you... before.." 

" Before what? " Eddie asks. 

“Before I can even express what you mean to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze, the weight of your fears unbearable. 

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone became even softer. “You need to breathe and two, I'm right here." 

His words washed over you like a soothing wave, but the tension in your chest tightened. You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity behind those warm brown eyes, but doubt still tangled within your heart.

“I’m afraid I’ll become just another name just like a song" 

Eddie’s expression shifted, his gaze unwavering as he turned fully to face you. “You think you’re just a name to me? Y/N, you’re so much more than that,” he says.

" What do you mean?" 

" I...I.." Eddie gulps.

He paused, taking a steady breath as if grounding himself amid the emotions swirling in the confined space of the car. His fingers lingered on your wrist, a reminder of his presence. 

“I think... I..I" he runs a hand down his face as he tries to find the words. 

“I think I’m falling for you,” he said finally, the admission spilling into the air like a fragile confession. 

" Say it again" 

Eddie’s breath caught, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “I think I’m falling for you.” 

“Really?” The word slipped from your lips, a mix of disbelief and hope fluttering in your chest. 

“Yeah.” Eddie searched your face, " Oh Eddie" you tugged on his jacket pulling him close as you kissed him. 

Eddie’s lips melded against yours, warmth enveloping you both as an electric pulse surged through the air between you. His taste lingered on your tongue, a mixture of sweet anticipation and shared longing. 

His hands cradled your face as he kisses you back. You pulled away. 

" I think I'm falling for you too" 

" You mean it?" He asks. 

" Yes" 

“Seriously? You’re not messing with me, right?”

You shook your head, " No." 

" That's why I'm afraid when you leave.. you'll stop falling for me." 

Eddie’s expression shifted, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features. “Y/N, I’d never stop falling for you. That’s not how it works.” 

" No? There will be much prettier girls, you'll have them left and right and I'll be here.." 

Eddie shook his head vigorously, a mix of frustration and disbelief dancing in his eyes. “You think I’d trade what we have for a pretty face? That’s not how it works. You’re not just another girl, Y/N.” 

" Why do I feel like I always comes second then? '

Eddie's brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and sincerity shining in his eyes. “Because of tonight? I get it, I do! But don’t let one mess-up define what this is between us.” 

" Yeah when some girl hung up on you and sits on your lap while you look like a deer in headlights" 

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Y/N, I froze. Like I’ve said, it caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared for it, okay?” His voice rose.

You held his gaze, the tightness in your chest refusing to fade. “You didn’t even push her off. You just stood there.”

Eddie closed his eyes, breathing through the frustration. “I get it. I messed up. But I'm here and I told you how I feel.." 

You tilted your head, searching his eyes for that flicker of sincerity. “And what if it happens again? What if you freeze next time with someone else?”

Eddie sighed, simmering frustration leaking from his every word like steam. “Then I will deal with it, but I will not break your heart."��

" Eddie I.." He doesn't let you finish the sentence as he kisses you. 

His lips pressed against yours, strong and fervent, a silent promise coating the air between you like an electric current.

Eddie pulled back, breathless, " I won't hurt you. I'll chase after you if it's my last breath I take." 

" That's huge, you have to put meaning behind that" 

Eddie’s gaze sharpened, determination flooding his features. “I mean it. If it ever feels like you’re slipping away, I’ll fight for what we have. "

He takes your hand in his and kisses your fingers. 

" Promise" 

[alittlextrathatway]

Line: "And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you." Location: supermarket

High School AU time again.

You can find parts 1 & 2: here and here

***

Matt had a very different plan for Homecoming.

Nice suit, fancy dinner, dancing, Severide's after party...

But then he pulled a bonehead move and forgot to pick up his dad's old suit from the cleaners where his sister had helped him arrange and pay for alterations. If it were up to him, he wouldn't touch anything that used to be his dad's. As much as losing him threw Matt's life into upheaval and deprived him of any hope of repairing their relationship someday, he knows he's better off without him. However, he can't afford a new suit so his only option, apart from just not going, is to repurpose something of his dad's. Or at least it was.

Now, he's screwed.

He calls Sylvie as he gets back into his car, staring mournfully at the dark storefront. He's such an idiot.

"Hey! Everything okay?"

"No. I'm a moron."

"I very much doubt that."

"Yeah, hold that thought till after I tell you what's happened."

He recounts the story of agreeing to work for a friend of his mom's who runs a construction business and of how the job ran later than expected. He was in such a rush to leave that he forgot he still needed to pick up his dress clothes until he was stepping out of the shower. And by then the cleaners had already been closed for 10 minutes.

"I don't have any thing I can wear instead. Not to a dance. Not when you've probably got a beautiful dress picked out -- If I show up in slacks and a polo I'd embarrass the hell out of you."

"You wouldn't," Sylvie assures him. "At last year's Homecoming in Fowlerton my ex boyfriend wore jeans and a cowboy hat. I don't mind farmer wear on a daily basis but to a dance? I wanted to throttle him. Slacks and a polo would be perfectly acceptable to me."

He starts to think maybe he didn't ruin her first school dance in Chicago until she finishes her thought.

"But unfortunately the school dress code for the dance isn't quite so flexible."

Shit. He forgot about the school dress code. Even if he did work something out, they wouldn't let him in.

"Dammit, you're right. I'm so sorry, Sylvie. This is not how I wanted our first date to go. Maybe we can try again some other night?"

"Try again?" She asks, sounding appalled at the suggestion. "You're not getting out of tonight that easily, Matt Casey. Pick me up at 7 and wear slacks and a polo just like we talked about. I have an idea."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Just because we can't go to the dance doesn't mean we can't hang out."

He shows up two hours later with a small bouquet of flowers and another apology ready to go, but his mind goes instantly blank when Sylvie answers the door in her Homecoming dress. It's a satin baby blue dress that matches the exact shade of her eyes. The top scoops, but is too high to be considered anything but modest and the front of the skirt skims the tops of her knees and then lengthens at the back. The fabric flows in a way that makes him think of a waterfall, gorgeous and serene. He's at a loss for any substantial words.

"Uh, wow. Hi."

She giggles and blushes, glancing down at her strappy silver heels. "Hi. Let me get my coat and we can go."

As she turns to head back inside he gets a glimpse of the back of the dress. It ties across her back in a wide bow and then leaves three inches of her skin exposed above the waistline of the skirt.

Yeah, a coat. She needs a coat. The urge to touch that little bit of smooth skin is going to take all the self control he has. She comes back with a black peacoat. It's on but open, the buttons undone and the sash untied.

She grabs his hand as she passes him and drags him down he hall toward her building's elevator. "Let's go before my mom forces us to take a million pictures."

They make it down to his truck very clumsily. Sylvie tripped over her shoes one or two times. Lucky for them both, Matt's got fast reflexes and caught her arm both times. They're laughing as he holds open his passenger door for her and offers his hand to help her climb in. Once she's settled he closes the door and hops in himself.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Matt asks as he starts his truck.

"Oh, boss. I like that," Sylvie says with a smirk.

That smirk makes him want to lean across the middle console and kiss her, but he holds off. He'll wait for her to give him the green light.

"Head to the supermarket around the corner," Sylvie instructs.

"Supermarket?" Matt asks with a furrowed brow.

"Trust me."

He drives around the corner and parallel parks. As he parks, the reason Sylvie directed them here becomes clear. It's one of those markets with a salad bar and a hot buffet. Everything is fresh and affordable and can be packed up to go. "We're having supermarket hot wings?"

She laughs and nods. "Sure, if you want. I thought we'd pick up food here and then go have a picnic on the football field. No one will be there and we'll even be able to hear the DJ they hired for the dance. It'll be like our own private Homecoming celebration."

Oh, that's perfect, actually. Of course she'd think of that. She's brilliant. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day."

They get out and walk toward the supermarket. Sylvie grabs his hand as they pass through the automatic doors. He adjusts their hands to tangle their fingers together. The smile she points at him afterward is nothing short of radiant.

They each pick out an entree, a side, and a drink and head to the registers. The meal is easily more affordable than the fancy dinner he assumed he would need to treat her to and Sylvie seems just as excited about this food as she would about anything else.

She leans toward him to speak in a low voice as they wait their turn in line. "This chicken salad is amazing. I've been dreaming about it all week."

When they reach the cashier, Matt waves. They had English together last year. It must suck to have to work the night of the dance. "Hey, Naomi."

She smiles sweetly at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Matt, hi! I thought you'd be at the dance. What are you doing here?"

"We're on our way there," he replies. It's not technically a lie. They are going to the school after all. "But my date," he says nodding toward Sylvie and pointing a teasing grin at her. "Just had to have some of this chicken salad so here we are."

"Date?" Naomi asks, eyes widening with curiosity. "I just assumed you'd be going with Gabby again."

"Ah, no, Gabby and I broke up last year." He distracts himself from the interest in Naomi's stare and the awkward question by pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He nods to Sylvie again. "Have you met Sylvie Brett? She just started at our school this year."

Sylvie smiles but Matt can tell it's forced. Naomi skims a gaze over Sylvie but seems unimpressed. "I wish I'd known you were available. I've got to find better sources for my gossip."

"Yeah, okay," Matt says with a wince. "Can you ring us up? We're sort of eager to get going."

The smile on Sylvie's face doesn't waiver but he can see her eyes narrowing every so slightly. "By the way," she says, in a firm yet overly polite voice. "He's not."

"Not what?" Naomi asks as she turns her attention to the register and rings up their items.

"Available."

Matt should be offended that Sylvie's speaking for him. He used to hate it when Gabby did that and she did it a lot. But this moment with Sylvie is different. He's too thrilled to hear her claim him to care that she hasn't run it by him first.

That one word grabs Naomi's attention. She quirks a brow at Sylvie but otherwise ignores her, choosing to tell Matt his total instead. He pays, grabs Sylvie's hand, and leads them outside.

"Oh my god," Sylvie says, closing her eyes and hiding her face in his shoulder. "I can't believe I just did that. I am so sorry."

"Sylvie, really, it's fine--"

"No, I shouldn't have said that without talking to you about it first. Just because we're going on one date doesn't mean that you want everyone to think you're taken or that we're an item or something and I just went and blabbed that we are to -- whoever the heck that was. She was just so rude and blatantly checking you out right in front of me! It made me so mad and-- and--"

"Jealous?" He suggests, interrupting her with a mirthful smirk.

"Do not let that go to your head," she warns, her face flushing in embarrassment.

"Too late," he replies, taking her food from her and setting both their meals on the hood of his car. "Sylvie Brett just told the biggest gossip in school that I'm hers. If anything's gonna puff up my ego, it's that. Next time Sheffield comes sniffing around I'll be sure to tell him you're unavailable too. Truthfully, I can't wait. Maybe we'll run into him tonight."

"Wait, hold on," Sylvie says, stepping closer to him. "You're happy I basically told her you're mine like a jealous girlfriend?"

He shrugs, barely withholding a gleeful smile. "Like you said, she was rude. Naomi kinda deserved it. Plus, what if I told you I want you to be my girlfriend?"

Her confusion melts into elation. "You do?"

"More than anything."

She laughs and then bounces up onto her toes, grabbing his face and bringing his lips down to hers. It's a quick, excited kiss. Passionate but over much too soon. He responds by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, resting his forehead on hers.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a hell yes," Sylvie says, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank God," Matt says before he swoops in for another kiss. This one is deeper and longer and far more exploratory. Kissing Sylvie Brett is already one of his favorite memories and it's not even over yet. Nor will this be the last time he kisses her. No, he plans to keep coming back for more for as long as he can.

He never saw the new girl coming. She's flipped everything he thought he knew upside down and he's glad she did. His world needed a little shaking up. Thank God it was Sylvie that did the shaking. He doesn't want to imagine how his senior year would have started without her.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

I'll have a pair of coasters and two pairs of placemats listed in my shop this weekend. After I finish sewing those this week, I'll focus on thr commissions. One is a mug rug and will take just a couple hours. Another is a FPP 18x18 inch crow miniquilt, and there will be a possible third with coasters. I'll be working on this in the morning, from about 6AM to 11AM.

Afternoons will be spent handquilting. I'll be getting that work done in the living room with the a/c blasting off. Tank top, shorts, and under several layers of batting and fabric because it'll be folded and rolled as I work.

Tomorrow, a trip to the fabric and quilt shop for batting in Star Story as well as fabric for the crow miniquilt. Hopefully these can be found at the fabric store. Less expensive, and my budget is very small. If I sell anything from my shop overnight, going to the quilt shop will be an option.

I find a lotta good stuff at the fabric store, such as one of fav designers (Tim Holtz), solids (Kona Solids) and most of my rainbow prints. Quilt shops have a better precut and extra wide backing selection though. I insist on extra wide backing because I loath pieced backing. Buy 4-6 yards, cut it up to make it wide rather than long? That's awkward and sometimes very expensive. Extra wide? 108 inches (3 yards) wide, no cutting up fabric to make it fit, just iron it smooth, tape it to the floor, and add the layers for basting. I end up cutting the backing a little shorter and save that excess for later.

Extra wide is usually around $22-$25/yard, and two to three yards is usually all I ever need. Standard width is $7-$15/yard.

If anyone fancies sending me fabric or gift cards for fabric, Joann Fabrics is ideal. Batting, fabric, sewing needles, books, sewing pins, and various other supplies. I use quilt shops for very high quality fabric and precuts, patterns, and extremely high quality thread. The thread is often waaaaaay outta by budget, but it's absolutely worth the cost.

Seeing as so many of you voted I spend the summer making low budget items and use jeweltones and rainbows. There will also be some finished quilt tops, and those will have the addon option of me turning these into completed quilts. Kinda like a commission. I'm hoping all these sell successfully, and before October. Get me closer to completing my ko-fi goal.

Speaking of which, I'm giving away two quilt tops if the goal is met by the end of June. Otherwise it's a single quilt if met by Halloween. I need my year to end on a high note with fewer debts, and fewer quilts left as well. Meeting the goal is my focus. When it's met, I'll be able to enjoy nice things, like gifting my husband an XBox Series X (he turns 50 in August), a tabletop quilting frame that will make it possible to machine quilt with a standard sewing machine, business cards for myself, a second pair of shoes (I have a single pair and they're white walking sneakers), paint the dining room and hutch (currently in our storage room), some nice watercolors, and possibly some new clothing for myself (my wardrobe gives me about ten days before I have to wash my clothes).

In the meantime, I'm seeing and taking necessary breaks. At some point, I may take a couple classes to learn how to make my own clothes. I can't self-teach this, videos and books aren't enough, so a class or two will be absolutely necessary. Maybe someone in the quilt guild can teach me? I'll find out in a few days! For now, finishing commissions and stocking the shop.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Something I haven’t seen anyone talk about yet is why Ed throws first Lucius off the ship and then Stede’s books. It’s not simply rage or wanting to get rid of things that remind him of Stede, it’s about his feelings of powerlessness and inadequacy because of his lack of literacy.

First, when the British almost execute Stede, Lucius’ ability to read and write saves Stede’s life when Ed’s plan has failed, as his appeal to the Act of Grace for Stede is not accepted. Then, when they’re supposed to sign the text of the Act of Grace, his illiteracy becomes highly visible, impossible not to notice, as he signs an x as his signature. It’s a small but heartbreaking moment because it’s an extremely significant thing in a world where some are literate and some are not.

Being able to read and write gives you an enormous advantage in terms of power over people who cannot read. He might be the most clever, resourceful, skilled pirate in the seas, but in the moment reading and writing come into play, he’s suddenly extremely vulnerable. He’s surrounded by men who hold enormous power over him in virtue of the mere difference in their levels of literacy, regardless of every other difference in abilities they might have.

Ed is going through something that shakes his identity - giving up his identity as a pirate, even his beard which is so symbolical of his identity as Blackbeard - and that feelings of vulnerability and helplessness hit a nerve. In the moment Stede doesn’t show up, and Ed thinks he’s been stood up, he’s bound to feel inadequate. Why did Stede stand him up? Because Ed is not worthy of him, after all. Because Stede is a literate, cultured gentleman and Ed is nothing. He might carry around a piece of fancy fabric, but that’s just something stolen from someone else.

At first he tries to hang on, having his lyrics written down (which, again, sheds light on the difference between him and Lucius), trying to act as a cultured gentleman of sorts, but that’s unsustainable in the long run, because he doesn’t actually think he can be that person. He’s actually drowning in feelings of inadequacy and helplessness, and does what he did as a child when overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy and helplessness: becomes the Kraken.

In conclusion, something I really wish to see in season 2 of the show is for Ed to be taught how to read. Stede could do it, continuing on the trend of the two of them teaching each other things, or - an option I very much like - possibly Lucius, which would help Ed and Lucius get closer again after the, um, accident - and also considering that, in my opinion, Ed’s action is pretty much directly connected to Lucius’ literacy.

After all, what is the cutlery lesson but foreshadowing for actually more relavant and useful teachings in how to belong to Stede’s world? Silly manners don’t matter, but, pardon the reference, reading is fundamental. There will always be an imbalance of power between the two of them if Ed remains illiterate, and only filling that gap can make Ed feel like he’s not inadequate.

[nicnacsnonsense]

I feel that there are certain portions of the OFMD fandom that could definitely benefit from taking a step back and asking themselves why their depictions of a post-season 1 Stede glow up involve changing him to make him more stereotypically masculine. I just see so many descriptions of Stede, framed to make it clear this is showing us how much he’s grown and improved, that go like, “He has a beard now. And he’s gotten rid of all his fancy, frilly clothing and how wears a plain and simple outfit. He no longer has his yummy lavender soap or any other oils or creams so his face is tanned and weathered and his hair windswept and frizzled with sea salt. He does all sorts of hard manual labor involved with sailing now and his hands are rough and calloused. And of course he’s super skilled at fighting now and comfortable with casual violence.”

Of course, nobody’s out here explicitly saying they’re turning Stede into a generic romance novel pirate explicitly because they want to make him more masculine. They all have other reasons which sound good and I believe that they genuinely believe are true. It’s just when you start to interrogate those reasons, they don’t really hold up.

The one I see the most often with the clothing is throwing a casual mention in there that it’s practical; a pair of trousers and a simple linen shirt (it’s always a simple linen shirt) are more practical for sailing in. And you’re not wrong, but my babes. Ed is sailing around the Caribbean in full body black leather. Let’s not pretend practical is an actual point of consideration for the clothing on this show. Not to mention I don’t love the implication that Stede should give up his little joys in life (he loves his frilly clothing! He fancies a fine fabric) because it’s always more important to be practical.

The other thing I see with the clothing, and this applies to the fancy toiletries too, is that giving them up is saying something about wealth/class. And I’m fine with us passing through here as a waypoint in Stede’s journey to gain a deeper understanding of these things, but I very much object to having that as the end goal. Because the point is supposed to be that Ed’s mom is wrong; they don’t have fine things not because that’s what God decided but because they live in an oppressive society where those in charge maintain power by creating a hierarchical system of haves and have nots. Which is bullshit, and everyone should get to have some fine things. Now if you want to argue that two closets full of fancy clothing crosses from everyone should get luxuries into hoarding them, then that’s probably fair enough. But Stede shouldn’t need to be from generational wealth to have just a couple of nice outfits and a stock of yummy lavender soap.

The class aspect also plays a role in why people want to have him running around hauling on ropes or whatever it is you do on a ship. And I do kind of get the point, and think it’s probably important to have him willing to perform those kinds of tasks if needful to show he doesn’t consider them beneath him, but that does mean he needs to be doing physical labor on the regular. He should be working, yes, but there’s all kinds of options that appeal to his strengthens much more than manual labor. We already have seen him doing story time for the rest of the crew and saw him as captain making the executive decisions about where they should go and what they should do next. Beyond that, being one of the few members of the crew proficient in reading, writing, and (presumably) arithmetic, he could keep the accounts and stock of their loot and supplies, he could do navigational work, or if they got their hands on some medical texts he could study and start helping Roach as the doctor. He could be in charge of planning events & activities for the crew to keep everyone happy and entertained. Or he could be in charge of planning their fuckeries.

And that indirectly leads into the last bit, about Stede being skilled at fighting and violence now, the idea being we’re showing his growth from incompetent pirate to skilled and respected one. And look, I have my own thoughts that I am planning on writing a separate meta on hopefully about how piracy is actually meant to be understood in this show and whether or not it actually is the correct long term career choice for Stede, but let’s take it as a given for now that we’re sticking with piracy. In that case, yeah, I agree that we are going to want to see him become good at the job. But why on Earth would that involve him doing a lot of fighting? The show has been very clear that Stede’s strength is in his wits not in his fighting skills. His crew manages to get away from the English naval ship with the rowboat fuckery. He defeats Izzy and gets on of his hostages back with the haunted island fuckery. He and Ed team up and escape the Spanish with the lighthouse fuckery. He takes out the French ship by realizing he can use their darkest secrets to get them to tear each other apart. He beats Izzy in a duel by tricking him into rendering his sword inoperable. And finally he escapes his old life and unhappy marriage by faking his death with a fuckery. Stede’s brand of piracy is fuckery not violence, and I don’t know how that could have been made more apparent.

I just sometimes feel like I’ve watched this show about a guy who spent his whole life miserably trying to force himself into a stereotypically masculine box and failing only to finally find freedom and happiness by being allowed to be himself and not hold himself to societal standards of how to be a man. And then fandom came in and said, “Wow, yeah, this guy is pretty great. But you know how he could be even better? If he were more stereotypically masculine.”

[knifegiver]

Costume Analysis - Jaskier's Shirt

Before I start, I wanna invite anyone who disagrees on anything I say here to tell me! Please, be it because you’ve seen a better screenshot or because you have more knowledge than me, please tell me! I’m no professional in anything, and I’m basing my knowledge on what I notice and feel would be practical.

Anyhow, here goes nothing. The shirt is the first thing I’m gonna analyse because that’s how I usually start, and to explain why it’s not gonna be the first piece to be made. The reason is this godawful fabric!

The Fabric

You see, it’s a beautiful fabric, it’s lovely! It’s also absolutely bonkers! The floral pattern on it is the level of extra that is appropriate for Jaskier, but also a pain in the ass to recreate. I have at length complained about it to my sibs from other cribs. They know, and now you do, too, that this freaking fabric enrages me to an unholy ammount!

I would say it’s linen, cotton, or a blend of both. And it has a pattern woven into it. For an undershirt.

See, people who love being fancy and fabulous would definitely have five or so undershirts to change regularely. At one point in our very own, real history shirts were sold by the dozen. They are frequently laundered, and you need a lot of them. So, Jaskier having the fanciest undershirts ever is very much in character, but holy hell, am I mad about it!

I will probably use cotton because it’s easier to find fine cotton than fine linen these days. I want to use linen but if a cotton in the right weight is all I’m gonna find, I’m not gonna be mad about it. Since it’s off-white, naturally cream-ish kind of colour, I will have two options on how to get the floral design on there.

1. I can paint it on. I will have to find a shiny white or a mother of pearl fabric paint but it’s possible.

2. I can try my hand on bleaching the pattern into it. If that sounds daunting to you, believe me. It does to me, too. That method would require a whole lot of research first so I’m not accidentially injuring myself, my mother, the whole neighbourhood.

Both options are the reason why I’m not starting on it first. It’s still winter, it’s cold, and I can’t set up shop on the balcony to avoid having the entire apartment smell like a nightmarish chemical factory. And I really don’t want to give myself the migraine from hell by doing this inside.

So, not yet.

The Cleavage

Jaskier is a bard. As such he’s natural slut. And his chest situation confirms that. The shirt is very open and the only button it has is on the collar. Bards, right? This is the reason why I need boob containment. Due to size I’m not comfortable not wearing anything underneath. And I really hate unmanaged underboob sweat.

I am unsure whether the end in the slit reinforced with piece of fabric or if there are just reinforcing stitches. I think I will decide on what to do with that when I see it in person.

The Collar

I love the collar, I really do. Stand-up collars are amazing and since Jaskier absolutely refuses to use the button on it, I won’t feel like I’m choking.

The collar is not one piece of fabric folded up, but it’s two pieces with the lace sandwiched in between! You can see where the light is showing that little detail! It might actually be starched a bit to not flop around senselessly but that’s another thing I will see once it’s done.

The cord for the button is similarly sandwiched between the collar pieces, but the button gives me a bit of a head scratch. It’s not shiny so I would say it’s not a shell button. It might be bone, or even a fabric-wrapped button. Personally I lean towards bone. But to be honest, if I won’t find anything like that in the necessary size, I won’t be too mad about just slapping on a modern button in off-white.

The Body

The body of the shirt is pretty simple. It’s a big rectangle with a hole for the neck. Well, a hole and a big slit cause… bard. The shirt has not seamline down the body so I know it’s one front piece that had a slit cut into it, and not two seperate pieces sewn together. That’s something to keep in mind.

The shoulders are very over-cut and go to about the mid of Jaskier’s upper arms. I’m not sure, to be honest, if there’s a shoulder seam or if the back and the front are one big piece.

The Lace

First I thought the lace was there to connect the body pieces but there is clearly not extended seam down the arm. So it’s pretty clear that it is insertion lace just for the fun of it. Because, of course you put delicate lace in a place that should be sturdy. Only a bard would do something like that.

The lace is also the reason why I lean more towards the theory that the front and back are one piece, and not two. But as I said, I can’t tell for sure.

The Sleeves

There are lovely gathers in the sleeves. Lovely, and infuriating. By how dainty and even they are you can tell that they have been brushed to insanity. I love nice gathers as much as the next person but doing them is tedious. At least it seems like most of them are on the upperside of the sleeve. I’m not sure if the underarm is gathered, at all.

There is a fine stitch line above the actual seem which indicates that a ribbon or tape was used to bind the edges of the gathers. Which is a good choice. Personally I would have just fold everything downwards and bound it with the seam allowance of the arm sythe but I can also see why the costume department didn’t want to do it. Anyway, tape it is.

The Cuffs

The cuffs are what sold me on the shirt, I’m not gonna lie. They are beautiful! I’m gonna go out on a limb and make a guess that the cuffs ar done in a similar way to the collar, and the sleeves are sandwiched in between the two pieces.

But the cuffs are actually also a source of headache for me. Where the sleeves go into the cuff it looks like the fabric was gathered, the same way it was on the upper arm. But the ruffles are definitely pleated. And those pleats are adorned with lace. That’s gonna be one prickly hell full of pins.

The cuffs don’t have visible buttons. The way they look I would say they’re either closed with hooks and eyes, or with an invisible button. I’m leaning more towards hidden button because hooks and eyes would easily become unhooked on a place like the cuff. So, yeah, I’m going with hidden button unless I find something contrary.

So… this is my analysis of Jaskier’s shirt. Thanks to anyone who made it throught this monster of a post! And really, if anyone wants to throw their two cents in, I’m always glad and happy to discuss garments!

[midgardianweasley]

Your grace! Bless us with a Natasha x reader where the team is invited to a wedding by a close friend of Tony’s. Then when the bridal bouquet is thrown, the bride throws it too hard where reader accidentally catches it and the team is just going “Oooooh!” And reader is like “I’m not even in a relationship!” But the team know in secret that reader and Natasha have feelings for each other but are too dumb to know. Just funniness and fluff! 🥰😍 (Your writing is brilliant btw!)

I loved this request!! I hope i did it justice <3

it’s a wedding thing

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

^idk Nat, you tell me^

Summary: When the Avengers get invited to a close friend of Tony's wedding, what hidden feelings will surface? What relationships will bloom? Who will be the next bride?

Warnings: none!

word count: 4.1k

Message/ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

requests are open loves

“Alright gang, this one’s for all of us, we all listening?”

A cluster of ‘yes’ ‘go on’ ‘come on Tony’ filled the room, everyone eager to hear what the fancy envelope held inside. It was amusing to watch Tony take advantage of everyone’s excitement, slowly peeling the envelope, gasping when he pulled the letter out of the casing slightly, not letting anyone else see what was written on it.

You, Natasha and Wanda all seemed to share a look of amusement at the dramatics and the almost visible frustration coming off of everyone. It was like watching children try to wait patiently for sweets in a shop, almost completely off of their seats. It wasn’t until Tony noticed that Pepper was giving him a warning look, that he, begrudgingly, hurried up and announced what was written on the letter.

“Wow. Caleb’s getting married.” He spoke, eyebrows raised in surprise. “And he’s invited the team.”

“Well, I’m not going.” A voice spoke from the corner of the room, clearly un-amused by what was currently going on.

“Luckily for you, I don’t see ‘reindeer games’ anywhere on the invitation. So you’re off the hook.” He replied with a tight lipped smile, Thor had been visiting recently to see Jane and pay the avengers a visit and wanted to bring Loki to meet her.

‘A pleasant trip’ Thor said.

‘A living hell’ Tony corrected.

It got a laugh out of the team though. Nat and I especially. We’d spent the last couple of nights in each other’s bedrooms, making a list about our favourite moments through the day where Tony and Loki clashed, making stupid insults towards the other. I think it’s safe to say that we went through multiple bags of popcorn over the nights, though you were both thankful it was there, it was the only thing muffling the laughter, if it hadn't, you’re almost certain the entire compound would have woken up at the sound of our laughter.

You nudged Natasha’s side gently, the bicker between the two men still continuing.

“Hey, Nat.” She turned and tilted her head questioningly.

“So we know how a physical fight between those two worked out. But, if they had to compete in a rap battle, who do you think would win?”

Her face immediately lit up, eyes sparkling which only enhanced their beauty, you could almost feel the cogs turning in her head, trying to go through every logical option.

“Well. Loki seems pretty well spoken, so vocabulary wise, I think he’d be strong. But Tony is sarcastic which can help with quick quips. But then again, Loki-”

“Hey lovebirds, Romanoff, Y/L/N” Tony clicked his fingers, earning himself a pair of eyerolls at the term he’d used. “Anything you wanna share with the team, or can we move on?”

“Actually-”

“Overridden. Moving on.”

You looked towards Natasha, snickering slightly at how blunt he’s being, Loki having found his way under his skin again. A part of you felt bad for the man, but that feeling is soon replaced by amusement. It was obvious Nat felt the same way, her sharing the same expression as you, although, you could hide yours much better. She had to physically put her hand over her mouth in the hopes the man wouldn’t notice her.

“So, the wedding is next week, a little short notice but when do we ever have enough notice, who’s in?”

Looking around the room, there were a handful of nods, each looking to see who else was going to go. You looked towards Nat again to see if she was planning on attending, only to find her already staring at you.

“So Y/L/N, up for a wedding?”

“It would be a nice change of pace. Are you going?”

“Only if you are” You blushed slightly at the response.

“Better get your nicest dress on Romanoff.” You winked, her turn to blush and focus back on what the rest of the group was saying.

“It’s probably easy if I list couples first on the RSVP and then the singles.” Tony took a glance around the table, mentally taking note of those who had shown signs of agreement. “So there’ll be Wanda and Vision, Legolas and his wife, Romanoff and Y/L/N, Thor and Jane-” You felt your face morph into one of confusion.

“Woah woah, Tony, back up, what did you say?”

“Thor and Jane, they’re-”

“Before that.”

“I’ve said this before Y/N, Legolas isn’t actually real. I meant Clint.”

“Very funny.” He held a proud smirk. “Romanoff and I aren’t a couple”

You wish.

“That’s not what Rogers said when he saw you both cuddling up on the sofa last night.” Before you had a chance to look in Steve’s direction, you could practically feel the daggers Nat was sending him, making his face cringe slightly and his back straighten.

“That’s what Rogers said, is it?” She spoke, tilting her head in question. You knew she was partly joking, but you’d still decided to intervene before anyone lost any limbs.

“My head fell onto her shoulder when I dozed off during our movie. It wasn’t ‘cuddling’ , thank you very much.” You laughed, internally wishing that Steve’s words were true.

“See? So cut it out.” Steve put his hands up in surrender, despite having a cheeky grin on his face.

“Okay okay. Fine!” The billionaire said, writing something on the envelope. “I’ll just put ‘couple pending’” He muttered

“Stark!”

__________________________

You and the girls had just come back from dress shopping, all three of you had spent the whole day in and out of different shops, hours in dressing rooms and your voices were almost completely gone with how often you were telling each other, ‘that looks stunning’ ‘that’s the one!’ and the most common one by the end of the trip; ‘please just pick a dress so we can go home and nap’. That one was from our very own black widow, her patience wore a little thin after 8 hours of staring at dresses.

You had gone through all the colours and styles while you were out, ranging from classy jumpsuits to figure hugging dresses that felt like a second skin. Wanda and Natasha had chosen their dresses and were eager to find you one, and what a mission that was.

“I promise you, we’re not going home until we find this dress, okay?”

“Wanda’s right. We’ll stay out until they all shut if we have to. But, let’s make that a last resort.” Natasha eyed you both warily.

You’d been walking around for hours now. Each dress you tried on had potential, but there was always something that didn’t sit right with you. It was either too baggy, too tight, the cut wasn’t appealing, the length wasn’t ideal, it was starting to feel hopeless. You’d even suggested just going in your pyjamas, but Wanda’s death glare had made it clear that wasn’t an option.

You and Natasha were both dragging your feet, Wanda still having a slight spring in her step as you walked into the final shop and picking up a couple of dresses before then going into the dressing room to try them on.

The first two were okay, but you weren’t a fan. Then there was the third one. The third one was a gorgeous Y/F/C dress that fell just past your knees, it had thin straps and the skirt was simple and loose so that when you spun around in it, you felt like a princess. You looked in the mirror and you adored the reflection, you still wanted the others opinions though, though you didn’t doubt that they’d feel the same way.

Pulling the curtain back and gaining their attention from where they were looking elsewhere, you smiled when you saw their reaction, more specifically, Natasha’s. Wanda was complimentary, walking up and feeling the fabric, gushing about how beautiful you looked, but you barely heard it, too focused on the redhead sitting in front of you, her eyes glazed over and her jaw almost on the floor, completely zoned out on you.

“This dress is it, Y/N, you have to get it! Nat? What do you think?” Her head shook, bringing herself back to reality and briefly meeting your eyes, only to quickly dart between You, Wanda and your dress in an attempt to compose herself.

“Yeah, I mean, wow, you look- wow.” Her hands flailed in your direction. You’d knocked the assassin speechless. Wanda rolled her eyes playfully at the interaction. She’d known about you and Nat’s feelings for each other for a month or two now, silently cursing the both of you when there was an opportunity to confess, yet never did. It was obvious to the rest of the team, why were neither of you picking up on it?

Keeping quiet, she ushered you back into the changing room, much to Natasha’s relief, both because she wanted to head back to the compound and she wasn’t sure how much longer she would’ve lasted seeing you standing there looking literally flawless. She always thought you looked amazing, but there was something about the way you looked in front of her just then that made her brain feel like a haze.

It was pretty safe to say,

You bought the dress.

Collapsing on your bed, dropping your bags to the side and letting out a loud sigh, you heard your door shut and someone fall into the chair by the window. You already knew who it was.

“I’m exhausted.” The woman groaned, rubbing her hands up and down her face to attempt to physically remove the tiredness from her body.

“Sorry for dragging you around for so long, I just-”

“Hey, no, don’t apologise for that. We all said we’d find the perfect dress, and it was worth the wait.” Heat rose to your cheeks at her words.

“You really think I looked good?”

Natasha could sense your underlying tone of doubt, unsure as to why you would doubt her opinion, she’d always been honest with you. Nonetheless, she heaved herself out of her seat and made her way to the end of the bed, kneeling down so that your now sat up figure could look down into her eyes, with her hands on each side of your face to focus you on her and her alone.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, okay? You looked incredible and I'm sure you’ll look even better at this wedding on Saturday, if that’s even possible.” You let out a small chuckle at her words as a smile made its way onto her face.

“You’ll be the prettiest one there.”

“Better not tell the Bride you said that, Nat.” She laughed, looking down for only a few seconds before looking at you again.

“We’ll make that our secret.” You nodded in silent agreement, grateful that she’d made you feel so reassured.

“Thank you, Tasha.”

“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart.” She replied.

You were so lost in her words, you hadn’t realised how close her face had gotten to yours, and how her eyes swapped between your eyes and your lips. You didn’t realise how she subconsciously had kept edging towards you, hands trembling a little with every inch closer she gets.

She wanted to kiss you. Every nerve in her body was almost electrified with the temptation to just move her lips over yours and become one. Her pulse raced, almost to prepare her for doing so. Which is why she wanted to kick herself with a pair of her highest heels when she uttered her next words.

“We should get some sleep.”

You broke out of your trance, jumping backwards slightly when noticing limited space between you both. You awkwardly coughed as she stood, heading back over to her chair to grab her bag and return to her room.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Big today, rest is probably a good idea.” You both nodded, she was already one foot out of the door when she gave you a small ‘goodnight’ and left, not waiting to hear you say it back.

Just like you hadn’t realised her actions early, you were oblivious to her hitting her head off of the wall in the corridor just outside of your room, wondering why she’d backed away. Where was Thor’s hammer when you needed to knock some sense into yourself? She thought before dragging herself back to her room where she would fall asleep, unable to get you out of her head.

_________________________

“Right! Headcount before we go in! And I want us all on our best behaviour Avengers, this is a wedding” Steve had completely lost you after ‘Headcount’. Not only are most of you fully grown adults, sorry Peter, but he seems to be oblivious to the fact that some of you were wearing high heels, and patience in high heels had an expiry date.

“Y’know, if he doesn’t let us in soon, I’m not afraid to threaten him with his own shield.” You heard a whisper just behind your ear, smirking at the comment.

“I’ll join you.” You answered, Bruce and Clint sharing a knowing look from afar when watching the two of you have your own quiet conversation, though short lived when they saw Natasha’s head move in their direction, their gaze coming to a halt so as to avoid any conflict with their teammate.

You guys could try to hide it all you want, but your entire team knows better than that, they just had to wait it out until you both finally admitted it to the other.

______________________

You and the Avenger’s were currently sitting at a guest table, now in the reception part of the evening. The ceremony was beautiful, the bride wore a crisp white ball gown with her makeup and hair done to perfection, the groom looking like a prince in his black tux and a look full of adoration towards his wife to be painted on his face.

Their looks weren’t the best part of it though. The clothes and the accessories were lovely, of course. But all you could focus on was the love shared between them as they shared their vows telling the other how they believed they were each other's soulmate, and that they promised to always be the other’s rock. You’d found yourself with tears in your eyes, barely able to appreciate the sight with how blurry your vision was now. They finally fell when they said their ‘I do’s’, feeling only happiness for the newlyweds.

Although marriage hadn’t been something you always thought about, you’d hoped that you would meet your special someone and settle down, retire from the missions, the battles, the superhero lifestyle and just be with your soulmate for the rest of your days.

Despite not being a couple, whenever you thought of the person you wanted to spend the rest of your time with, there was only one person that came to mind. And she stood right in front of you throughout the ceremony, comforting a sobbing demi-god while he was also trying to explain to Vision why he was in floods of tears.

Music filled the room, upbeat, but calm enough for the couples on the dancefloor to sway gently to the beat, soft lights occasionally shining on them as they danced, the bride and groom being one of them. You smiled gently at the sight, feeling dreadfully single with all of the love in the room, but grateful that you could see so many people look so content and in love with their significant other.

An elbow could suddenly be felt in your side, pulling you from your thoughts to instead be met with gorgeous green eyes and a bold red smirk.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She leaned in, curiosity clouding her mind.

“Nothing much up there really.” You glanced back at the dance floor quickly. “I’m just happy to see everyone so happy.”

Natasha followed your direction of where you were looking, an idea soon popped into her head. She was going to ask you to dance.

Her mouth opened to speak, but as if it was done on purpose, a ‘screech’ echoed in the ballroom, catching everyone’s attention, including taking yours away from hers.

“We’re taking a break from dancing for a minute folks, It’s time for the bride to throw the bouquet!” He announced, soon followed by shrieks and the sound of feet padding on the wooden floor, women all gathering in a small bunch, huddled together as if their lives depended on it as the men all returned to their seats, shaking their heads at the commotion.

Not really wanting to take part, you turned back around again.

“Sorry Nat, what were you-”

“Y/N!” Your head fell as you were interrupted by a very excited Maximoff.

“Y/N! C’mon! We need to do the bouquet toss!” She started to pull you up, refusing to listen to any excuse you could possibly conjure up to avoid having to take part.

Giving the team a desperate look, hoping someone will help you escape, you’re instead met with encouraging and amused faces, including Natasha’s a clear indication that not a single person was going to help you. Traitor’s.

With a half serious eye roll, you quickly grabbed your glass of champagne and kicked off your heels, heading towards the group of screaming women basically crawling on top of one another when the bride was barely up on the ‘stage’ yet. You let Wanda wander off into the group but remained towards the back, sipping from your glass and sending the occasional sneaky glare towards your table.

“You guys ready?” The bride yelled, only to be met with more screams and a faint chorus of ‘yes’ heard among it as they all threw their hands higher. Wanda saw you were just stood there, and subtly used her powers to raise your hand, earning loud laughs and cheers from the Avengers, taking great joy in the scene unfolding in front of them.

“Okay! Three...Two..”

You kept your arm up, pretending to be enthusiastic about the toss, when you realistically didn’t really expect much from these kinds of traditions. What you definitely hadn’t expected, was for your figure to stumble backwards as you suddenly felt petals and stems in your palm, a faint feeling of silk brushing against your thumb as your fingers wrapped around the item.

You almost spat out your champagne, eyes widening in shock as you looked to see the arrangement of flowers in your grip, looking up to see women both disheartened and elated at your catch. How the hell had you managed that? You were literally the farthest person away, and on your own! You must’ve been set up. Okay, a bit of a stretch, but still!

“WOOO, Y/L/N IS GETTING MARRIED!”

“WHO’S THE LUCKY SOMEONE Y/N?”

“Y/N CAUGHT THE FLOWERS, Y/N CAUGHT THE FLOWERS.”

The bride noticeably laughed at your friend’s cheers, she hadn’t meant to throw it that far back, her arm just kinda went full force, but seeing the reaction it caused, she didn’t regret it. She didn’t even regret it when she saw the look of embarrassment on your face, as it was soon replaced with a contagious beam as you walked towards them again, a very proud Wanda in tow,

“Guys! Guys! I’m not even in a relationship! I highly doubt i’m the next woman in this room to get married.” You joked

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Sam laughed “Romanoff, you got an engagement ring handy?” He yelped as a peanut from the centre of the table was thrown at him, and of course with being a trained assassin, Nat had hit him right in the centre of his forehead, earning a dramatic noise of pain to leave his mouth.

These guys will be the death of you.

__________________

After some teasing, the room had filled once again with happy couples dancing, now including some you were very familiar with, one being a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist and his CEO wife, and another being an Asgardian with his Midgardian girlfriend, both gently moving side to side in time with the music.

Letting out a content sigh, you were met once again with the flowers, however, this time, they weren’t on the table, but were held by a gorgeous woman in a flawless navy dress.

“So, I know we aren’t a couple, but, would the future bride like to dance?” She asked, you let out a content sigh, pretending to think it over for a minute.

“Y’know what, I would, thank you for your kind offer.” You took the hand she’d held out for you and led you to the dance floor. While her hands went to your waist, gently tugging you closer, your arms went around her neck, hands interlocking behind her as you, like the others you’d admired all even, swayed.

You’re unsure when it happened, much like a time before, but your head had made its way onto your dance partner's shoulder, your body following suit as it left no room between the two of you, though you weren’t complaining. Neither was the fellow Avenger.

It was peaceful for a period of time, the only sound being the slow music and a quiet chatter of people across the floor. It wasn’t long before you heard the red head above you whisper in your ear once again.

“You really do look amazing tonight, Y/N.” You raised your head so it was directly opposite hers, sending her an appreciative gaze.

“That future fiance of yours is lucky.” She winked.

“Hilarious” You scoffed, fully aware of her humorous tone.

“I know, sometimes I amaze even myself with my jokes.”

“Well, it really is funny, because I honestly don’t see myself getting married anytime soon.” Nat’s eyebrows raised in what could almost be described as confusion.

“And why is that? Do you not want to get married?” Her hands started grazing up and down your waist, like she was comforting you, but really she was bracing herself for what was incoming.

“No, no it’s not that. I just..”

“Just?”

“I don’t think the person i’m interested in, is necessarily interested in me.” Her heart dropped. So you did have someone of interest. She pushed the sinking feeling to the side quickly so that she could respond.

“Right, and why is that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them make a move. I thought it’d be obvious. I think it has been to some others.” Your eyes wandered, lingering for longer than what was probably appropriate, on Natasha’s plump lips, wondering if you’d ever get to experience what it’d be like to feel them on yours.

This time, Natasha didn’t miss it. She would’ve blamed it on alcohol, saying that she must’ve just imagined it, but she had only consumed a few drops all evening, being too entranced by you didn’t leave much room for hydration. She hadn’t been more thankful, because it made a light bulb go off in her head as the pieces came together in her head of who you were referring to. She didn’t make a move the other night. It was obvious to the team. How could she have been so blind?

You didn’t see it coming, even when your chin was held in her grasp and you saw her face leaning in towards yours, the reality only hitting you when you finally felt what you’d been wanting to feel for the last months, right now. Your surroundings had just disappeared, the only thing that was running through your head, was the way her lips were moving against yours, and the way her lips tasted faintly of vanilla, and how she smelled like her floral perfume she wore for special occasions.

Whooping and cheering brought you both back from your bubble with just the two of you, your head falling just below her chin, her hand stroking your back as you could feel her chuckle bubbling where your head lay. Well, hid. Her arms had muffled their comments, but you had an idea of what they were, probably a mixture of ‘finally!’, ‘i knew it!’ and you’re almost certain you heard a ‘You owe me 20 bucks.’, that one making you shake your head.

Remaining in your hiding spot, that wasn’t very well hidden, but was keeping your bright red face to yourself, a pair of familiar lips lingered right beside your head.

“So, about that bouquet..”

You weren’t getting married, but by the end of the night, you definitely didn’t feel so dreadfully single as you had earlier.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

[musekicker]

never done this beefo so am not sure how specific this needs to be. for some reason my first thought for the mva writing prompt is monger & dockroach trapped in an elevator (possibly during a red alert lockdown thing)

if you fancy somefin else could be link trying out clothes? especially dresses with susan. n maybe bob gets sad he can't wear anything 😭 (doc could just invent special fabric)

Sorry this took so long for a reply. It took a bit because kind of turned into it's own thing? There is clothes trying out bit though. And i had fun writing this.

One afternoon in the monsters recreation room, Susan and Bob were watching television, a food channel that was airing one of it's many baking competition shows.

"That flan looks very nice." Susan said about one of the contestants creations.

"I'd date them." Bob said of the flan.

They were not to find out who was to get sent home on this episode as Link walked in.

"Hey, the doc's not around here is he?" Link asked.

"Last I saw him he was heading to his lab." Susan said.

"And last I saw him, he was pushing me out of his lab. Did you know that I make toxic fumes if set on fire?" Bob said.

Link and Susan stared at Bob.

"That or I smell like salad dressing. One of the two." Bob said.

The other two monsters decided to follow up on that with Doctor Cockroach later.

"So he's in his lab for sure? Good. I need your help with something, Susan." Link said.

"I'm always happy to help out a friend." Susan said. "What do you need?"

"Tonight's a date night for me and the doc and I just kind of realized that I don't have anything nice to wear at all." Link said.

"I have a stash of clothes and access to a sewing machine." Susan said. "So I can help. Though why are you suddenly interested in clothes now. You usually don't do the clothes thing. Even for your date nights."

Bob gasped.

"I just realized that you're naked!" Bob cried, pointing at Link.

"You're naked too, Bob." Link said.

Bob looked down at himself, gasped again, and screamed.

"Don't look!" Bob cried.

Link, knowing full well Bob would probably forget he said anything, looked back to Susan.

"It's true that I'm not a fashion guy. But me and the Doc, well.. just that I'm planning something tomorrow and it's going to be special."

Susan now was doubly curious. 

"Special huh? How special are we talking?" Susan asked.

Link looked to the doorway, and then peered out into the hall both directions before talking to Susan.

"Special as in no information gets back to the doc right now." Link said.

Interest was tripled.

"Wait, are you going to-" Susan asked.

"I can't say." Link said quickly. "You I trust with secrets. Bob with secrets though..."

"I can keep a secret!" Bob cried. "I've never told anyone about the spaghetti and meatballs I've been keeping as a secret pet in the vents."

"... that explains that weird smell." Susan said.

Link grinned.

"Let's wait to say anything to Monger. I've already started the rumor that the smell is because of Coverton and I want to give it time to spread before the truth is found out." Link said.

"Can't promise that. But what I can promise is that I can get a nice look ready for you before tomorrow night." Susan said.

Bob gasped.

"Does this mean there will be a fashion montage?" Bob asked.

"You bet it does!" Susan said.

There was a great selection to choose from clothes wise. Susan liked variety and was trying out more looks. And the skill of sewing and making her own clothes gave more variety. They had started with clothes that were more in the family of black or dark blue. That didn't seem to be Link's style though.

And a chunk of time spent trying clothes that were more flowy or dress like too. One was a shade of purple that he almost went with but decided that light blue was the way to go in color choice.

As Susan was looking through the possible options with the new color scheme in mind, Link came across a leather jacket.

"I didn't know you went through a leather jacket phase." Link said.

Susan shrugged.

"It was a short phase. I had dropped the look because of Derek." Susan said.

She paused, hearing herself saying those words and not liking them.

"Maybe I should start wearing a leather jacket again. Just because." Susan said.

"You really should." Link said. "If there is anyone I know who can rock that look besides me, it's you."

Susan smiled, picking up the jacket again and looking at it fondly.

They eventually settled on a outfit. A bright blue dress shirt and over that a white dinner jacket. There was a tie as well with the look. A simple solid black. It was not the most adventurous of outfits but it looked good.

Link was happy with it and Susan was happy to see Link happy.

Bob however was frowning

"What's wrong Bob?" Susan asked.

"I want a fashion montage too!" Bob said.

Link and Susan looked to each other. Susan was the one to break the silence.

"Clothes don't exactly... work great for you." Susan said.

Bob pouted more.

"Maybe I can talk to the doc and he can figure out something for you clothes wise." Link said.

Bob perked up at that. 

It was the big night. Link was a mix of so many emotions. On the edge of something big. As excited as he was, he was also more scared then he had thought he would be. He was doing a good job hiding it he thought as he knocked on the lab door.

The door opened and Doctor Cockroach was there. One of the rare moments he was not wearing a lab coat. Rather he was wearing his normal slacks and shoes, along with a teal dress shirt. He was one to dress like this on date nights. He clearly had not expected to see Link dressed up as well, looking a bit startled.

"You're dressed up pretty nice." Doctor Cockroach said.

Link grinned.

"Not a issue is it?" Link asked.

Doctor Cockroach looked Link over again before answering.

"No. Not a issue at all." Doctor Cockroach said, a soft smile on his face. "Shall we go?"

The diner was not a fancy place to match the outfit that Link was wearing. But neither monster actually cared about that. It was a place they both knew they liked and knew was monster friendly. Even though the world knew of the monsters at this point, it did not mean they were welcomed by all.

As it was, the staff were polite enough to the monsters. Even knew how they preferred the food they ordered. And at this hour they basically had free range on what songs were playing on the old jukebox in the place.

It was a normal enough and sweet date night. 

Later that night found the two lovers sitting on the bench outside the diner. Doctor Cockroach leaned his head against Link's shoulder. They stayed that way for some time as they looked at the stars. Not quite ready to head back home. The night was winding down though. And Link had to make his move.

"Doc... I have something to say." Link said.

The sudden change of tone, from something playful to something soft but serious. The doc picked up on that quickly.

"Is everything okay?" Doctor Cockroach asked.

"Everything is just fine." Link said quickly. "In fact I'd say pretty perfect. Which is why I have something I need to say."

Link stood up then.

"We've been together for so long. Even when we didn't exactly really have much a of a future. But since the whole world knowing about monsters thing and the fact we do have a future now just made me think more about it. And just well..." 

Link took a deep breath, before he looked to the doctor. He gently took one of Doctor Cockroach's hands and gazed into his eyes.

"I want to make sure that our future is together." Link said.

Doctor Cockroach knew what Link was doing before Link went down to one knee and took the ring box out of his dinner jacket pocket. He was able to keep himself from saying anything until Link asked the question.

"Will you marry me?" Link asked.

"Yes!" was the doctors answer a fraction of a second later.

The embrace and the kiss after that lasted for awhile. No one else was there to judge though. Just them and the stars.

Link pulled away from the kiss eventually to say something.

"We might want to think about heading back soon. Susan for sure knew what I was planning and she's probably going to stay up to find out how things went." Link said.

[panda-noosh]

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

   there are guests today.

    little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern. 

   you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

    you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

    you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint. 

   you close your eyes.

    the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

    a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

   “clearly not.”

    “good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

   you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

   rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

   “well, no. i never really asked.”

    “then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

   “then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

    you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

    but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

    breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

    a risky day ahead.

    you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

    the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests. 

   even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

    but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair. 

     finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

    a man you recognise immediately.

    he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions. 

    you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

    the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

    “call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

    you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice. 

    the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

    finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

   you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

   and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

    you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

    and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

    you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

    “all clear.”

   you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

   was he here for you?

   you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

    you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

    it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

   and you’ve known him for a while.

   you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

    having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

    you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

     you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

    you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

    a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

   you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

    “so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

    you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

    you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose. 

    “so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

    “cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

   “why are you here?”

   “ah, asking the right questions now!”

   “just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

    his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little. 

    “fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

   you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much. 

    “you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

    your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting. 

    he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

    he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

   you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

    he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

    “i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

    his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

    “i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

   you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

    “she asked for you.”

    “kaz-”

   “inej is sick.”

    your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

    “sick.” 

    kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

    “so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

   “not walking alongside us, no.”

   you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

   “she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

   you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

    the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

   you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

    kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

    kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

    “you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

   “well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

    you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

   you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip. 

   and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

   it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

   that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life. 

   this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

    the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.     

   you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

    kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.   

   you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

    “spoiled,” he says.

   you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

    “or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

   “i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

    kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

    ouch.

   “we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

    “the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

   “go to hell, kaz.”

    he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

   you pause. “has he invited you?”

   “i don’t need an invite.”

    “you’re not permitted to be there-”

   “i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice. 

    you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

    “sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

    “it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

   “y/n can call me kaz.”

   you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet. 

   “y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

     “mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!” 

   you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

    kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

    you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools. 

    “do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

   “no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

    the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

    you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

    kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

    “mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

    “no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

    you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

    “what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

    “then i get poisoned.”

   he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

   “on hand to do what?”

   “don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

   you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you. 

    “i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

    “never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

    “no life is as bad as the barrel.”

    kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

    even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. 

    “the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

    “you don’t move on from that.”

   “maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

    his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

    you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

    kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow. 

   ----

    inej really is sick.

   “so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

    you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were. 

   she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

   she whispers, “it’s you.”

   you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

    “what are you doing here?”

    you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

    “yes, it is.”

   “i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

   inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

   “of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

    “i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends. 

   “clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

   “some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

   “and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

   inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

   you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej. 

    finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong. 

    “i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

    her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

   “i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

    “has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

   your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

    inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

    silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

    “he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

    “past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

    inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

    “well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

   ---

    you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

    trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

   tonight is no different.

   the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

   you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

   the bang sounds again.

   you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

   you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

   kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

    dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

    “i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

   you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

   “oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

    you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

    “yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

   you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

   “rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

   you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

    “i can’t.”

    “try.”

   “you know i can’t.”

   you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

   and you know why.

   “i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

    “are they bad again?”

    kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

   a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him. 

    you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

    “trying to get me drunk?”

   “kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

    he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

    “let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

   “didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

    everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

   but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself. 

    “okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

   “did i really wake you?”

    “i couldn’t sleep either.”

    you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

    his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

    you nod. “thanks.”

   “how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

    “i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

    kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body. 

   you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

    ----

     “good morning, royalty.”

    the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

   kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

    “good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

    “i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

    “y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible. 

    kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

    you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

    “you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

   there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny. 

    you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

   “kaz.”

   “he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

   kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

   you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

    “any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

    kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

   and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

    “you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum. 

    “i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

    “he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

   “tone what down?”

   “the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

   “i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

    “oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

    kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

   such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

    “i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.  

   “oh?”

   “she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

   you shrug. she’s right. 

    “that worries me, you know.”

    “nothing worries you, kaz.”

   “the thought of you in danger does.”

   you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

    “why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

    “because everything you say means something bigger.”

   kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz. 

 “are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

   you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

    “since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

   your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

   kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

    “we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

   kaz glares. 

   you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

        “how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

   kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

    “worse?”

    “for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

    “yeah. he does.”    

    you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

    he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

    “does jesper know how to make your brew?”

    there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

    your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

   “listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

   “no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

   kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

   you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

    “for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

   “because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

   “because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

    his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

    your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

    but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

   you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence. 

----

    final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

    kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so. 

   tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now. 

   kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

    you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

   you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

    finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

    kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

   the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

   your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

   “what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

   kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz. 

    he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

   you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

    “how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

   “why do you care?”

   he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

   he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

   “it was enough.”

   “if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

    your head snaps up. soft spots?

   he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

   you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

    “so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

   your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

   and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

   you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

     “well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

     “you are unbelievable.”

   kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

   “you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

    “you know i am.”

    you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

     “this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

   “is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

   he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

   “there is no one worse, kaz.”

   his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

   “don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

   and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop. 

    “saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

    “is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

   and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

    his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

    but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished. 

    “is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

   “kaz-”

    “what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

   “kaz, i’m-”

   “what about this?”

   he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

   you wrench away from him, gasping.

    he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

    you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

   “kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

   he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

   he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

   “kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

   “you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

   you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

   but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

    kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

     “kaz-”

   “stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

    you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

    ----

    “why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

    you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup. 

   “are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

    you wince, which is answer enough.

   “what about this time?”

   “he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

    inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

   “wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

   “no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

   “that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

   “well,  you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

   you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too. 

    but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

    “i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

   “can you?”

     “take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

    “he said we were nothing.”

    “he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

    you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

   “well, do you love him back?”

   your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

   she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

    you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

    so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

    a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

    “what are you suggesting?”

   inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

   you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

   you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

    even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother. 

    and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

   and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

    it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

   you nearly cry at the sight of it.

   you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind. 

   you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

    “morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

   “i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

    you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

   you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

    you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

    and then the door opens.

    your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

   “kaz.”

    he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

    his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

   “kaz-”

    he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

    “kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

    his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

    but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

    “is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

    “yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

    he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

   “everything.”

   the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

    “everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

    “i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

     he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric. 

    he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.” 

[the-blind-assassin-12]

A Bad Option for Close Quarters

PART OF THE VIPER & THE WILD THING COLLECTION 

A/N: Hey there, Prince Oberyn party people! Before we get started in this one, I want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone for all the encouragement and kind things that you had to say after I posted the first part of this collection. I was and still am nervous to take on Oberyn, so reading the comments that you left really made me feel less nervous. You are Great!! 

A/N 2: And now I have to talk about serious stuff- this part does have some sensitive material in it that may be difficult for some to read. I don’t normally put big red warning stickers on my work, but this one feels like it warrants it. Please as always read the content warnings and if you are still unsure, know that you can always send me a message to ask specifics. 

Warning: language, violence, blood, injury, abuse (physical & sexual in nature) death, NO LIKE ALL THE WARNINGS APPLY. general brothel un-pleasantry. 

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: Oberyn has made it clear that you are his favorite way to pass the time while he is in King’s Landing, and you are perfectly happy with that. But not everyone is.  

“‘Bout fuckin’ time.” 

You heard him before you saw him, lined up a few heads behind the front of the procession of prostitutes spilling into the brothel’s main chamber, but there was no mistaking his rough voice or the lowborn accent he tried so hard to hide when he spoke in the presence of others. Shit. You had known him long enough to pick him out from a legion of men by sound alone. Or smell. 

It was Gannon Yast, a foot soldier in the Lannister army who had saved up his coins for years to purchase his surname from a forger on the black market. Like you, he had been born on the streets of King’s Landing, and like you, he was just another drop in the bay, another bastard bearing the name Waters. But unlike you who knew what you were, Gannon had always been subject to outlandish fantasies and truly believed the lies he told about himself and his upbringing. He had been spinning them in his own mind for so long that by now there was surely an elaborate tapestry depicting the lineage of a House that had never existed. 

House Yast. The very thought made you roll your eyes. His sigil could be the pot he bought himself to piss in on a shit brown background. 

The penalty for falsifying documents such as the ones that Gannon had illicitly procured ranged from execution to public flogging and time in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. To him, imprisonment in a cell was no worse than suffering the flea bitten life his birth name chained him to. Since he wasn’t so bold as to impersonate a nobleman, he knew that he wouldn’t lose his head, and to him it was worth the gamble. 

You didn’t share his viewpoint. You had heard stories, rumors, about female prisoners and the things that had been done to them at the hands of the Gold Cloaks, and while you had no idea how true they were you were not at all interested in finding out. If you were going to get fucked by Lannister guards and soldiers, you may as well be paid for it. Forged proclamation of respectable provenance wasn’t the only way out of King’s Landing, and you’d also been saving your spare coins, few and far between as they may be, for passage across the Narrow Sea and out of Westeros. Even if it would take you a lifetime to save, you would rather hoard what you could over decades than spend even one night in those dank caverns. 

Unless Oberyn actually… You had done your best not to dwell on the offer he had made you to leave the city with him, to live free in the Kingdom of Dorne. He hadn’t mentioned it again though you had been with him several times since. Six. Six times in eleven days. It wasn’t as though you were the only one of Litlefinger’s whores that the Prince and his paramour came to see. The only one he chose every time though. The only one he spent an entire night with. You shook your head and followed Dria, one of the other girls who had been there nearly as long as you had, into the chamber where Gannon and two others were waiting. Even if he truly meant to make good on his offer, his departure from King’s Landing was still weeks away. Anything could happen in that much time. He could make promises to half the whores here about- 

The thin curtain separating the hallway from the main reception chamber was still billowing near your ankles when you felt Gannon’s meaty hand close securely around your wrist. He yanked you straight out of line, much to the dismay of the other men in the room, the girls in front of and behind you scrambling out of the way so as not to get tripped up by your sudden departure from the lineup. Biting the inside of your cheek to hide the grimace on your face at the twisting and pinching of your skin beneath his rough fingers, you stumbled into his hold. Shit. From the corner of your eye you saw Dria sneering at you as she draped herself over the shoulder of one of the other infantry men, and you knew it was because she was bitter about how much time you’d been spending with Oberyn and Ellaria while she and the others were left to serve the lesser customers like Gannon and his acquaintances. Jealous witch. 

You didn’t have the chance to sling a glare back at her, Gannon spinning you around to catch your chin in his free hand, the other releasing your wrist to grab at your ass. Squeezing both to the point of pain, you let out a small muffled sound as he brought your face close to his own. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t that fuck-drunk prince’s prized little cunt.” His breath reeked of stale ale and whatever the slop stalls were serving up in their brown bowls that week, his clothes and hair soaked in the bodily stench of a soldier who had been away for long months. He drew his lips into a vicious grin, continuing to grope your flesh through the gauzy sash that barely covered you. The stark contrast between his touch and Oberyn’s made your skin crawl and your stomach turn. You knew that the next time you saw the Prince you’d likely be riddled in bruises and marks left behind by Gannon’s greedy grip and forceful fingers. What will he think of that? 

Your mind provided a quick answer, the way he had looked at you when you told him how you ended up working as a whore in King’s Landing flashing in your memory, his eyes filling with pain, anger and dark fire. He won’t like it. At all. 

Dria’s shrill laughter met your ear as the man she’d been pawing at picked her up and brought her into one of the private pleasure chambers, the door slamming behind them. The third man in the room seemed happy enough where he was, two of the remaining girls already stripping each other of their sashes and teasing him with the perfumed fabric. Those unselected by the men were already shuffling back down the hall, waiting to be called when the next batch of customers arrived. You longed to join them even if it meant forgoing pay for the afternoon, but wishful thinking wouldn’t get you out of this. 

Nothing could. 

You’d been anticipating this encounter since you caught word that the Lannisters were bolstering security around the city leading up to the Royal Wedding. You knew that meant low ranking soldiers like Gannon would be flooding the inns and brothels. The fact that Oberyn had been monopolizing you, keeping you from giving Gannon the homecoming he clearly thought he was entitled to only exacerbated the man’s jealous anger, his lack of patience, his belief that he was owed things from you and your body.  

The man who was currently claiming as much of you as his fingers and thumbs could fit between them broke through your thoughts, continuing to snarl his displeasure over your recent unavailability. “You had me settle for scraps while you fucked that southern shit,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips to land on your cheek. “Every time I came looking for this,” the hand that had been squeezing your ass slipped between your legs as though you of all people needed him to explain why he was in a brothel. You winced, every last fiber of your being trying to recoil from him and finding nowhere to go. “Every fucking time, you were in that room bouncing on that peacock’s prick.” He turned you roughly towards the room that you had utilized several times with Oberyn on his visits and shoved you towards it. “I could hear you in there. You made me fuck scraps while I listened to that and-”  

“I didn’t make you fuck anything, Gannon.” Knowing that you were only making him angrier in your struggle didn’t stop you, and even though he was twice your strength you did what you could to resist the way that he was steering you into the private chamber. “It isn’t my fault that you have to buy time in bed with a woman because no one who wasn’t forced to fuck you ever would.” You bit your words at him only because his flesh was too far from your teeth. “It isn’t my fault that-” 

He timed his backhand with the slamming of the door that he had just pushed you through, releasing his grip and driving the knuckles of his right hand across your face so that you fell hard to the stone floor. Your knees and palms made blunt contact and you knew that as soon as the white hot ache tearing through your skull subsided, pain would erupt over those areas too. Fuck. Letting out a small groan, you tried to crawl away if only just to turn back towards him to see the next blow coming, one scuffed and scraped palm coming up to your already swelling cheek. You could feel warm blood pooling in the shallow cut there, saw a drop fall to the floor as you inched yourself closer to the wall, and though you knew it was likely that he would hit you again, while your body throbbed with the raw, abusive way he was handling you, you didn’t regret saying what you did. 

Gannon Waters was a pile of shit in the gutter, and no forger could change that no matter how fancy the calligraphy on the falsified lineage documents looked. He was foul and filthy and that had nothing to do with which surname he paid for. He was a rotten being and it had nothing to do with where he was born or how many golden coins he could rub together, and suddenly you couldn’t bear to keep those opinions from leaping from your tongue. Not when you’d seen and known better men well before you ever even met Oberyn. The men you served were not always like Gannon, seeking only to assert dominance and demean the unlucky prostitute who didn't feel quite as unlucky until he put his hands on them. Not all of them were despicable and suddenly you had reached a threshold for what you were willing to accept without at least letting loose your venomous feelings, consequences be damned. 

Before you could get too far though, you felt his tight grip wrap around your ankle to yank you back towards him, your knees both hitting the floor again as he did. You let out another involuntary cry, trying in vain to kick free of his grasp, aiming for his chin if at all possible. He thwarted your attempts with another hard pull, dragging you closer so that he could hold himself above you, trapping you between his limbs with one hand pressed firmly over your mouth. “You’re going to regret the day you turned me down, you little cunt.” He seethed as he tore at the sash that somehow still covered your lower half as he dropped his heavy weight on you, the hilt of the sword he still wore and the buckle of his belt scraping at your skin to leave indents. “You could have been my wife, could have had a name, but you wanted to be whore, and I am going to make you regret that choice no matter how many times you fuck that Dornish dog. I’m going to make you regret that until the day that you die, do you hear me?” 

“I hear you.” 

It was Oberyn’s voice that you heard next, and at first you thought it was just a trick that your mind was playing on you, dizzy from the strike and the fall, wishful thoughts sweeping in to carry you away from consciousness. What? How is..?

The dangerous vibration in Gannon’s voice, the unhinged way that his eyes were twitching, the crushing grip he had on you, all of it made your world shrink to just those things, just what you could see and feel and hear. Which meant that you hadn’t noticed the door bursting open, hadn’t heard the shouts or the hurried footsteps of two figures as they rushed inside, hadn’t fully registered what was happening as Gannon was hoisted off of you and slammed into the hardwood table that stood in the center of the room. Someone was pulling you to your feet, wrapping a pair of warm arms around you, murmuring your name and pleading with you to look at them. 

Shaking in shock, you managed to turn your head and focus your eyes, blinking them furiously to force the room to stop spinning. Ellaria? As soon as you recognized the woman you let yourself collapse into her, feeling as she let out a sigh and strengthened her hold on you to keep you on your feet. “You’re alright now.” She spoke softly in your ear as she led you closer to the small table beside the bed where a wash bin and cloth had been set out. “Come here.” Without letting go of you, she reached for the white cloth and dipped it in the cool water before bringing it up to your cheek, the soothing relief of the soft fabric instant as she gently pressed it there. She continued to hush and soothe you, letting you lean into her, and more quickly than you would have thought possible you felt your breathing return to normal, the adrenaline still pounding behind your eyeballs, but allowing you to make sense of what was happening at least. 

Oberyn and Ellaria… they must have come in just after… and then they-      

“I heard you,” Oberyn growled at the man again as he used his agility to duck Gannon’s reactionary swing, slamming him into the table’s surface once more. Using the momentary disorientation, Oberyn disarmed the man before Gannon could fully unsheath his long sword, simultaneously forcing the man into a seated position in one of the chairs that hadn’t gotten knocked to the ground in the fray. “Now tell me why I should let you live.” He moved one hand to the back of Gannon’s neck and pressed hard until the man began to choke out, gasping and gesturing to the Lannister crest emblazoned on the leather chestpiece he wore, and Oberyn released his grip enough to lean back and glance down at the embroidered lions, a look of mock appraisal pulling his handsome features into a cruel mask. “A soldier? Is that what you are trying to say? That I should let you live because you are a soldier?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the sword aside. “No, no, no,” Oberyn chided, the skin over the knuckles of his left hand stretched tight over the other man’s neck as Gannon fought to free himself from the Red Viper’s hold. “You are not a soldier.” 

The dented steel clattered noisily against the stone floor, skidding halfway across the room to where you and Ellaria stood, the woman stopping its momentum by placing the sole of her sandal atop the flat width of the blade. She still had one arm around your waist, the opposite hand still covering yours to help you keep the cool cloth pressed to your bloodied cheek. Eyes never leaving Oberyn, she turned only enough to whisper into your ear. “He’s going to make that swine pay for what he did to you,” she told you, leaving a comforting kiss on your uninjured cheek. “I promise.” 

You didn’t doubt it. Ignoring the ache, your upper lip curled as you eyed the man who struck you. “Good.” From the corner of your eye you saw Ellaria’s mouth lift into a grin at your response while Oberyn shifted his grip from behind Gannon’s head to one of his wrists, forcing his fingers to splay open atop the carved wood. 

“You are not a soldier,” the Prince went on, “I am sure of this because a soldier would know better than to draw his longsword in such close quarters. No, I don’t think Lannisters have soldiers. That word implies training. Dedication. Skill.” Leaning closer, he paused to allow his voice to fill with disdain, then looked over to where Ellaria’s foot held the weapon in place. “You are just a sack of meat with a pointy sword that is too far away to save you now.” Gannon began a string of swears then, but Oberyn didn’t let him finish it, cutting him off with a question. “Do you know why King’s Landing is such an ugly place?” He used his free hand to grab the sniveling, shaking excuse for a soldier by the jaw. 

You shivered, watching his fingers dig in with enough force to leave deep bruises if not crack the bones beneath them.  How are those the same hands that he- With a rough twist he forced Gannon’s face in your direction, left hand still pining the other man’s wrist to the table. The man who only moments before had been holding you down even more harshly actually had the audacity to shoot you a pleading glance, the fear in his eyes begging you to call off the attack. Fuck you, Gannon. You narrowed your eyes at him and spat blood onto the blade Oberyn had stripped him of. 

Dropping his level he lined himself up directly beside the coward. Releasing the man’s chin as roughly as he’d grabbed it, he turned in your direction. You saw a quick flash of pain in his eyes as he looked at you, and though it was gone before you were truly sure it was there, you felt it in your chest. Oh, Oberyn, it’s… I’m alright. 

As though he could hear your thoughts, he blinked and the remnants of the flash were gone, replaced with renewed anger. He swiveled his head to face Gannon once more. “Because worthless fucking shits like you destroy all the beautiful things.” With lightning speed he reached for the short dagger hanging from his own belt to unsheath it and dragged it across the tabletop. Gannon’s chair shifted as he tried in a desperate panic to distance himself from the glinting edge of the razor sharp weapon, the rounded legs scraping the stone floor as Oberyn brought the crooked dagger to hover over the man’s pinky finger. “Do you know what we do to men like you in Dorne?” He rested the edge of the dagger between the top and middle knuckles of Gannon’s last two digits, a thin crimson line appearing beneath the blade before it had even had the chance to bite into the skin there. 

“Oberyn, wait.” You called out his name, raising the hand you’d been clutching onto Ellaria’s forearm with to stop him from removing Gannon’s fingers. His forehead creased in confusion, the woman beside you drawing a breath to protest your seemingly merciful request. But you only waited long enough for a spark of relief to flicker in Gannon’s eyes, your own burning with hate- for Gannon and men like him- and that flicker fizzled to nothing as he realized that you had no plans to grant him mercy. “It was the other hand that he struck me with.” 

Flashing a grin as quick as the blade he held, Oberyn switched Gannon’s hands so that it was his dominant one to take the punishment, and in a testament of just how sharp the Red Viper of Dorne kept his knives, removed the top portion of the man’s four fingers with almost no pressure needed, the detached parts rolling over the table, no longer a piece of the man’s body, now just bits of waste. Gannon let out a nearly inhuman howl of pain as he keeled over onto the floor in a bloody heap, clutching the gushing stumps above his knuckles that used to be fingers. Though you had never had a digit cut off and couldn’t begin to guess at how it would feel, the sounds coming from the man were twisted, inverted almost, turning into a shriek, his face contorted as though he was being consumed in flames you couldn’t see. Finally, writhing his way to his feet, Gannon scrambled from the room, his screams still audible even as he fled the brothel. 

You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped away from Ellaria, not until you were reaching for the handle of the dagger that Oberyn had released once he’d finished carrying out the sentence he had passed on Gannon. But before you could close your fingers around the hilt, you felt and then saw Oberyn’s hands coming from behind you to cover yours, stopping you. Pressing your hands into your own stomach, he pulled you back gently but urgently into his chest, his lips immediately finding a home behind your ear where he kissed your name. “You’re safe.” His breath hit your skin in a wave as he slowly turned you in his arms to look you over. Satisfied that you hadn’t been more seriously injured than you were, he relaxed but only slightly. 

Sticking one hand out wordlessly behind himself, he waited for Ellaria to pass him the cloth she had been using to clean your cheek, his eyes glued to your face as he brought the cloth there, dabbing so feather light that you hardly felt a thing. You did feel the weight in his eyes as he looked at you though, and you could tell that what he and his paramour had walked in on had shaken him. Just as your lips parted, intending to whisper his name, his eyebrows came together, a crease forming between them to turn his expression even more grave and it silenced you. Cradling your face between his large palms, he kept you framed  between his bent forearms as he spoke. “You must never touch one of my blades unless I place it in your hand, do you understand?” 

Sucking in a breath, your eyes widened as they flicked back to the blade where it still sat atop the table. You had heard the rumors about the poisons that the Dornish Prince coated his weapons with, and as the sunlight filtered through the window, you saw it shining a dark sickly green color and everything fell into place. That was why he was in so much pain, that’s… he- You looked back at Oberyn then, your chest heaving as you wrapped your head around everything. “You… poisoned him?” 

“He deserved worse.” You watched his nostrils flare, something fiery roaring to life in his eyes. “For what he did to you, he deserves-” 

“Will he die?” You asked without flinching, without your voice wavering, giving him no reason to believe that you were off put by how he had handled Gannon. 

His upper lip curled slightly as he answered, his voice dropping lower. “Not right away.” You inhaled a breath through your nose. He will, then. You caught what he wasn’t saying, that the poison he had used was not only responsible for the increased pain sensitivity, but that it would also masquerade as infection soon enough, sickening the man well beyond the point of saving before he’d even shown signs of illness. 

“Good.” You narrowed your eyes to add emphasis, wanting him to know that you were entirely supportive of the fate he’d subjected Gannon to. He did it to himself. 

Oberyn tilted his head to one side as Ellaria stepped around to take the cloth back from him, the pair of them existing in such harmony with each other that they didn’t even need to communicate verbally. She laid her hand on his arm, moving closer to press her lips to his bicep, kissing him through his robe. Though she didn’t even make contact with his skin, the action was so intimate that their connection was almost tangible. They’re so… Despite the pain you were still in and the shock that still coursed through your veins, the pure beauty in the way that they loved one another wasn’t lost on you. Most people would never have even a fraction of what they gave each other, what they allowed one another to have, what they encouraged each other to experience. You knew that no matter how long you would be involved in their lives, even if you did end up going back to Dorne with them, there was nothing that you or anyone could do to come between Oberyn and Ellaria. It was gorgeous, the way that they respected and supported each other, and you knew that most people wouldn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter to you, or to them. 

Ellaria leaned over to tuck a piece of your hair out of your eyes, sweeping her fingertips over your swollen cheek. “This will fade, I promise.” She gave you a smile then that was softer than you had a feeling she liked to appear to anyone but Oberyn, then leaned in to speak into your ear. “Let him take care of you. He… he needs to know you’re alright.” Dropping a soft peck to your eyebrow, she pulled back and gave you a minute nod, and then she was heading for the door without another glance or word. 

Once it had clicked shut, Oberyn took both of your hands in his and led you slowly backwards to the bed, pausing when he felt his calves hit it to shift his grip to your waist. As he sat on the edge, he pulled you into his lap, and you let him fold you close to his body. But instead of staying there, he slid his arms beneath your legs and around your torso, moving both of you backwards towards the pillows until he had enough space to lay you down. Completely bare, the sash you’d been wearing torn in bloodied pieces on the floor, he let his eyes roam every bit of you, taking stock of the bruises and scrapes, the scratches and red marks that you’d received before he and Ellaria had come to your aid. Then, without warning, his eyes were on yours, and they were spilling over with need, but it wasn’t the same kind of need that you’d seen there before. 

He needs to know you’re alright. 

You heard the other woman’s words echo in your mind, and you knew that this was what she meant. Licking at your lips, you reached for his jaw, fingers grazing the deceptively soft hair that covered it, and you felt him lean into your touch, eyes closed for several beats. “I’m alright, Oberyn,” you kept your voice as even as you could, knowing that it would help convince him that while you were hurt, it could have been far worse. “I’m alright, because you and-” 

“I am sorry that I could not stop him sooner.” He hadn’t waited for you to finish speaking, nor had he opened his eyes, and the way that the muscles in his throat contracted as he swallowed told you that there was more to what he was feeling than you knew. 

“I...Its-” His eyes opened as you swept your thumb over his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“Yes- I do.” He shook his head slightly and took your hand in both of his. Bringing it to his lips, he fit the knuckle of your middle finger between his lips, dragging it along the seam of them before kissing the very end of it. “I have my reasons,” he said, “for why I… why seeing this happening was-” he swore under his breath and swallowed again. “Something…monstrous happened to...to my sister.” You felt your heart break at the sadness in his usually vivacious tone, and you wanted to say something to comfort him, but you fought the urge, remembering what Ellaria had said. “I do not wish to talk about that with you tonight, not while you are…” He brought one hand to your abdomen, fingers finding a divot left there by the press of Gannon’s metallic sword hilt against your skin. “Not while you are in need of my care.” He carefully lowered himself to lay beside you, letting his touch travel over your body to caress each bruise, and then his lips were raking over the cut on your cheek, impossibly close but so gentle that even though the skin was raw and angry, it didn’t hurt at all. “I will tell you about her one day. I… I want you to know me, understand me. And you cannot do that without learning about her.” You wanted to know whatever he would tell you, even if hearing it would shatter your heart all over again. “But not tonight. Tonight…” he looked into your eyes then, that need still there. “Tonight, let me take care of you, my wild thing.” Though it wasn’t sexual, the burn in his desire to tend to you purely to help heal your wounds, you couldn’t help the way that your stomach flipped and your heart lurched, because that somehow made it mean even more. “I will not rest, he went on as you hummed at the sensation of the backs of his fingers trailing over the purplish marks on your arm, “until I have made my penance to every part of you that he touched.” 

You fell asleep that night to his fingers in your hair, his lips resting against the crown of your head as you lay against his chest, not a single mark left untended by the Prince.    

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THANK YOU FOR READING! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list please feel free  to let me know. And like I said up top: if you have any requests or ideas that you would like to see for these two, send an ask and I will see what I can do!

tags: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @pheedraws @valkblue @alraedesigns @beefcakebarnes​ @persie33ik @fific7​ @g0ldenlush​ @insiespeckagain  @thisgirl-knm​ @writeforfandoms​ @paracosmenthusiast​

[chokemewanda]

New To Me - Avengers

(gn!reader)

No Natasha part in this one because it got to be too long and so I posted it separately here.

a compilation of gender neutral (let me know if i slipped up) one-shots on new things you introduce to the avengers to.

Masterlist

Tony - dressing down

You'd never had much. It hadn't impacted you hugely in life, you'd always had just enough. Dating Tony put a lot of things in perspective for you both. You'd come to realize the absolute waste that came from being a billionaire. Tony had so much at his disposal and sure Pepper organized that extra food went to homeless shelters and that Stark Industries was run as eco-friendly as possible. But there was still so much.

You hated staying in Stark Towers. Everyone dressed up all the time and drank coffee that cost over six dollars a cup and it just puts you on edge. You weren't embarrassed but you suspected the one's in the fancy clothes expected you to be.

For Tony, he came to realize how much stock he put in material things. The first time he'd come to your apartment he'd tried to buy you a new one. You'd only been dating a month. You denied him because you loved your little apartment and you'd worked damn hard to get it. Rent in New York was never cheap, not even for a matchbox like your apartment.

The only change you had let him make was a security system because he really disapproved of a deadbolt and a baseball bat for anyone who got past the deadbolt. You thought it was excessive and made it look like you had something worth stealing.

Tony always looked out of place in his perfect suits sitting on your sofa that had more patches than original fabric and your new favorite hobby was debauching Tony enough that he looked like he belonged. He seemed to enjoy that too.

You were laying against him one night, his arm around your shoulders as you watched your small crappy television when you chuckled a little to yourself. He looked away from the re-run of Scrubs to where you were smiling to yourself.

"Something funny?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, philanthropist is laying on my couch with me in his underwear looking completely at ease." You told him and he rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his glass. "Drinking two-dollar wine that I put in a blender so it would taste like ten-dollar wine instead."

"Don't sell yourself short, it could be at least a twenty-five-dollar wine." He teased, poking you in the ribs, watching you squirm. "I suppose it doesn't have to cost an exorbitant amount to taste okay."

Steve - this century

Steve seemed to be rethinking his whole life, staring up at the menu board and your heart dropped, watching the worry in his expression. He hadn't had a chance, they just dropped him in at the deep end and expected him to swim.

He'd told you he'd only been in Washington a few weeks and was still getting used to being out of New York and not being on official duty. You laughed and told him that he'd be missing Brooklyn in no time. Washington was nothing compared to home. That piqued his interest and he'd jumped the gun, asking you to go for coffee.

He looked to be regretting it already and you hoped it was just the choice to get coffee he was regretting, not bringing you for coffee. He read the board again, swallowing thickly before turning to you. "What's good?"

"What have you tried?" You asked. You were both standing off to the side, trying not to obstruct the customers hurrying in and out.

"Black coffee. Usually burnt because Falsworth wouldn't drink it any other way." He told you honestly and you nodded, looking over the options available.

"Sweet?" You asked and he hesitated. He was so out of his debt and you felt like it was your fault for not warning him.

"How sweet?" He asked like it was a trick question. You looked up at him as he studied the menu with the sort of determination you imagine he used for mission reports.

"Well, it ranges from 'not very' to 'probably sweet enough to rot even your teeth'." You told him honestly. "That's kind of how I drink mine. You got a favorite flavor?"

He began to look overwhelmed again and you sighed, ushering him to a seat and taking a leap of faith. "Hot or cold?"

"Cold."

"Sweetness on a scale from one to ten?

"Uh, a two?"

"Vanilla or caramel?"

"Vanilla."

You smiled at him, dropping your jacket over your chair and heading to the counter with determination. You were going to have coffee with Steve Rogers and nothing was going to ruin it. He was sweeter than you ever imagined and boy had you imagined ever since junior year history when his face cropped up in your textbook.

You ordered an iced vanilla latte for him and added a blueberry muffin, hoping he wouldn't mind. He was waiting patiently, watching you order your drinks and muffins with a small smile. When you presented him with your picks he smiled gratefully.

"There's just so much more." He told you honestly. "Not to betray my age but back before the ice, everything was simpler. You wanted coffee, you got a cup of tar that would sit on your tongue for hours after you'd finished drinking it. Now there are hundreds of choices when all I wanted was to get to know you over a drink."

"It's a lot for people who have spent their whole life in this century. I even get overwhelmed." You told him and he slumped his shoulders.

"You didn't need anyone to order for you." He pointed out.

"So I know coffee? I don't know anything about throwing a shield. We all got our talents, Steve." You teased and he rolled his eyes.

"You got any other talents?" He asked, taking a sip of his coffee and smiling approvingly. You beamed, proud that you'd been right.

"Plenty of talents, but you'll have to work for them."

Peter - being an avenger

You found Peter fast asleep in bed for the first time in weeks. You couldn't even be mad with him, knowing he was going to miss the first plans you'd made together in quite some time. Instead, you kicked off your shoes, slipping into his bed, hoping May wouldn't care too much.

Peter shuffled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you against his chest before relaxing back into sleep and you took the time to examine his face. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple, almost as if he'd had his nose broken. You wouldn't be surprised if that was what had actually happened either.

Peter hadn't stopped since he went to the airport to help Iron Man fight against Captain America. Between his usual patrolling, Avengers missions, and schoolwork, he'd run himself ragged. He was constantly yawning, sipping on coffee, and assuring you he was fine. You never believed him.

He made time for you still. Small, stolen pockets where he got more than ten minutes to himself. Usually late at night or very early in the morning. It meant the world to you, no matter how many times you assured him that you'd survive not seeing him if he got to catch up on his sleep.

He'd spent all of yesterday catching up on homework so that you could spend the whole day together today, having planned everything himself, promising romance. You preferred this. The quiet of his breathing, his arms wrapped around you, and the peace of his little bedroom.

He didn't wake until mid-afternoon, snuffling against your neck. You began to run your fingers through his curls, just how he liked it. He mumbled some nonsense against your skin before groaning. "I slept in, didn't I?"

"It's okay." You promised, continuing to play with his hair. "You were tired, I was tired. This was enough."

"But we were going to go to the zoo." He groaned and you smiled against the top of his head. He was tracing patterns against the small of your back where your t-shirt had ridden up.

"The zoo will be there when we want to go again. You needed the sleep. I promise you, this is okay." You whispered and he hummed against your neck.

"What happens when you get sick of me being tired all the time or when you get sick of me never being around?" He asked. You frowned against his hair, trying to think of an answer better than denying it.

"Then I kick you out of your bed and drag you to the zoo. Or I come over like I did this morning and I wait for you so we can spend time together. And if that stops working then we'll find something else. Relationships are about work Peter and I know you're not scared of some hard work." You told him with a laugh.

"It's just so hard." He whispered and you felt tears against your skin. You let him cry knowing that it was a build-up of everything he'd been trying so hard to contain for weeks now.

"I know but if there's anyone I know that can do it, it's you."

Bruce - being put first

It always surprised him when you came looking for him on the evenings he'd gotten absorbed in his research. You'd made it a rule, no lab after the sun sets. He needed to take a break every once in a while. He hadn't expected you to enforce it, coming looking for him in the evenings, rapping your knuckles on the door, eyebrow raised expectantly.

It had been a long time since someone had noticed his absence and wanted that to change. He wasn't used to being on someone's mind as more than a scientist or a nightmare. He wasn't used to you.

You had tore into his organised life and ripped it to shreds the day you joined the Avengers. You had sarcasm to rival even Tony and enough determination that you made Steve look manageable. You were stubborn and brave and everything he never knew he needed.

He'd done nothing about it, of course. Watching you from afar, admiring the way you threw yourself into battle when he shied away from it. You were amazing and incredible and entirely out of his league. Not that you thought as much.

It had been the Hulk's fault. Seeking you out in battle, watching your back and smashing anything that dared approach you. The Hulk had a crush. A huge, glaring, obvious crush. Bruce and the Hulk had never shared anything but a body and even that had to change for the Hulk to be satisfied. He never imagined that something like this would happen.

You began taking over Natasha's lullaby, telling the Hulk that you'd see him again soon but for now you needed Bruce. The Hulk was like a toddler, stubborn but eventually giving in when you made him promises he would probably never remember.

You had come to him of course. It never would've happened any other way. You found excuses to end up in his lab, asking him questions that sent him off on tangents you would never understand. But you loved hearing him talk about it anyway.

It had been one of those tangents that had done it. You had been listening to him explain nano technology for almost twenty minutes when you kissed him. He had frozen in the act, unsure of how to proceed. "It's a kiss Banner, surely you know what a kiss is."

So he'd kissed you, just to prove that there was nothing he didn't know, of course.

Then he'd hidden from you for almost a month until Tony had given in and told you where he was. You'd found him in a small apartment in Bed-Stuy, Clint's apparently. He hadn't expected you to come looking. You assured him that you would continue to do so.

He got used to it.

Bucky - Non-violent touch

Touch starved. That's the label they had put on him. He was starved for touch. He didn't think of it as starved so much as a mild hunger. He could survive without it. He had been surviving ever since he'd come back. Everyone presumed he'd have an aversion to touch after only ever being hurt for decades. Even Steve was careful not to make contact with him.

You weren't afraid. He suspected it was because you didn't know. He'd been sitting in a cafe, trying to put his list together like his therapist had suggested. The people he owed apologies to. Tony was top of the list, Natasha a close second. Steve didn't think he should have to apologize.

You had rushed in from the rain, bumping into his chair. You reached out to steady yourself at the same time he reached to steady you, his flesh hand catching yours. He inhaled in so suddenly he choked on the bite of pie he'd just taken.

"Oh, sorry. I was trying to get out of the rain." You apologised and Bucky coughed again, clearing his airway.

"No, uh, no problem." You walked away then, reappearing with a shy smile when there were no other seats available. He left the cafe that day with your number, a date and a want that overpowered anything he'd ever felt before.

Date after date gave Bucky a small fix at a time until he came clean, told you everything right up to how badly he wanted to touch you. You had cried at all the pain he'd been through then folded him into your arms and held him tightly.

And so it evolved, there was rarely a time when you were both together that you weren't touching in one way or another. It was usually you who initiated the contact. To Bucky, you were precious, something to be gentle with.

You met his friends. Slowly in what you were sure were staged accidents. Steve first, his best and most loyal friend. You had been sitting on one of the soft sofa's in Avenger's Tower, leaned against Bucky, one hand running through his hair. He was like a cat, almost purring and scowling when you stopped.

Steve came in and hesitated, taking in the scene before pulling Bucky aside. You hadn't thought much of it, extracting yourself from him and smiling when he assured you he wouldn't be a minute.

"You can tell them to stop." Steve muttered, too low for you to hear. Bucky frowned, looking back at you to see what it was that you were doing that was so bad. "You don't have to make yourself uncomfortable to be with them."

Bucky looked away from watching you channel surfing. You looked as determined as any of his teammates out in the field. He chuckled before giving Steve his attention.

"I've never been more comfortable in my life." He promised Steve.

[ubemango]

pups oc trying lingerie for the first time and she’s shy and joon is like ;&:$:?M AL);!:!FU(2?/?/NC):)TIOn bc she looks so hawt :3

>//////<

Also no actual sex in this but like very uh. Horny lol. As is wont to happen

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You hate lace. It chafes and doesn’t offer your cooch good ventilation most of the time. But you get an automated email about holiday specials at La Senza, and what’s a little self-care in the form of retail therapy? You’ll sacrifice comfort for the sake of good discount deals, you decide, and before you know it you’ve got an 8-pack of cute pairs of underwear and three colour-complimenting bras shipped to you.

It was Sunny who texted you to sign up for the newsletter. Gets the best deals and the best head, your neighbour/girlfriend since you were toddlers so eloquently explained. It’s actually kind of amazing seeing you go from high school hermit to self-proclaimed cum lover.

(Safe to say you withheld from replying to her for a good seven hours before sending back a very venomous FUUUUUUCCCCCJJJKKKKK YYYOOOOYUUUU!!!!!)

At least she’s nice enough to receive the package discreetly for you because your mom is nosey like that. You spend the day with her in her room, picking which underwear pairs nicely with which bra. And when you ask her which combination would best impress Namjoon, Sunny sits you down on her bed. She stares at you like something very serious has happened, and says:

“You might actually die from dick if you show him this.”

You squirm under her gaze. “What?”

“Oh don’t act so surprised. You tell me so much about how your boyfriend who happens to be massive also likes to make you cry from his pumping and that’s when you’re wearing granny panties,” she explains.

“I do not wear granny panties!”

Sunny pats your shoulder empathetically. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Sunny.” You fall over onto her blankets. “Pick for me, this is too overwhelming.”

“Fine. Seriously if your uterus isn’t absolutely broken after this then I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Sunny!”

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This is how you find yourself at Namjoon’s on a Thursday night trying to fight the urge to rip your fancy underwear out your butt crack while making out.

You both reserve Thursday after work-hours for each other because it’s the only viable schedule option you could agree on. There’s also something really hot about knowing you’ve got one night of the week strictly scheduled for Namjoon and only Namjoon, brain unwrinkling from anything that isn’t the touch or smell of your boyfriend. Putting the world on do not disturb as you indulge in whatever activities you have planned.

Tonight’s plan: getting your uterus destroyed as per the wishes of your dear friend.

Namjoon pins you up against the inside of his door, leaves wet kisses in hurried lines across your throat. Before he can get a sneaky hand up your shirt, you breathe, “Um.”

“Mm?” He sucks on the spot behind your ear. 

“I—um. I kind of? Have something to show you first. Uh. If that’s okay.”

Namjoon moves back, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. Oh—please don’t tell me you got that buttplug with a tail, I was just joking—“

“No!” You heat thinking about that very interesting conversation you had last pillow talk. “Just—ew. No. You wanna give me a second?”

So you make him wait patiently, sitting at the edge of his bed while you scamper off to the bathroom to get undressed for some pep talk in the mirror, because you promised yourself you wouldn’t be like Bella from Breaking Dawn when she tries to pose for Edward on their honeymoon night in her nightgown and it was awkward and you didn’t want Namjoon to laugh at you even though he wouldn’t do that because he’s a nice boyfriend and fucks you in your granny panties and—

You take a big breath in. Look at your boobs sitting nicely in a shiny bra, the fabric of your cheeky underwear stretched over your hips. You can practically hear Sunny now. You’re a weirdo if you think you’re not sexy. Look at you! So scrumptious! Like a sexy little cupcake. (She earned a slap on her arm for that.)

You walk back to Namjoon’s door, and steel yourself.

“I’m coming in now,” you say. You open the door and slot yourself inside against it, trying to fight the urge to make yourself as small as possible so that he doesn’t see, but. He sees, alright.

He doesn’t say anything though. Just keeps his eyes staring a little too long at your cleavage. You swear you see his knuckles twitching.

After another ten seconds of silent ogling, Namjoon starts with: “Please—” his voice cracks— “please come sit. On me. Or my face. Or whatever you want. Oh my god. Come here fast.”

“You like it?” Your feet patter against the floor quickly to make a home out of his lap. “I feel weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Like. Do you think I’m hot?” You whisper.

“I know you feel my boner right now,” Namjoon whines. “Of course I do.”

“Because Sunny thinks I’m obsessed with your cum and that made me feel weird.”

He snorts, tracing the patterns of the lace on top your ass. “I mean—is that such a bad thing?”

“Of course you’d say that, it’s your jizz,” you justify.

“Yeah but I jizz for you, it’s different. Anyway you’re distracting me,” Namjoon says, burying his face in your tits. “One second from busting. Let me eat you out first.”

You don’t refuse. 

When you text Sunny after fucking for two hours, it’s a picture of an ice pack resting on your crotch.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Quilt Commissions are CLOSED until 2023

If you’ve been waiting to commission me, the wait is over. Head over here to my commission page and check out the options. Make sure you look over my gallery to see if my style is what you’re interested in.

Also, make sure you check out my policies. This is very important and may clear up any question you might have.

A few examples of my work to get things flowing and spark your interest. I make things as small as 1.5x1.5 inches (pins and magnets) and as large as queen size quilts. Table runners (these double as altar mats), place mats, wallhangings, wheelchair quilts, all sorts of fun stuff!

I have several options available with patterns chosen and fabric pulled. These are ideal for those of you who know you want something, but not sure what, or may be nervous or intimidated.

How to decide on what it is you want: A vague idea is much easier to work with than being too specific. Here’s an example of how to describe what it is you want.

Nope: Saying you want a "blue and white" quilt is easier to work with than "I want it to have birds and bees in blue and white, but no solids at all, it must all be prints. I want you to use only two shades of blue and a white that really stands out. If I see any other prints than birds and bees I will be very upset because this is the only thing I want. I like warm blues, not that cold ones, but nothing too warm. Please keep your handquilting to 12 stitches per inch; I like the fancy look but don't want machine quilting because I don't like the way it feels."

Yup: Instead, a picture or idea of what you want, what you don't want, and overall very flexible. I have a repeat client who sends me a picture of color swatches and tells me the mood she wants it to have. Thus far, she has been thrilled with the results. My favorite has been "black, outer space but not too open, and some glitter. Here's the color swatch. I like these quilt patterns, but will they work with this?"

Big Yup: Full artistic freedom! Just give me the color swatches of what you want, and I’ll take it from there. Include that in the note when you pick the commission though.

I have thousands of patterns in my collection that I can use. Yes, thousands. The colors or prints you choose will help me determine what will work best. Please, trust that I will create something wonderful. I’ve yet to disappoint a client. Here’s the link to the page I have set up for reviews. Ko-Fi doesn’t yet offer a review option, so I put this together. Many of my buyers are on tumblr and may be willing to confirm the items they purchased/commissioned. I used to be on Etsy and have reviews there as well.

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[bump1nthen1ght]

Waltz of the Vampire (Vampire x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Fat!Reader/Fem!Vampire

Genre: Fantasy (Vaguely Historical/Renaissance)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3469 words

Summary: You forcibly attend the ball of the rich family that has just moved to town, unexpectedly finding comfort with one of their daughters.

Request: Hey!! I love your writing a lot! Would you consider an elf or a vampire whatever suits your fancy with a fat fem!reader. I try hard not to hate my body but it can be really hard sometimes and I know a lot of people go through it not just plus size folks but... idk it’s my weakness and a huge comfort. Anyway I hope you have a awesome day!!!

A/N: I really loved writing this request, and after I finish Thicker than Water, I might make a part two.

Serena has been to a lot of parties. Too many, in her opinion, even over her 326-year span of life. Her matriarch, “Mother” as she is called by her and the coven, believes there is no such thing.

Every move they make is celebrated by a grand ball, invitations sent out to every available person. Mother claims it’s the best way for them to fit in, to hide in the crowd rather than the shadows.

Serena understands this, she’s seen it work wonder for their reputation time and time again, but she still does not like them.

Tonight is especially dreadful, a bad hunt the day before and a quick spat with her “brother” enough to sour the whole get together. Serena spends most of the night eluding suitors and dance partners, embracing a mysterious persona so she can enjoy some alone-time.

As she looks around at the dance floor, Serena concludes that she is not a fan of the new fashion statements of this era. A bit too strict, too formal, with precise lacings and starchy hoop skirts. It makes the dance floor too stuffy in her opinion, no room to twirl your fabric or move your limbs.

She sips on her special red wine, eye’s lazily perusing the hall for her siblings, hoping to gain some company, when she spots you. Selena is brought to a pause, mid-drink, as your embroidered skirt glimmers, catching the light as you twirl it across the room. Her eyes widen, determination peaked when she notices you don’t have a partner.

How beautiful.

----------

Oooh, I love this song.

You hum, unconsciously bouncing from side to side as your favorite piano piece begins to play. It’s a piece you have on your list to learn in the future, bubbly and cheerful with a bumpy melody and the option for a fun violin accompaniment.

The energy of the music quickly translates to the dance floor, where couple’s begin to giggle and improvise amidst the strict waltz and counted-steps. It’s a shame that it’s such a good piece because for the first time of the night, you really wish someone would ask you to dance.

When the news the MacArthur’s were throwing a huge welcoming ball had reached your household, your mother quickly began throwing together preparations for you to attend. You had sighed, set your feet in a preemptive ice bath, and ready for another boring night.

As a former socialite herself, from girlhood you were forced to attend party after party. While it had done as intended and transformed your sister into a perfect lady, it had the opposite effect on you. The stiffness of the hoop skirts, the suits, and all the damn people always stuffed up your throat and flushed your face. With your sister as the shining star, it was easy for you to slip into the shadows, and avoid the preening of your mother’s etiquette lessons.

Now, as a growing woman with more and more free-time, you used all of your abilities to avoid huge social gatherings. You found your place amongst small gatherings with local friends, sneaking wine from the cellar and telling stories in the freezing cold around a fire

But as the music increases it’s tempo, with flourishing skirts and plenty of laughter, you can’t help but lose yourself in the joviality of the gathering. The fancy dresses, the even fancier alcohol, and the decadent ballroom had you wondering if you had been missing out a bit.

If only Margaret and Min-Young were here, now that would be a party.

You giggle into your champagne, heels still tapping against the hardwood and hand slightly tossing your skirt back and forth. You easily fall back into your reclusive corner to avoid embarrassing eyes who may glance upon your solitude. But a tiny yelp escapes you when your heel accidentally digs into a foot. You whip around, faced already flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t look where...I was…”

Behind you, dressed in a dark purple satin gown, is Serena Macarthur herself. She stands a solid two heads above you, hair done up in an immaculate up do and two shimmering ruby earrings dangling from her ears. Her face is serene, lips curled up in a bit of a smirk. You quickly jerk away and give a half-decent curtsy, noticing her beautiful black dancing shoes which you just stomped on. “I apologize, Miss Macarthur, I can’t believe I acted so foolishly. I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, there is no need to worry darling. I’m alright, no harm done.” She says, her voice low and musical, almost like a thrumming bass line. Her gloved hand is placed on your shoulder, the other slides up your neck and tilts up your chin to meet her eye line.

My god, she is stunning.

Her eyes are a color you’ve never seen before, not dissimilar to the sharp gemstones in her earrings. Serena’s makeup, simple yet sharp, does everything to accentuate the cardinal-red of her irises. You can feel the simmering blush heating up your skin as she continues to stare. “I was actually coming this way to speak to you, flower. It’s my fault really, for sneaking up on you.”

You shake your hands, nearly spilling over the champagne in your glass. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Like you said, no harm done”. You force a giggle, hastily taking a sip of your champagne. “May I ask what you wished to speak of?”

Serena smiles, a smirk which is just as sharp as the rest of her, though her eyes betray no slyness or ill-will. “I was going to enquire about your dress. I noticed it from across the room and was stunned by how enchanting it is.”

“Oh! Well, thank you very much.” You blush, unconsciously rubbing your finger over the embroidered flowers on the skirt. “I actually-”

“Whoops!”

In less than a second, you find yourself right next to Serena, as a drunk dancer trips and spills his drink all over the floor. You blink, brain not even fully processing what just happened, as you notice Serena’s arm on your elbow and the red wine splattered where you stood just moments ago.

Did she move me? But when-how did she-

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” The man slurs, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. His partner, a distressed young woman, grabs his elbow and forces him to stand straight. “Guess I’ve had too much.” His embarrassed partner chokes out a laugh as he continues to sway.

“Yes, it seems you have. Make sure to fix that, soon.”

Serena’s tone is barely above talking volume, but holds a command like a powerful shout, Both of the dancers jerk with surprise, furiously bowing as the female drags the man out of the hall.

Serena sighs, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. She turns toward you, smiles back on her face.

“Would you like to take this to the garden? Seems the party is getting a bit too rowdy for good conversation.”

You nod, still a bit befuddled by Serena’s quick mood change and even quicker reflexes. But you link elbows when she holds hers up in invitation nonetheless, following her outside.

---------

The Macarthur estate is beautiful, as expected, and the garden fits that image to a T. Even in the moonlight you can see the finely cultivated roses bushes which decorate it, along with the gleaming marble fountain and sitting space under an ornately decorated gazebo. The two of your heels click along the paved path as you walk towards the center, your half-empty drink still in hand.

“You were sadly interrupted, but you were mentioning something about the dress?”

You nod, taking another long sip of your champagne, hoping a little alcohol may temper your thoughts.

“Yes, I was just going to say that I made it myself.” Serena’s eyes grow wide, eyes darting up and down your attire, and you feel yourself fluster. “It’s a tradition in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother was very diligent when it came to teaching her kids how to sew, even the boys, and it became such an insisted upon skill that all her children ended up making their own evening clothing for special occasions. It ended up filtering down that every child makes one special outfit themselves, for what occasion it doesn’t particularly matter, but something thatt is uniquely you.” You pull up the end of your skirt, pointing out the flower pattern. “I’ve always had a fondness for gardening, so I tried to incorporate that into my dress. Plus,” You smooth out your skirt, “Most party dresses I’ve found are a bit too restrictive for my tastes, I wanted something I could really get into some fun with, y’know?” You force a giggle, immediately wondering if that comment was a bit too salacious for high-society talk. Serena simply smirks, letting out a low chuckle of her own.

“I wholeheartedly agree. May I take a closer look?” She gestures to your skirt and you hastily nod. The two of you take a seat by the fountain, Serena’s glove accidentally brushing against your calf as she picks up your skirt. You try and control your shiver from the simple contact. She hums admirably as she runs along your work. “Such incredibly done Sunflowers, the detail you put in is astounding. And these are forget-me-nots, correct?”

“Oh yes, those are my favorite kind.” Serena’s hands continue to run along the linework, following the bumps and dips of each flower petal. “As you can see I had trouble with the lavender, what with the petals being so small.” Serena shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. She looks up at you, forcing you to hastily act as if you weren’t admiring her face.

“The work you put in makes them twice as beautiful, mistakes be damned.” You blush even harder, throwing your hand and taking a final sip of your champagne.

“Thank you very much, but I have a long way to go.”

Serena’s hand hasn’t left your skirt, now resting on her lap as she continues to look at you. You swallow the last droplets of champagne down your throat, trying to fill the silence.

“The band is incredible, did you hire them locally?” You stutter, setting down your glass. Serena continues to fiddle with your skirt.

“Some of them, yes, but the violinist is actually my older sister, Marigold.”

“Wow! Make sure to give her my compliments, she’s very talented.” Serena nods, before her eyes dart down your toes. As the music echoes out of the hall and into the garden, you had unconsciously begun to tap your toes to the beat. When she glances at you, she can see your head slightly bobbing, a content look painting your face. A small smile forces one on to hers.

How cute. She internally sighs, noting how soft the skin of your cheek looks, the nice curve of your jaw, and your adorable noise. The pulsing blood which would run down your throat, the crimson looking devine against your exposed collarbone and dripping below your breast line.

She stands up abruptly, forcing those evocative thoughts out of her mind. You were quite cute and good company, someone Serena would like to get to know. Sometimes the crossed wires of her brain confused attraction for bloodlust, mistaking the butterflies for hunger pains.. She is almost embarrassed; It was one of the common hurdles new vampires had to overcome, a bridge she thought she crossed years ago

You startle, looking up at her with innocent doe eyes. Serena holds out her hand, ignoring how she can hear your steady pulse, unintentionally matching the beat of the music.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” She almost whispers, bowing slightly.

Your face flushes, nodding without a word, and slipping your bare hand into her glove.

Serena boldly grabs your hip and presses you against her, quickly taking the lead. Your brain fervently recalls all of your formal dancing lessons, pressing your head into her chest as she takes you along.

In her arms, following her perfected steps, that slithering self-consciousness sneaks back into your brain. Your logic tries to reason with it;

You wanted to dance, but now that this beautiful woman has gladly offered her hand, you want to stop?

But your insecurities are louder, screaming about every trip and every spare touch. This close, you can feel her firm musculature through the dress, spotting the hint of her bicep as she leads you. With her dainty and elegant hand on your side, you feel twice aware of your size underneath, every imperfection concealed by your dress.

You had fallen in love with this dress when making it, but had always been hesitant to wear it. You feared that once you put it on, that beautiful picture in your mind would shatter, leaving you forlorned of what could never be. Not with you wearing it, you had thought, avoiding your own mirror as you left.

“Something on your mind, flower?”

Serena whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your back jerks and contorts back into position, almost stepping your foot on hers. You shake your head furiously.

“Oh no! I-I just-” You stumble, trying to find an easy excuse, but are stopped when you take a look at her face.

She’s resplendent, even up close, not a hint of makeup to be seen. But across her cheeks, slightly faded from what looks like years away from the sun, are-

“My, you have such wonderful freckles.” You murmur, without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to you, if Serena could blush, she would. But the scrunched up look of embarrassment is telling, hinting that maybe this beautiful heiress has her own things she hides away.

“W-well, thank you.” She hastily utters, eyes averting from yours. It’s uncharacteristically shy and you can’t control the giggle that escapes you.

To give her some reprieve, you take your eyes off her face and trail them around the garden. They catch on the fountain, where the contrasting colors of your dresses stand out amidst the black. In the reflection, the two of you could not look more different. Serena stands a head above you, slim-fitted dark purple dress pulled across her curves, while your bright green dress cinches at the waist, flowing out like the flower's detailed skirt. It blows and beckons with every movement, brushing occasionally against your form and showing off the contours of your body.

Damn, you think, we look hot.

Just as fickle as it’s counterpoint, confidence quickly overtakes your mind, blocking out the noise of your doubt. You hold tight to your beautiful partner, in the beautiful dress that you made, and allow the happiness of this moment to exist uninterrupted, however short it may be.

The music increases its pace, the smooth line of a saxophone bringing up the energy. With a new burst of energy, you allow yourself to improvise amidst the  strict waltz. You lift your weight off your heels and try to glide from step to step, like the fast-paced tango dancers your mother once took you to see. Serena matches your enthusiasm, gripping your waist, even lifting you a few inches off the ground when a particular chord strikes. Her fingers slightly tickle your ribs, an ecstatic giggle escaping you and you falter a misstep. Your mind almost stops, embarrassed by your stumble and that insecurity sneaking back in, but Serena follows your new tempo with grace, urging you along with improvisation.

Your bodies follow the music with abandon, ordered steps devolving into impassioned stamps and twists, Serena twirling you around as the violin and piano sing from afar. Your heart and mind are running on adrenaline. It’s like when you were little, letting out your energy in any way possible. Serena’s laughter is magical and for once you don’t detest your awkward snorts and chuckles.

As the music slows, the two of you near-tumble back into the fountain, taking a seat with heaving chests.

“Whew, I haven’t danced like that in a while!” You say, brushing a stray hair back behind your ear. Serena nods, patting her stomach as she continues to laugh.

“Me as well. I forgot how fun it could be, when you’re not counting your steps.”

“Oh good, you do that too. I always wondered how no one got dreadfully bored just saying 1-2-3 over and over.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath and patting her thigh. Your other hand drifts down to the fountain water, letting your fingertips brush across the top and inadvertently catching your reflection once more.

It’s not the most flattering angle, your shoulders slump and the water slightly distorted, and those intruding thoughts try to slip in once more.

Oh shut up, let us have this.

Your logic sighs, batting it away without another second thought.

As the two of you sit, your energy eventually begins to drift back down, your muscles slightly tired from that short burst of impact. You sneak a glance at Serena.

While her outfit is still immaculate, her updo shows the smallest signs of dishelevement, curly black hairs falling down above her ears. In a way, she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Me and some friends are actually getting together next week. The shepherd's daughter, Violet, is getting married and they are throwing a little shindig at the barn to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

Serena looks up at you, slightly surprised, face furrowed with that hidden bashfulness. But she nods nonetheless, shooting you a bright smile.

Still high off your dance, you just barely miss her large fangs, which glimmer under the moonlight.

You smile back, only startled when the large bell tower from  the center of town chimes. Your head looks towards it’s large face and back towards the moon position. You’d guess it was midnight. Seems the two of you had lost track of time while dancing.

“Well, I should probably be going.” You say, standing up and brushing off your skirt. “I do have some gardening to attend to in the morning, going to need a solid amount of sleep. But,” You say, eyes demure and locked on your toes as Serena stands up, “I had a lot of fun tonight. More than usual, I would say.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair. Serena hmms in agreement.

“Me as well, flower. Your company has been the highlight of my night.”

In a bold move, Serena grabs your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. Her eyes radiate that power and certainty from before, crimson irises shining in the night. Your blush crawls its way back up your neck.

“I-I can say the same.”

The two of you stay in that position for a moment, Serena pulling away her lips but keeping a lingering hold on your hand. Your heart thrums in your chest, while hers is deathly silent. Neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

“I-uhm.” You stumble, hand still locked in place.

Now’s as good a time as any. You suppose.

In a quick movement, your hand loosens from Serena’s grasp and you give a quick peck on her cheek. In another, you have pulled away, sprinting towards your carriage.

“I-I’ll see you Saturday!” You shout, nearly tripping over a rose bush.

Left behind in the garden stands Serena, cold hand pressed against the burning skin of her cheek. Your kiss shot through her body like a lightning strike, almost jolting her frozen-heart alight.

That night, Serena goes for a hunt. She barely takes the time to change out of her formal clothes, nearly tearing the delicate lacework of her dress. Her claws catch on her gloves and almost rip apart, her heels scuffing the floor as she kicks them off and to the side. Her undead body is thrumming with life, untapped energy that longs to get out.

Her thoughts run a mile a minute, forcibly distracted by the Grizzly bear she currently has in a choke hold. It puts up a good fight, but Serena is running off of pure bloodlust.

At least, she thinks it’s bloodlust. A deeper part of her knows it's something else; The sparking fire of something new and a little bit frightening.

The last time she was personally invited to a ball, an event, a ceremony was less than a couple months ago. When you hold a position such as hers, look like her, they are common occurrences.

But to a party? Not a politically motivated meetup, but a genuine, let your hair down, party? Well, she hadn’t been to one since she was a youngling of 150.

And for the first time in a while, she is excited.

[a-written-dream]

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 729

Fandom: Merlin (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Characters: Gaius (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin (Merlin)

Additional Tags: POV Outsider, POV Gaius (Merlin), merthur can be read as either platonic or romantic, Episode: s03e12-13 The Coming of Arthur, really its just gaius wondering at merlin and arthurs relationship, Relationship Study, im having a really hard time tagging things recently??, v annoying

Summary:

Gaius knows that when everyone else fails to follow where Arthur goes, there is one who will always be right by his side, even when he pretends he won't be.

–

At the round table, Arthur declares his quest to take back Camelot from the grasp of Morgana and Morgause, and Gaius wonders at the bond Arthur and Merlin share.

It isn’t a difficult choice, for the lot of them, whether to follow Arthur into the depths of a hostile Camelot and the jaws of Morgana and Morgause, even if it means being led to their deaths. Frankly, Gaius thinks, it is one of the easiest decisions he has made in his life.

Arthur stands before them at the round table of the ancient kings and addresses them not as a prince addressing his subjects nor his knights, but as a man addressing his equals, no demand or judgement in his voice as he asks if anyone wishes to join him in his quest to take back Camelot; and Gaius sees the king Arthur will one day come to be. He sees a king that is just and fair who will bring prosperity, peace, and joy to Camelot and the lands beyond, who will listen to his peoples and act with courage, candour, and compassion. He sees the leader that Arthur will be, and knows that wherever he will go, Arthur will have those who follow. It is evident in the loyalty of those standing from their seats around the table, in the way none of them hesitate to make their heartfelt devotion to Arthur – as first knight, as prince, as future king, as their friend – known. And Gaius knows that when everyone else fails to follow where Arthur goes, there is one who will always be right by his side, even when he pretends he won’t be.

It is of no surprise, then, to anyone – least of all to Arthur, Gaius suspects – that Merlin does not stand to join them. There is only the slightest hint of unease in Arthur’s gaze as he clears his throat.

“Merlin.”

Merlin shifts his gaze to look at him with adoration, admiration, and pride in his smile, and none of it disappears even when he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t really fancy it.”

There is a glint in his eyes that must be apparent to everyone around the table, except for Arthur who keeps his gaze resolutely forward. Gaius thinks Arthur might know it is there, anyway.

Arthur and Merlin’s relationship has always been peculiar. It is nothing like that of a prince and his manservant should be; they care for each other as friends would, know each other as brothers do, would lay down their lives for one another as if they have both sworn an eternal oath to do so, though Gaius knows that not to be true – it is simply them, no oath or duty. Gaius has not yet come to understand the nature or depth of their relationship, what they are to one another, but he believes it to be something quite special.

“You don’t have a choice, Merlin,” Arthur states, in a way that is not a demand so much as a plea, a hidden question. Will you be with me in my darkest hour? Will you stand by my side no matter the grave dangers we may face? Will you follow me into death the way I know I need you to?

Merlin simply shrugs a shoulder. “Okay,” he says with an air of apathy as he stands, but that too says more than the singular word would have one believe. Yes. Always. Wherever you may go, whatever we may face, you must know I will follow you once and for all future.

Gaius wonders briefly, how true it is, that Merlin has no choice. Not because Arthur does not allow him any other, but because for Merlin, there is no decision to be made, no conceivable option but to follow Arthur into the clutches of death. He thinks it may have become an integral part of the very fabric of their beings, to follow, protect, and cherish one another.

It has nothing to do with destiny or Albion or the Once and Future King, he knows, and everything to do with Merlin and Arthur, two young men who would do everything and anything for the other, whose bond goes far deeper than their fates could ever have dictated.

The two of them share a fond, warm look, and it speaks volumes of the words they do not need say aloud – least of all to each other; of what they mean to each other; and Gaius thinks, maybe their relationship isn’t so peculiar at all.