#It was like a city on the clouds and was also very pink. Like my house was pure pink. Like Barbie or smth

[cr0wqui11]

Noel and Ricky are so real bc I too used to have a world inside my head with lore and aesthetic

[littleapplle]

let's make this bed get squeaky!

after an unexpected wanderer attack, you show rafayel how fun it is to be a girl. - 2.9k w. - not proofread.

cw.: fem!rafayel, very implied fem!reader (srry!!) feminization (if you squint), raf isn't a woman but does get turned into one temporarily, porn with a bit of plot, nipple play, worshipping (if you squint), face sitting, so cunnilingus, 69, scissoring? humping... something in between idk... kinda subby raf too... self indulgence. alot of that. i'm the pervert here.

note: this was vv inspired by this art by @.beechu-beechu !! one of my fav artists here on tumblr and twt, pls check their work out!! <3 as soon as i saw fem!raf my brain MELTED. also this was a bit rushed, sorryyy !!><

“Love, you don’t have to freak out! The Hunter Association will find a way to revert it in no time. Relax!” — To be honest, you were too calm about it.

“Relax!? How am i supposed to- Oh, my bodyguard failed to save me from this catastrophe and now i have to pay the price with my beautiful body!” Rafayel cries in response, his voice far too dramatic and feminine.

And what has really happened? Well, a few hours ago. you and your boyfriend went out for an outdoor date in the middle of a small forest in Linkon City so Rafayel could, maybe, find inspiration for his next work.

It just so happened that the area you both decided to visit was a dead zone, your hunter watch was malfunctioning and did not warn you the area had wanderers nearby. Luckily, you were still in your hunter uniform and armed so it should be no biggie. The wanderer, a small creature you’ve never seen in any of your missions, had its back covered in pinkish spores that once Rafayel shouted out for you, exploded on his face, making him cough for air.

Wanderer defeated and your lover safe, you’re left with an�� unique form of Rafayel.

“...Rafayel?” You call out for him cautiously, worried for his safety while waving your way through a cloud of pink dust.

To a few choked coughs, your ears perk. You’re alone with Rafayel but it’s not his voice you hear. Or so you thought.

The mist slowly dissipates in the air, and you’re finally able to see more than just the shape of his body choking for air dramatically. With narrowed eyes and a hand covering your mouth and nose – still concerned the mysterious dust is toxic – you call out his name once more before a gasp escapes your throat.

“Rafayel…? Wha- what is wrong with you?!” Comes out a little too harsh but your shock is genuine. Was this caused by the wanderer? Offended, he is quick to frown and bite back. “Wow cutie, i get seriously attacked and the first thing you ask me is that? What a great bodyguard i have! How can i file a complaint?” 

“That’s not what i meant!-” You stutter, “Uhm…” struggling with your words and confusion bubbling in your system, you move your hands to your boobs, trying to move his gaze down to his chest. Oh. Oh. His blouse did feel a bit tighter after all.

“What the fuck?!” 

Yeah… you’re sure that he spooked every single animal in the little forest with his scream.

Back to the present, you find yourself back in Rafayel’s home, trying to convince your boyfriend that being transformed into a woman by a wanderer isn’t the end of the world and that yes, it is temporary. 

“Raf, you’re gonna be fine. I heard Tara say something about a new type of wanderer lurking around earlier this week. We’re gonna find a way to turn you back, m’kay? You assure with more confidence now that your confusion over the situation has dissipated completely.

To your words he — she — does not answer, too busy sulking while staring at his new face in the pocket mirror you carry in your bag. 

“Besides… you’re quite the pretty girl, raf.” The sweet giggle that escapes your lips makes him frown.

 “Can you quit bullying me? Those cheap journalists are never going to shut up if they see me like this!” Rafayel cries. “I wanted to have a nice day out with you. ow… can’t have a single normal day in this city.”

That makes your ears perk and your body scoots closer to his form on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder after kissing his puffy cheek. “Aww! ‘S no biggie, baby. We can still have fun indoors. I’ll just have to show you how fun it is to be a girl.”

You spend the day doing things you’d already do with him while enjoying quality time together but with some additional goodies. His purple hair is so long now and even softer! You take your time brushing it, massaging your nails on the scalp before trying multiple hairstyles.

Pigtails, buns, fishtail braids, boxer braids, ponytails… oh, you’ve tried every. single. one. Which he can’t really complain about! Who doesn’t love having their hair played with?

Rafayel is already used to the next activity, so he doesn’t even bat an eye when you ask him where he placed the nail polishes you bought a few months ago. 

“Pick a color baby!” You chirp, holding the tiny bottles in your hands. 

He does just that. Picking a lilac shade and offering his cold hands to you, Rafayel scoots closer to you on the couch. “You’re enjoying this too much.” He points out.

For a moment, you don’t answer, busy with the tiny brush between your fingers and trying not to smudge the milky paint in his short nails. “Hmmm maybe i am.” You giggle, “Can you blame me though?” 

It’s his turn to not answer, he thinks he’d sound too petty if he did. Rafayel loves the pampering, and even though he’d rather drown in the deepest and darkest waters of his long forgotten home than to admit this right now, he’s obsessed with you showering him in affection. Nothing is new, you’re sweet as ever and like a sea sponge, he absorbs all he can happily. 

Rafayel isn’t an insecure man, especially with his body. He knows he was sculpted by the seas with care and passion, born with the body of a god, something worthy of unending worship. So you eyeing him up and down was never a problem, but now? Oh, he feels small, he wants to dig up a hole on the hot sand and stay there for eternity, accompanied by the sand crabs.

Shame is a feeling he’s no longer used to and hates the taste of, he notes.

Noticing his silence, you put the brush down to look at him. 

“You okay, raf?” Genuine, innocent concern. 

“It hurts.” Puffing his cheeks, he frowns and closes his eyes.

“What hurts? Are your wrists sore agai-” — “No! Not that.” Rafayel whines, peeking at you through his long(er) lashes.

“Well, i’m not in the mood to play guess with you, fishie.” Arching a brow at his dramatic discomfort, you chuckle as he whines once more, “Heavens- they’re sore!”

And you have to bite your lip to not burst into laughter. Having the pleasure of seeing Rafayel, usually confident and sharp with his words, blushing like a literal girl was truly a sight you’d never thought you had to see.

“Your boobs?-” — “Don’t say it like that!” You swear that the big and tall windows of his home could’ve shattered in an instant with his horrified scream. 

“Awww, babyyy! Don’t be shy! We’ve all been through that, ‘s just part of girlhood!” You poke his cheek, aiming to tease him just a little more. Leaning in closer, you sit on his plump thighs.

Oh and he looks so done. 

“Stop acting like i’m a woman!-” He basically cries out in embarrassment.

“Oh but you are!” Interrupting him, you continue, “And as your girlfriend, and girl best friend, i’ll help you with your girl problems, raffy-”

“I’ll spit bubbles on you!” Rafayel interrupts back and you finally break down laughing on his lap.

Rafayel swears to himself that he wants to bite your head off so you stop teasing him, he hates how he can feel the tip of his pale ears get warmer each second and something inside him growing hotter. He’d bury your face on hot sand right now and yet he doesn’t move you from his lap.

As your laughter settles and you breathe in to calm down, you place a kiss on his burning cheek. A silent apology. “Seriously though, you’ve turned out to be quite… busty!” You giggle but continue before he can throw a fit again, “Can i massage you baby? Would you let me do that f’you, raf?” Whispering against his cheek, you nuzzle the bridge of your nose on his skin.

He just nods, still frowning in shame and with eyes closed shut. 

Your fingers trace his collarbones in sickly light touches, hands snaking down to the foreign feeling on his chest. 

He shivers and twitches under you once your hands cup his tits through his white blouse, the absence of a bra making your touch feel a little too intimate for his already overwhelmed brain. Your fingers feel him in circular motions, gently applying pressure to where his nipples take place.

Rafayel squirms, throwing his head back and trying to hide his face in his long, purple hair. “You’re so responsive, baby.” You coo, purposefully brushing your thumbs on his nipples, which ignites a yelp from his tight throat. 

The sensitive pebbles grow hard not so long later, making themselves visible under his light shirt. He curses you in his mind, the innocent and sweet way you talk to him could get him going anytime. Rafayel bites his glossy lip hard. 

Fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, you give him your sweetest smile. “Your body hasn’t changed at all baby. You still melt down when you have your chest played with.” You lean in, closing the space between you two and press a kiss on his trembling lips. “The only difference here is that you’re the prettiest,” kiss, “most whiny,” another kiss, “and cutest girl i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” and a last peck to seal your words like a spell.

Your lips leave his but the phantom sensation of your mouth against his stays. Your lips find home on his jawline, placing featherlight kisses on the milky white skin. 

“Can i take this off, raf? I might need a more serious inspection if you’re sore like that, hm?” Pinched by your fingers, the first button of his blouse comes undone, exposing more of his cleavage. “Y-yes.” Is all Rafayel answers, not much more than a shy whisper.

And that is the only sign you need to keep going. Your hands work gently but still eager to finish the job and reveal what’s under the expensive fabric. He helps you with the sleeves, accepting his fate and that even if he tried to shy away and hide, you wouldn’t let him. And how could you? Not now. Not when his perfect, spotless skin is exposed to the cool air of the living room, the sea breeze guided inside by the open windows making his nipples react at the temperature and stand tall.

Your lips, never far from his neck, kiss down his collarbones and the fat of his tits. His reactions are exactly what you’d expect, low whines and nonstop squirming under your touch. With open mouthed kisses to his areola, a cute light brown you note, you’re quick to give his nipple a playful lick, igniting a squeak from him. 

“D-don’t- do that-!” Rafaye’sl protests are ignored by your ears, while your lips suck on the sensitive pebble, your fingers pinch the other one, rolling it gently yet teasingly between your thumb and index finger.

Pop! – Is the sound your mouth makes as you let go. “Fuck..”, you eye him with hunger, and even though his eyes are squeezed shut, he seems to notice by your silence. “Stop staring. You’re ridiculous.” Of course he has to try and bite back.

“Am i now?” You kiss the corner of his lips, interrupting any petty answer he was about to give you. “Shit- need you to sit on my face. Can you do that f’me, baby? Please?” 

Rafayel feels like a virgin again, the foreign, weird and achy feeling between his legs makes his brain foggy. He wants to say no and shy away, spit a thousand bubbles at your face as he promised but he just can’t.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t freak out anyway. 

“N-no! That isn’t even your thing- i’m like, twice your size-” Before he can continue his protests, you’re already lying on your back on the big couch of his living room. “Please? Jus’ wanna let my girlfriend know how good it feels, mhm?” It is your turn to whine, beg.

He stares at you in horror but the pathetic look you give him wins. He kicks his pants and boxers off but his judgemental stare doesn’t falter. You can’t help but moan at the sight of his new, bare body. 

Rafayel was surely the prettiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and now, prettiest woman too. He sits on your lap, facing you, testing the waters, hoping it’d be enough to quiet you down. “Closer, ‘fayel.” You urge.

This time he finally gives in with no complaints, shifting on your lap and closer to your shoulders. There, he turns on his back, hovering on top of your face before you grab his plush hips and push him down impatiently.

“A-ah!- don’t just do that-” He mewls.

You taste Rafayel before you can’t even see how wet he is. Spreading his ass with both hands, you pepper his cunt with eager kisses. He trembles at the new feeling, squirming and accidentally grinding against your lips, only igniting more whines to leave his pretty lips.

Your head spins at his sounds, brain mushy with how submissive you could get him to behave, at how fucking hot he sounds and how good he tastes. 

Finally diving in, your lips suck on his folds gently while your hands, once on his ass, help his hips move against you for more constant stimulation. 

“Fu-uck!- Dun stop. Please.” Rafayel squeals before a tiny lightbulb lightens up on his head.

Rafayel leans down, trembling on top of you as he pulls down your shorts just enough so he can have access to your panties. He doesn’t take it off, doesn’t have the patience to, only pulls them to the side and greets your awaiting pussy with a kiss. 

In this whole mess, you didn’t even realize how your arousal started to build up during this whole time. Too busy with Rafayel, looking at Rafayel, teasing Rafayel. You’re sure that he — she — is the siren that will drag you to the bottom of the sea with pretty mewls and then consume you. 

As he should, you think. You’d die happily.

To the kitten licks on your clit, you shiver, parting your legs open to help him. “Getting- mgh- bold now, baby? Thought you’d let me do all the work.” Muffled by the weight on top of you, you tease anyway.

You don’t give him much space to speak, wrapping your lips around his clit and sucking at  a steady pace. You’re not able to see his reaction but his mouth lets go of your cunt, his lashes tremble and close shut in pleasure. “Gonna cum, rafe? Oh- mgh- y’er such a sweet girl, raf.” You praise sweetly. 

Rafayel really tries to keep up with you but with his mushy brain, his head only rests against your thigh while he moans lowly. His clit throbs on your tongue thanks to your gentle words, you laugh mockingly under him. “Fuck- dun’ like when i call you pretty girl  but your body tells me otherwise, love. You don’t get much from lying here, raf.”

Shut up. Is what he really wants to tell you, maybe flick your forehead and say all the petty things he can think of. His thighs shake violently and with another loud and melodic cry, Rafayel cums. 

You keep going for a little longer, kissing his folds and clit and sweet affection before a strangled whine makes you pull away. 

He helps himself out of your face, sitting on the couch with his head resting on a blue pillow with the face of someone who just came back from pound town. Rafayel doesn’t bat an eye when you manhandle him closer to your body.

His lips find yours in an instant, kissing you with need, like he just came out of the ocean for the first time and his lungs aren’t used to the summer breeze on the beach. He sucks on your tongue, swiping his own on your under lip in a sloppy kiss.

You two fight for space on the couch, now feeling a bit cramped. Rafayel’s legs tangle on yours messily and he finds himself on your lap once again, grinding and humping against you like this is exactly where he was meant to be. Smiling on his mouth, you can’t help but tease him. 

“Insatiable much? Pretty girl can’t take her hands off me hm?” You chuckle but are quickly interrupted, moaning loudly when his clit accidentally bumps on yours, which Rafayel takes advantage of.

And you let him, your only guidance being the phantom touch of your hands on his waist. “You can’t really ever keep your mouth shut, can you?” He sighs, “Not near you, ever.” 

You’re quick to cum too, with hitched breath and hips buckling under his in search of more stimulation, any moans are silenced by his lips insistently glued to yours.

Noticing your body melting on the couch cushions, Rafayel lets himself relax on top of you, too. With a last kiss to your neck, he buries his face on your shoulder blade.

“I’ll file a report about what happened later, m’kay? Dun stress.” — “Hmmm.” Is all he’s able to answer while your free hand massages his scalp, slowly drifting him off to sleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[luviisabella]

mind games ۶ৎBNHA UNI.AU

-> katsuki bakugou 🩷

You had him wrapped around your finger.

It started with you two being assigned the same patrol areas, at first in larger groups but eventually it was just the two of you.

He would mumble under his breath but you knew he was more than happy to be paired with you and not one of the other guys.

Per usual, you two were assigned to Shinjuku City for the night. You were surprised reading the chart because usually you had day shifts and before you could question it your thoughts were already answered.

“Mina and Kirishima called out sick, they were supposed to cover the afternoon so they gave it to us”

Bakugou came up next to you scanning the board for anything else you may have missed and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sick ?” and deep down you knew exactly what that meant, you made a mental note to call her for details later.

—

Once it was 7pm you and Bakugou decided to start heading over. Both of you had a brief conversation with your boss, the lookout was for a guy with what sounds like an interesting quirk who’s been dealing for the LOV.

As the two of you walked down the busy streets you admired the night life. It wasn’t often you went out or saw pretty areas such as this, not unless you were assigned.

Bakugou looked over and scoffed when he saw your eyes wandering in every direction at once.

“We should get something while we’re here”

He looked over at you in surprise.

“What ? We technically don’t start until 9 and are here until 1am so we might as well look around. Maybe we’ll even find him where we least expect it”

He didn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Besides.. it meant he could spend more time with you.

You two walked into multiple stores, looking at clothes, jewelry, shoes, and even snacks.

After about an hour you both decided to sit on top of a building and just admire the view.

It was convenient you both had flight quirks, but it wasn’t uncommon to catch you two on a building like this.

If you’re being honest it also helps you scan the crowd from an unexpected distance. Easier to spot who you’re looking for.

You two were both eating mochi, yours was pink and his was orange (the irony), and as the clouds moved to reveal the moon, you couldn’t help but realize how pretty he was.

You stared at him in awe of his looks, you always knew he was good looking, but my God.

“Weird ass” despite looking down he noticed you staring

You frowned, you ignored his words, you just wanted to get a better look.. so you reached over and grabbed the side of his face to turn it towards you.

“The fuck’s your.. problem…” and while he wanted to be mad, he ended up silent.

The look you were giving him sent his heart into shock and your touch was so delicate. He’s never felt anything like that and while he might struggle to admit it, you’re the only one he’d ever let do this.

You softly smile at him, “You do have pretty eyes” and you couldn’t help but fight back a laugh when you felt his face heat up.

He moved his head back, looking back down and trying not to acknowledge what just happened. “Your hands are sticky.” they weren’t, he just didn’t know how to react, let alone say “Don’t let go”.

Despite his ‘cold’ attitude, you knew how he felt, but you were waiting for him to admit it first.

You also looked down and while admiring the view again you noticed something.

“That’s him.” pointing towards the very obvious spot, that ironically being the top of another smaller building.

You stood up and looked over at Bakugo who was already on his feet. No words were set before you both took off.

You both caught him off guard because from the looks of it he was in the midst of a drug exchange, but something didn’t feel right. You had a vague description of the guys quirk and when the villain revealed his hand that’s when you realized.

Past heroes or people that tried stopping him were either in the hospital on meds for temporary paralysis, fever, or were thankfully recovering. It wasn’t injuries, his quirk was venom. That’s why your boss told you to look out for any cuts, bruises, etc. on his body, because he’s been transferring his blood into bullets and using it on heroes.

The villain looked as if he was aiming at you but judging by the smile on his face he knew you caught on and quickly turned to Bakugou.

In a panick you immediately ran to cover him, barely making it in time before the bullet hit your upper arm.

You cursed before looking over, trying to minimize losing sight of the villain but he was already making a run for it.

“We have to-“ shit..

..his quirk. You took a weak step forward before falling to the floor.

“Y/n !” He was internally cursing himself out, by the time you figured out his quirk he did too and was reaching towards the guy before he turned to him.

Bakugou reached down to pick you up, letting your head rest on his bicep as he was talking to you. Except, his words weren’t clear, you could only hear what sounded like a faint voice.

“I can’t move” you were fighting back the pain coursing through your body. It felt like every limb was being compressed and your senses were all blocked. You couldn’t even lift your finger, slowly every muscle in your body began to go numb.

Your nervous system was slowing down.

You were going in and out of consciousness, you could see him calling for backup and when you blinked again he was now looking down at you. The same eyes you thought were so pretty moments ago now looking down at you with fear.

He held you just a little tighter, afraid if he let go you’d fall apart.

“Come on, stay with me… please.”

part two ?

made by luviisabella۶ৎ

[paetalks]

tw: smoking!

imagine being a cute girl in her twenties, living in a big city while finishing up your degree, and getting introduced to ryomen sukuna by one of your friends. you are on a night out at your usual bar downtown and you do vaguely remember your friend telling you something along the lines of “i’m bringing my coworker with us tonight”, but remember also shrugging it off with very little interest. and now there is this guy in front of you, tattooed and and big shoulders, with an annoyed face as if he didn’t really wanted to be there.

“when you said something about bringing a colleague i thought you meant a fun one” you tease your friend, brushing you hand on his shoulder and giggling. sukuna’s eyes dart up as you introduce yourself, smelling the alcol on your breath from the drinks you already had. you look hot, with a low cut top and hair up in a messy bun, pointing at all your friends and introducing them to him as well. there’s about a dozen of y’all, it looks like a big but close friend group, but he really could not care less.

while seating down and shaking a couple of hands here and there, his eyes are only fixated on you, sitting on the other side of the table. the light is dim and your laugh is loud, capturing him even from afar. next to him, his colleague is saying something to another guy with black hair about work, so he could chime in the conversation, but his attention is onto you.

and you can feel him staring, your skin burning under his gaze, as if watching your every moves. your stomach feels weird about it and nobody else seems to notice how his eyes are carving holes in your face, your chest and your hands. you wonder if maybe there is something wrong with what you’re saying, or maybe wearing, but the more you think about it the more your stomach entangles. “i’m going outside for a smoke” you quickly blurt out, getting up and grabbing your jacket in a hurry. it’s like his staring has knocked air out of your lungs.

while you march towards the door, leaving your wondering friends behind, you feel footsteps following you. reaching the handles, you quickly open it and look back. he has followed you out there.

“oh my god.” you whisper, while the tattooed man pulls out a cigarette pack and calmly hands it to you, while grabbing one for himself. looking at his offer and even considering it, you shake your head and take out your own. while lighting his one up, he gestures to yours, but you quickly and almost comically show him the pink lighter in your hand. he nods, but doesn’t say anything.

it’s just when his eyes finally look away, glaring at the starless sky, that you finally blurt out “why are you staring at me?”. he laughs again. “why not?” he asks back “you’re nice to look at”.

“wow”, your words let smoke out of your mouth “that’s the compliment, i guess”. looking at the people walking by, you wonder who this guy is and why does everything he say makes your inside feel like jelly.

his voice is deep and slow, his eyes have something about them that you cannot quite pinpoint and his body looks sculpted. you realize, at this point, that he is a very good looking guy and your cheeks flush involuntarily.

“are you embarrassed by it?” he asks, noticing your redness, a cloud of smoke coming out his nostrils. “no”, you say, standing straight. a faint smile forms on his lips when looking at you again, and there is something in the way you move closer to him, throwing away your cigarette meanwhile, that lights a fire in his chest. your skin looks ethereal in the street light and your plump lips are slightly open. he finds himself wondering how they would feel on his body.

“move” you command, since he is in your way to the door, just standing there, dozed off. he is not, actually, dozed off, just thinking about how to subtly ask his coworker and friend for your number without sounding like a total jerk. you are standing so close now and he hasn’t even finished his smoke, so he nudges at the cig and smirks “at least let me finish properly.”

but when your cold fingers reach for his hand, grab the cigarette and put it in your own mouth, his heart starts beating too loud for his liking. you inhale slowly, letting it be consumed slowly by your lungs, and he watches you the whole time, not daring to blink once. when you reach the filter of the cigarette, you toss it on the side, smirking as well and saying “now you are all done. let me get inside”.

he moves out of the way in a second just to watch you walk by and he’s able to inhale of your perfume. it’s intoxicating, all flowery and sweet he could feel his head spin - but maybe it was just you, your presence, making him feel like that.

walking back in after another five minutes of thinking, he catches immediately a glimpse of you laughing at your friend, sitting at his seat at the table. he rolls his eyes, smiling and thinking something along the line of this is going to be fun.

[satoruhour]

Gojo would make such pretty noises if he gets a BJ as he’s waking up

a/n: anon u r so real for this !!!!!!!!! i conquered my 2k essay! but also doin a shorter req bc i got distracted by changing themes and it’s late lol / @jabamin @hannzai @shotorus

warnings: fem!reader, consensual somnophilia, sort of subby gojo but not very established, pet names, oral (m! receiving), finger / thumb sucking, deepthroating, multiple rounds, spitting, sloppy bj sort of, this is what i think he would sound like hehe, n*sfw under the cut

gojo’s always known he’s the most sensitive in the morning. before you, he’s settled for his hand, feeling around his centre when he wakes up hard and slips his hand under his boxers where it pumps slowly at his shaft. the orgasm always comes too fast and unsatisfactory, though, done more out of necessity than pleasure.

but you? he finds that he never wants to go back to his hand ever again. you treat him like everything good in the world, both with your soft demeanour and your pretty cunt, all for him and yet not at the same time. you’re so pliant and receptive to his touches and still, you have your own agency; you are your own person. that’s what he admires about you.

you infiltrate his dreams like a temptress, heat forming between his legs as he cuddles closer into what he thinks is your figure. there’s fire all over his body and his hairs stand and the trails the blaze leaves seem like fingers. they span his body, heart rate speeding up and he wishes he hadn’t buried his body in the sheets last night. they want to move, but satoru is locked down by sleep and your wandering hands.

“’toru . .” gojo moans at the soft voice that whispers his name in his dreams, unaware you’re doing the exact thing. you’re already drooling at the half-hard bulge that pokes out from below his underwear, clinging to his skin and darkening in colour with each trail of your finger along his body.

so sensitive . .

here, gojo looks as splendid as the morning tokyo sun even if the weather outside struggled to stay stable. the clouds soon hover over the city, pouring down light raindrops and the drop in temperature only makes your boyfriend whine again.

you poke a manicured nail to his length that twitches on its own, pressing and prodding with it and enjoy the soft sounds that escape his lips each time. “baby”, ”princess”, it’s a different name each time for satoru always enjoys referring to you with pet names, and the low raspiness of it only pushes your resolve further—

“it’s okay, sweets, you know you have access to my body. i trust you.”

even with your boyfriend’s authority, you’re still unsure shown in the way your hands hesitantly pull at his underwear. you’re snapped out of your dilemma when a drawled whimper leaves him, whiny and high-pitched in nature that it sends chills down your whole body. there are murmurs of your name on his lips, lingering like the sugary sweets and the saccharine of your kisses. the cold air is simply too much for his sensitive cock, and gojo’s hips buck in cute little jerks.

his length and girth always takes you by surprise no matter how many times you see it, but it feels just a little different when you’re the one to fish it out yourself. satoru is just so hard, pink mushroom tip leaking pre-cum all over his pelvis and a curve to his dick in wanton need.

you let out a breath when your soft hands wrap around his length, at the same gojo sucks in a breath in his sleep — if that was even possible — and tenses his thighs. in his dream you’re doing more than whatever you were doing right now, imagining your pussy wrapped around his throbbing cock.

but you like it slow. your hands drag themselves across his shaft, stroking slowly just to allow him to fully harden and gojo starts to kick his legs slightly, hands have begun to clutch uncomfortably at the sheets. your head lowers to his tip, blowing lightly at the sensitive area and it almost gets him waking completely from unconsciousness. wrecked moans and whines continue to weasel themselves out of his throat, brows knitted and mouth in a temporary ‘o’.

“satoru,” you call, with no intent behind it rather than just wanted to feel the syllables roll against your tongue, “satoruuu . .”

but the mission last night takes a good amount of toll on him. you stick out your tongue to kitten lick his weeping tip and your lover jolts in your hands yet again. it’s so adorable, seeing the normally confident man plead, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“y—yess . .?” you’re unsure if he’s sleep-talking or if he’s really awake but you press on. your mouth suckles on the tip like a pacifier, teasing the most sensitive part of his cock. there, you swirl your tongue around, hands still pumping lazily. gojo’s voice cracks on the next moan, reality sinking in on him bit by bit. you’re relentless, tonguing your muscle along frenulum and around.

and then when you look up, you can see a pair of drowsy eyelids open, looking with his blue eyes through the whiteness of his lashes. it feels like he wasn’t of this world, the initial confusion morphing into recognition and then pleasure —

“ohh . . f-fuuuckk . . ” gojo’s voice shakes as you then descend upon his shaft, warm mouth encompassing every inch of his cock until your nose buries itself in his pubes. the loud moan satoru lets out only makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, sure that your hips were grinding into the sheets. “a-always take my cock so well, shit.”

he’s normally reduced to a state of non-verbality in the morning, but he seems to still have some adrenaline from last night’s mission. gojo’s head meets with the pillow below him, stuck between enjoying how fucking hot your mouth feels versus watching you take all of him down your throat.

you start to bob your head, the gurgling noises along his throbbing length only adding to the lewdness of the scene. he lovingly trails his hand through your locks, brushing back stray hair that interferes with you. they continue to do that (his love knows no ends), undoing the knots in your hair while you uncoil the familiar feeling in his tummy. “baby, baby, baby—”gojo’s eyes squeezes shut and his chest heaves needily with lined sweat, neck straining just to catch a glimpse of how you deep-throat him. your fingers grasp onto his thighs so harshly that they would probably bruise.

you’re keeping eye contact as you come up to breathe while gojo’s hand who took refuge in your hair switches its sanctuary to your face. his heart and dick jumps when you lean into the touch, both your hooded lids matching each other before his thumb runs over your bottom lip. in the rainy morning, you can exchange words without saying anything; you just know satoru that well.

gojo’s thumb traces the softness of your lips before he dips it inside and you take the finger into your mouth willingly, sucking intently as you make the strongest weaker and weaker by you, alone. all he does is spiral, moans transforming into little whines at how you suck on his thumb and it’s off — because then after your mouth closes in around his cock again and he swears so loud it probably reaches the neighbours.

“mmfuuuck—! o-oh my god—” your head bobs again, tongue running along the underside of his cock each time you do, hands moving along the places where you can’t reach and the moans that fill your ears only gets needier and needier. “princess i’m gonna— pleaseplease—!”

gojo has that split second to prop himself up just so he can see you take his cum down your throat, a hand holding your head in place alongise a makeshift ponytail. but your mouth mimics your pussy so well, wrapped snugly around him that he has no time to warn you before he’s cumming deep into your mouth. you jerk in surprise before moaning at the feeling, letting him spurt ropes of cum down your throat as your pace slows down.

“c’mon . . let me see, pretty girl,” satoru assists you in coming off of his cock, and the white in your mouth spills out almost instantly. “aaattagirl . .” your boyfriend grins his infamous lazy morning grin that makes your heart do flips, faltering just a bit when you let his seed drip down your tongue and back onto his dick.

“s’much cum, satoru.” you mumble, intoxicated, fingers connected by strings of his cum and you gather saliva mixed with cum to spit onto his shaft and the gesture is so hot that he needs to see you do it again, and you indulge him — you push out saliva past your lips, a long string before he finally meets his sensitive tip again.

gojo reaches heaven a second time when your hands pick up pace again, slick noises now filling his ears.

“want more.”

bro it’s like i forgot how to write 😭😭

[fefern]

Hello!! I'm in love with your Wuwa hcs and writing in general and I'd love to put in a request, if you're still open for them :0 <3

I'd like to request some fluffy hcs for Jiyan with an s/o that's part dragon, has horns and tail and maybe some scales like Mortefi(forgot if you spell his name like that I'm sorry😭 the red scientist guy). The s/o is super protective of him but also aloof in public, super cuddly in private when the time is right, brings him rocks and flowers as gifts and all that cute stuff, basically courting him by "dragon standards" hajsjdjd

Thank you for your time!<3

✧˖° his reaction to a dragon hybrid lover. | jiyan headcanons.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ synopsis: look in the sky! it's a bird, it's a plane, it's a... dragon hybrid reader? just how will jiyan react to being courted by you, and how does he love you as someone who's part dragon?

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ characters involved: jiyan and gender neutral reader.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ warnings: none!

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ notes: hello hello hello! i hope you are doing well lovely anon!! thank you for sending in an ask, and i hope this fufils what you were looking for ;;!! sending lots of love, and as always, requests are open! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ jiyan ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

your tail would be so so pretty, decorated with scales that had colors that mimic the colors of the clouds and skies. 

your horns would be cute on the top of your head, a bit pointy and glowing in the night. 

jiyan has come to adore your dragon features, finding them both unique and absolutely beautiful. he’s caught often staring at the way your scales on your face, neck, and tail all catch the sunlight just right to create a glimmer like nothing he’s ever seen before. 

he’s quiet in the way he admires you, gently curling a piece of your hair behind your pointy little ears and smiling whenever you look over at him when he does. 

he didn’t have time to confess to you about his feelings though, he was caught up with being a general and of course, he also had to consider the fact that he didn’t really know if you would reciprocate them back. 

would you prefer mating with another dragon hybrid yourself? is that how these things work?

after a few months of being around you though, he began to notice some… strange things. 

for example, whenever you two were walking around the city, you’d always be on the defensive, not letting anyone get too close, not even the chef when you’d go get lunch together. 

then, sometimes, when he comes back from long patrols, you overload him with rocks and flowers that you’ve gathered for him, and he always says thank you, even though it’s a bit difficult to bring back to his home.

(he keeps them in his room forever to admire when you’re not around.)

also, lately, you’ve been much more affectionate with him, rubbing your cheek against his and getting very touchy as well, always wanting to be close to him physically. 

he expresses his confusion about your behavior to one of the researchers when he stops by one day to gather some intel for a mission for his rangers. 

one of the researchers directs him to a shelf that discusses about dragon hybrids, and the man spends almost the entirety of one day learning more about you and your species. 

the way he feels his cheeks flush a soft pink when he realizes just what it means for you to have been doing all these actions. he feels like he had a revelation, but at the same time feels stupid and dense. 

he’s quick to come back to you one day with flowers and your favorite food in hand, giving them to you and confessing his love for you on top of a quiet hill with a beautiful view of the starry night sky. 

“my pretty dragon, you’re prettier than anyone in all of huanglong, and i have loved you for quite some time. will you do me the honors and be mine?”

when you say yes, he feels overjoyed and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug as he’s careful not to hit your horns or tail while doing so.

after the successful confession, a few things change. 

for one, when you begin sleeping over more at his place, he begins to gift you dozens of fluffy blankets and pillows. he organizes them in a nest-like position for you to cuddle up in, and finds it adorable when he comes back to the sight of you curled up in the fluffiness. 

jiyan will cuddle with you more often now, guiding your tail to wrap around his strong muscles so that you get your fix of touching as much of his skin as possible. jiyan likes to run his hands over the smooth scales to coax you to sleep.

he enjoys pecking soft kisses on the scales of your face and neck; it’s his little reminder to you to not be insecure about something so beautiful. 

overall, you’re jiyan’s most beloved treasure. he will do anything to make sure his little dragon is safe and loved.

[swirlyyygal]

Heyyy Beach Boy!!!

His Beach Girl and Her Beach Boy!! (More of a Drabble than a full fledged fic)

Jason Duval x F!Reader = !!BASED ON THIS Porn-link!!

CW/Tags!!: Reader has a keywest kitten kinda vibe, porn w/o plottt ( ͡°/// ͡°٥), reader is described to have hair no length specified, sweet kinda ditzy and bubbly reader, If Jason is lowkey mischaracterized plz forgive me we know literally almost nothing abt him so I’m going off of the trailer 💔, Fingering, overstimulation, NOT PROOFREAD JUST #HORNY, lowkey for my own little desire EEEYUP, pet names (angel, doll, sweet thing, dumb little angel, good girl), slight dumbification, squirting AH WHAT

A/N!!: Hi hiiii!!!! Sooo who’s excited for GTA 6? ME. I’m ready to CRACK Lucia and Jason likeee who’s with me? Anyway, it’s been major hot where I roam recently and it’s been reminding me Summers up and coming soon!! This is also me kind of projecting my own little fantasy in my mind sooooooo uhhhhh… GOMENEN. I feel a little guilty when I remember I was scrolling thru and found the vid. I IMMEDIATELY thought of Jason. I would have done Joel Miller but I already wrote a lot for him, plus, Jason needs some love too (╥////╥)!! I guess I’m just kind of getting used to letting out my freaky side more, so like everything I let out is liek oh my gah I’d never admit this b4!!!! Anyway, Please enjoy!!

~~~

It just sorta happened.

One moment you were out and about with your friends near the beach. The next, you see a totally RIPPPPEDDDDDD guy lifting weights with little to no effort needed.

“HEYYY BEACH BOYYYY!!!”

You called out just to play around, waving and giggling.

He sat up, sweating and fanning himself before turning to you. Subtly eyeing you and your little light blue and pink bikini. You stood there, a bit frozen before your friends pushed you over to him. Hounding you to get his number. You’re the one that called him out anyway. Thinking you were about to get rejected anyway you did, putting on that signature smile of yours while twirling your hair.

And believe it or not, he gave it to you. And that was only the start of your relationship with this man. The man being, Jason Duval.

He called you that night, offering to take you out and the rest was history. You learned a lot about him, but very little about his job. He kept that part of him a bit in the dark, but did you care? Uh no. Not when he was spoiling you with affection and gifts at every turn.

A new bikini set? Yours. The most adorable makeup? Already on your vanity. Cutesy, frilly lingerie? Delivered to you the next day.

You liked being with him, and he liked being with you. Having such a bright colored girl on his shoulder while roaming the city. Your aura was really just clouds and mist. He couldn’t get enough of it.

Especially your style. Oh your style drew you to him like a moth to a flame. Small striped tanks, all in blues, pinks, yellows, greens. Tiny skirts, always letting him get a peek at your ass when you bent over. Paired with platform sandals or just regular wedges, which never seemed to make you as tall as him. You had such a tropical vibe to you, and he LIVED IN IT.

He was either at your house or you were at his. Different vibes but still relaxed so well into it.

And don’t even get me STARTED on the sex… (>///<)!! Intimacy with him was mind BLOWING. He knew his way around a girls body. Infact, he didn’t just know it, he absolutely memorized it. Down to the last nerve ending.

~

It feels like it’s been hours since his fingers have been buried inside of you. When in reality it’s been max 30 minutes.

You squirm on top of him. Face off to the side while his was focused on your wiggly body. Wet squelching echos from the walls, as well as your insistent whimpering and moaning.

Your bikini bottom thrown somewhere on the floor of his bedroom while your bikini top was barely hanging on to your neck.

You and him were SUPPOSED to go out to the beach together, tan a bit, play in the water, stuff like that. But he couldn’t help himself this time when you bent over to pick up a bangle that fell off the floor. He saw the curve of your ass from the darkness of his sunglasses and immediately he got hot and bothered. Throwing you over his shoulder and marching you right to the bedroom.

You didn’t even really know why he was acting the way he was when he threw you on top of him. Shimmying down your bottoms before sticking his fingers in your mouth. Letting the apply pressure on your tongue and letting them get wet with your spit.

When he pulled them out you complained, not a serious one, but you were dead set on going to that beach today. But it fell on deaf ears.

And here you were now. On your lord knows how many ith orgasm. Brain replaced by what felt like a marble. Thoughts just kinda shaking around like pebbles in your head. He held you up close to him, your pussy right above his chest and face buried into a pillow. Mascara and blue eyeshadow staining his cream colored pillows but he’d worry about that later.

His tight grip held one of your ankles up while your leg kicked back and forth against the mattress. Anklet dangling off the free one and making little jingling noises. His middle and ring finger pistoning themselves inside of your dripping cunt. It was intense to say the least.

“Jason!!”

You cried out, a bit of drool dripping down the side of your mouth while you desperately tried to kick your legs but, no luck. One of them yes but it wasn’t enough. He turned his face to see you. Hat thrown next to your bottoms but his stupid sunglasses were still left on his head. Both of your practically nude bodies slick from sweat.

“Hm? Whats up sweet thing?”

He asked oh so innocently, like he wasn’t bullying your pussy with his fingers. And when I mean relentless I mean RELENTLESS. So fast it just looked like his hand was in one place. He watched the fat of your ass ripple when he went inside and out of you. Tapping his palm against it before going right back to fingering you.

Your voice straining and whining, barely able to make out a sentence that wasn’t just nonsense. Even your mind couldn’t think about any words. Just barely trying to count which orgasm this was. You babbled something, something close to that question, and it took him a damn long while to figure it out.

“You’ve cum 2 times already- but, I think my doll needs a 3rd. You agree, don’t you?”

Before you could nod your head yes or shake it no, he slid his fingers out and let them both glide up and down your folds. Feeling around at the seeping wetness that dripped down to your thighs and his upper body. It allowed you to calm yourself for a minute, but not before he pushed them back in. Replacing the ankle in his hand with your waist, holding you straight before going back to his sonic speed fingering.

Your knees pressing down firmly to the bed, adding little dips in the mattress while your legs continued to flail around like kites. Tears stained your cheeks, leaving drips of black down your lower eye. You turned to slightly to face him with a pitiful expression. He couldn’t see much from the position you both were in, but he saw your tears and moved his head forward to kiss them away. Even with his digits still feeling around inside.

Sobbing and whining, but with pleasure behind it, and he knew. He knew it wasn’t a cry of sadness or a cry of pain, but a cry of overstimulation and need. And he was gonna give you as many orgasms as he thought he needed you to have.

“Too much-! Fuzzy—!”

Barely mewling out your words while the hand on your waist went to the curve of your ass, grouping the flesh before slapping it. Causing a jitter and yelp from you. He caught you in your lie and you knew it.

“Nah Angel, ‘s not too much.. Barely enough. Nothin’s ever too much for my girl..”

Cooing to you lovingly while whispering quiet praise. Your cunt clenching around his fingers while your eyes rolled back till they were mostly white. Legs trembling and barely able to keep up. You just kept kicking and squirming around, teeth biting into his pillows and leaving a spit ring against the fabric.

He pulled his fingers out again, rubbing them along your folds and INSTINCTIVELY you reached behind yourself to push them back in. He didn’t even have to ask you to, you didn’t even ask him before you guided them back to your hole. He laughed, once again plugging them with his fatass fingers.

“There we go. See, dumb little angel can be smart.. She just needs some time.”

Chuckling with his whole chest before locking in and fingering you to death again. Your brain was mushy, it felt like if your head tilted to the side your brain would just fall out your ear like noodles. You stuck your tongue out and turned your head away, glad he wasn’t able to see your contorted expression. Just able to hear you crying on his fingers.

“Jaaaasonnnn!!!”

Whining at his teasing comment. Acting like you were annoyed even though you secretly did enjoy it. You liked it more than you’d admit, ya know, being called dumb and enjoying it. He called you dumb once and you huffed, but secretly it kinda awakened something inside of you that you hadn’t even registered.

“Whattttt???”

He mocked, laughing again while still keeping up with his crudely fast fingers. Your breath was hot and heavy, coming out in short intervals with your noises. Arousal dripping down his fingers and coating his palm. He knew you lost your focus a loooonggg time ago with the way you couldn’t even form sentences that weren’t just his name being drawn out. He loved that he could make your mind do that. As selfish as it was, he wanted your mind to always be like that around him. Just empty.

Just gone, all for him. He liked it, didn’t exactly know what to call it, but he liked when you shut off for him. You could relax, and he could take care of you. Like now!! If— you could call it taking care of your body..

He curved his fingers inside, pushing deeper before you lifted your head from his pillow.

“I’m cumming!- Feels weird!-Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseee Jasonnn!!”

You didn’t really know what you were saying please to, you didn’t know anything in this moment to be honest. The wet sounds of his fingers inside, his heavy breathing, your moaning, and the sounds of blankets being thrown off the bed by your kicking legs was enough to fill your mind.

“You can, sweet thing. This the last one so make it realll good for yourself”

A teasing smile appeared on his face as you let the coil in your womb unwrap, and it unwrapped like a rubber band type of speed. You came, and so did a clear liquid too. It came out intense, and didn’t feel too weird, just confused you. But that confusion was overridden by the powerful force of your orgasm.

Your legs spasmed and shook. Folding so your bare, sopping wet pussy was resting against the curve of his abs. He felt the liquid on his body drip down from the sides and onto his sheets. But he didn’t mind. He was proud of his girl for cumming so hard. Doing her very best and all.

“Good girlll.. God damn, 3 in a row.”

He patted your ass, watching the fat jiggle again before you jolted. Still sensitive and still aching. Swollen and puffy pussy grinding against his body to ride it out and get every last bit out.

You then turned your head slightly back to him. To his fingers running lines down your folds, a bit teasing and a bit soothing. His head turned to the side, seeing your fucked out expression he held back a laugh.

You heard his hands leave your pussy, whining about the loss but he just didn’t respond. Instead his hands went down to his waist, unbuckling his belt and zipper.

“Mm.. You look like you can handle one more though, can’t you angel? 4th sound okay?”

Your mind too gone to give him a reaction. Instead just a lazy nod.

“Kay..”

He tapped your ass again.

“We’ll go to the beach after okay? Don’t worry ‘bout that”

What a liar.

The sun was already setting.. (⋋▂⋌)

The beach would have to wait till tomorrow I guess.

E/N: Oh my gah JASON DUVAL PLEASE JUST SLIDE IT IN RAW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GRAHHHHHHHHHHHH. This was jist a quick goon more than it was something long and thought out. If u couldn’t already tell NOT PROOFREAD and it released super quick. Usually I like to take my time with fics and stuff but I LITERALLY COULDNT HOLD BACK OH MY GAH I HAD TO do it NOWW. But anyway, thank you for reading!! Reblogs, notes, and comments much appreciated!! (*^‿^*) XOXO - Mimi

Tags: @2ftall

[finalgirlfae]

Can you write something where reader meets Mile’s parents for the first time as his gf?And they get along well:,))

meeting the parents, miles morales

genre: fluff

pairings: miles morales x fem reader

summary: you meet miles’ parents as his official girlfriend for the first time

notes: in my head the reader is afro latina like miles, and also my spanish is rough so bare with me for a second. also since people love to argue with me; before y'all start yes i know what the song is about🤗

“MILES i’m shitting bricks right now i’m so nervous.” you spoke to your boyfriend over facetime. two and a half months on a random new york city rooftop while the sun set, miles had asked you to be his girlfriend- officially. the two of you had been talking for about two months before he asked and now it was time for inevitable turning point in every relationship; meeting the parents.

you should be happy you made it this far! guys suck, but guys in new york city? they sucked even worse. so to meet a great guy who really liked you and wanted to introduce you to his parents was a major win. but there was a feeling eating at you, one that terrified you. what if his parents didn’t like you?

“what if i call platainos plantain and she tells me to get out of her house? i’m so scared-”

“baby, baby,” miles spoke from the phone on your dresser. you could hear the bustle of city traffic around him. “tómalo con calma mami, okay? you gotta relax.”

“tómalo con calma” you mimicked, “miles how can you tell me to take it easy? this is literally more stressful than our chem test last week.”

you heard miles wince over the phone. “you’re that nervous? yikes.”

you ran over to your phone and picked it up in panic. “what do you mean yikes??”

“nothing. look i’m outside, buzz me in.”

you sighed and walked out of your room to the living space, pressing the buzzer to open the door. miles would be up here in a minute and then you’d be on your way to meet his parents. his mom was making lunch for everyone.

you moved over to the mirror in your living room and gave yourself a good look, you didn’t want a single hair out of place when you met them. it was a warmer summer afternoon with the sun high in the sky, not a single cloud was in sight. to compensate the hot weather, you wore a faded green tank top with butterflies decorated on it with a clear quartz crystal necklace and denim skirt. your hair was in a ponytail, coils bunched tightly together and edges laid perfectly. you went over to the kitchen, opening the fridge door and getting the small bouquet of flowers you had bought for miles’ mom. they were pink and yellow tulips; her favorite according to miles.

when the door bell run you walked over, opening it to reveal your boyfriend. “hey baby.” he spoke, stepping into the apartment.

“hello my love.” you wrapped an arm around his waist, bringing the boy closer to you and leaning up on your tippy toes to give him a soft kiss. he smiled down at you, wrapping arms around your body and bringing you into another kiss. when you both pulled away he looked you up and down. “you look beautiful baby, those for me?” he joked, pointing at the flowers.

“thank you but no.” you gave him the flowers to hold and slipped on some air force ones, “these are for your mom.”

he gave you a big smile, kissing your temple. “that’s so sweet! very thoughtful, baby. she’s gonna love them- and you, let’s go.”

you couldn’t even respond before miles hand was wrapped around your wrist, tugging you wearily out of your new york city apartment. he barely gave you enough time to grab your purse before you two were walking down the street to the 2 train. five stops later you were walking out the station and to his apartment building.

“miles i’m scared.” you grimaced as you made your way into the elevator. he held your hand, giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze. “there is nothing to be afraid of mi querida.”

“qué pasa si a ellas no les gusto?”

miles only sighed at your question. “ellos van a. even on the impossible chance they don’t it wouldn’t matter to me, i like you.”

a small smile spread on your face. “you know you’re so corny right? you got no game.” you laughed as the elevator dinged and the door opened.

“yeah but i still pulled you didn’t i?” he asked, smirking to himself and holding your hand as you walked down to his apartment. your heart was beating out of your chest.

“aye aye,” miles turned to you. fuck, you forgot he could hear things like that. “mi amor, estará ben. breathe, okay? they’re just people.”

“yeah cariño but they’re your people. it’s important to me how this lunch goes.”

he smiled and kissed your cheek. “me too. let’s go.” miles used the hand that wasn’t in your to find his keys. he unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. immediately your nose was hit with the smell of delicious food. there was music playing from the stereo under the tv, a song you recognized.

"mom, dad! estamos en casa!" he called out as he stepped out of his shoes. you did the same and hung your purse on a coat hook before taking the flowers from miles, he had held them on the way over.

a few seconds later his parents walked into the living room. miles nudged you and you walked over to meet them. "mom, dad, this is my girlfriend. y/n."

"hello." you smiled. "it's nice to meet you lieutenant and mrs morales." you shook his dad's hand before turning to his mom. "mrs. morales, these are for you." you handed her the bouquet and watched the smile spread on her face as she took them. she brought you into a hug, "it's nice to meet you too sweetheart, i've heard a lot about you."

when you two pulled away from the hug you could almost feel miles' smile, he knew that she'd like you. “y/n why don’t you sit down and miles you come help me bring the food out.”

“i can help you, ma’am."

she looked at you for a second before nodding. "thank you! the kitchen's that way." she pointed. you nodded and began walking. rio turned to look at miles, mouthing "she's very pretty" before following you into the kitchen. when you were both there miles and his father walked to set the table.

"so.." miles began. "what do you think?"

"i'm happy she's not white." his dad laughed, smacking his arm and making miles give him a face. he knew he was talking about his past situationship type thing with gwen. "come on dad seriously, what do you think of her?"

his dad placed down four glasses. "i think she's very nice, very pretty and well mannered. nice job."

you and rio walked back into the kitchen, both holding pots and pans.

"what did you make mami?" miles asked, pulling out a chair for you. when you sat down he smiled and pushed it in before sitting next to you. across from you two were his parents.

"i made mofongo, arroz con gandules, alcapurrias and some tostones. oh, and for dessert i made some quesitos."

"i love quesitos!" you exclaimed. she smiled at you. "i know, miles told me. you're panamanian, right?" she asked, sitting across from you and beginning to serve you some mofongo.

you nodded, thanking her and placing a napkin on your lap. "yeah, on my dad's side."

"what does your dad do?" lieutenant morales asked as he began to eat.

"he used to work nypd but he retired a few years ago, 20 years."

his dad nodded, seeming impressed.

as you began to ease into their presence, you eased into the conversation as well. everything felt so natural and soon all your fears were alleviated. miles parents were really nice and also funny as hell. besides that they were genuinely good people and you could understand why miles turned out to be the wonderful person he is. he had great role models.

as the meal winded down miles mom brought out two dozen fresh baked quesitos with powdered sugar on top. "careful." she said to you. "you might have to fight miles for them. his appetite has been insatiable lately."

you and miles both looked at each other, stifling laughter. just as you were about to respond the stereo distracted you.

un matrimonio africano esclavos de un el les daba muy mal trato

ya su negra le pegó español

"oh my god." you spoke standing up. all three of them looked at you. "what?"

el les daba muy mal trato y a su negra le pegó

"me encanta esta canción!" you grabbed miles' hands and pulled him into the living room.

y fue allí, se reveló el negro guapo tomó venganza por su amor yaún se escucha en la verja no le pegue a mi negra

as the music played, you and miles began to salsa dance around the living room. "you know for a superhero who's thing is being acrobatic, you're a surprisingly bad dancer." you teased, making sure to whisper.

no le pegue a la negra no le pegue a la negra

oye man no le pegue a la negra

miles sucked his teeth, "my thing is webs."

you gigled, "i bet you shoot them out your trasero."

"man shut up." miles laughed, grabbing your hands and doing a roomba as he spun you, "see," he asked, hands going back to your waist, "i ain't too bad."

lleva la cadena lleva la cadena

"you stole that move from me!" his dad exclaimed, pulling rio in by her waist and beginning to dance beside you two. the rest of the night was filled with dancing, laughter and conversation. it's safe to say miles' parents liked you, and that'd you'd be welcome for many more meals at the morales house.

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This Week in The TCW

Apr 20th - Apr 26th

It's a real mixed bag this week with ten items of shared clothing being worn across twelve different shows. AND PIT BABE, KINNPORSCHE, AND JEFF SATUR HAVE ALL FINALLY MADE THE LIST! (It almost happened previously for KinnPorsche - a top worn by Macau was used in the opening credits of We Are but sadly not in the actual series, so it didn't count.)

Apr 23rd - My Golden Blood

The first item this week was a complete surprise for me in ep 7 of My Golden Blood. This yellow 'Weekend' shirt was worn also in City of Stars (Feb 2024).

Next is Tong's blue, grey, and white t-shirt. It was first worn in Wandee Goodday (Jul 2024) and has already been worn this year in The Boy Next World (Jan 2025). With this one I'm not sure if the colour differences are from the filming/post production, or if they just are different tones.

It was good timing this week for me to start my Pit Babe re-watch ahead of season 2 because I spotted Charlie's shirt (from ep 2, Nov 2023) on Mark (both are linin, the stripes are the same width, and the stripe directions on the shoulder seams are the same on both).

Apr 25th - Sweet Tooth Good Dentist

The first of four items in ep 5 of Sweet Tooth Good Dentist was one I knew would be worn from seeing it in the trailer. This was first used in Peaceful Property (Oct 2024) and then very briefly in ThamePo (Dec 2024).

But it was a surprise to see the t-shirt underneath Gugg's jacket - also worn by Day in Last Twilight (Dec 2023).

This pink and white hoodie jacket was another item I knew would appear in STGD - also worn in The Trainee (Aug 2024).

And this last one I had been anticipating since the pilot trailer. Also worn by Top in Only Friends (Aug 2023).

Historical Discoveries

The first historical discovery is a recent one - @jackandjoker pointed out to me that Tong's 'human' t-shirt from ep 3 of My Golden Blood had also been worn in KinnPorsche (Jul 2022), thus putting KinnPorsche and Jeff Satur on the Communal Wardrobe list! 🎉 (The writing on the back of the shirt is also the same. Incidentally, this is the only time Kim has anything written on his shirt - he almost exclusively wears plain tees [usually white or black if I'm not mistaken] - when he is thinking of and missing Chay. Make of that what you will).

Due to the above, I decided to do a scan through of the whole of KinnPorsche and discovered right at the end why a shirt I had seen in Monster Next Door (Aug 2024) had felt very familiar - worn also in ep 14 of KinnPorsche (Jul 2022).

And lastly, I saw the blue cloud sweater in this post from @mysterygrl20 which @gaypplonmyscreen then helpfully informed me was from ep 7 of Pit Babe (Dec 2023). Worn first (that I'm aware of) in Our Skyy 2 A Boss and a Babe (May 2023), and then more recently in Flirt Milk (Feb 2025).

Tagged by request: @my-rose-tinted-glasses @benkaben @pigglepiephi @jackandjoker If anyone else would like to be tagged then let me know.

[ghost-proofbaby]

you showed me colors (eddie munson x fem!reader)

"YOU SHOWED ME COLORS YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEE WITH ANYONE ELSE."

summary: the soulmate au based on "illicit affairs" by taylor swift that almost no one asked for.

warnings: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, strategic use of pet names, allusions to sex but none described, reader is referred to as a girl a few times, no use of Y/N, canon compliant. not really edited (cause i'm not putting myself through this shit again).

wc: 15.1k+

a/n: im genuinely sorry for once. blame @abibliophobiaa and @breddiemunson for this. also, thank you @hellfire--cult for helping me with the header!!! please take all those warnings very seriously. please. (also shout out to ash who got her own divider sort of so she'd know when to stop reading because my baby doesn't like angst 😅)

The first thirteen years of your life, you only had second hand accounts to trust when it came to colors. 

The sky is blue, soft and dreamy, nearly translucent until grey wisps of clouds would overrun it on stormy days (although, the clouds, you could make out). Most grass is green, verdant and rich as it sprouts from the hard dirt. Even the yellowing strands are most likely gorgeous, a sign of life and death, a sign that someone once stood atop the green and held their ground. Roses come in a rainbow of shades, but everyone seems to adore the staunch red ones the best. The plush pink of a lover’s kiss-bitten lips, the warm brown fur of the dogs you passed by on the street, the deep violet of the plums your mother proclaimed as her favorite fruit. A range of colors you had only ever heard of, never experienced yourself. 

For thirteen years, all you had was stories. Nothing tangible, nothing solid in your palms. Mere crumbs of a promise of what you would have one day, when you met your soulmate.

When you met him. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances in which you two met. You’d spent a lot of your childhood fascinated with the concept and lost in daydreams about it – maybe they’d be a stranger you caught the eye of on the train, or maybe they’d be the one making your coffee at a quaint cafe in a big city someday. Whoever they would be, you wanted them to be made of all the fairytales. You wanted a meeting to challenge every romantic story you’d been fed through your youth, you wanted a love that would shake the very Earth you wandered from the first time your eyes met theirs. 

Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him. 

Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth. 

You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s. 

“Are you alright?” 

You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.

The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate. 

“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” 

He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.” 

He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby. 

“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained. 

When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”

“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you. 

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-” 

He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter. 

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow. 

You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.” 

“The absolute biggest.”

“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”

His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.” 

You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair. 

“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?” 

He only nodded in answer.

“Can I ask why?”

Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not. 

“Because he made fun of you.” 

The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more. 

“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.” 

“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor. 

Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend. 

“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming. 

The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown. 

Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant. 

“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.” 

—

Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk. 

You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie. 

Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison. 

He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused. 

It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?” 

Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life. 

You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough. 

Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease. 

Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun. 

You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone. 

“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare. 

Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you. 

You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him. 

You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions. 

“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.” 

“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right – he loathes me.” 

The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.” 

He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.” 

Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it. 

“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”

Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended. 

He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?” 

You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense. 

Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”

“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.

“A payment.” 

“And what would this payment be?” 

“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.” 

He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you. 

“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.” 

—

Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably. 

Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given. 

Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for. 

The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.

Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.

“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”

“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”

“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare. 

He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him. 

Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter. 

“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.

You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity. 

His miracle. His gift. His soulmate. 

“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.” 

It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?” 

“The colors.”

“Because they are.” 

The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter. 

You were his soulmate. 

“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”

“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin. 

You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?” 

“What? Used to them?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.” 

I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning. 

I guess, except when it’s you. 

“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before. 

Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all. 

His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”

“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently. 

You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.” 

“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.” 

Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment. 

But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.” 

“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”

“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.” 

There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson. 

“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.

“Wait, hold on-”

“Stay here.” 

You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard. 

He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you. 

Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again. 

By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas. 

Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers. 

You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.

He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure. 

He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds. 

“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision. 

“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse. 

The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift. 

“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”

His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?” 

“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.” 

“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”

“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.” 

He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision. 

He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily. 

“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera. 

“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.” 

It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie. 

The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap. 

“There, look.” 

It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.

“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.” 

The sentiment had you choked up. 

“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.” 

There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.

You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture.”

“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.” 

His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”

A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.” 

He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.

The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.  

“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat. 

You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed. 

The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head. 

“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”

He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso. 

You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out. 

He was right. You think you get it. 

When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks. 

It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world. 

A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you. 

His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.” 

You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath. 

“As many as it takes, old man.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” 

You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out. 

—

“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!” 

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!” 

Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot. 

Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match. 

“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.” 

“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!” 

You didn’t reply, only widening your strides. 

He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you. 

Damn him and his newfound height. 

“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”

His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back. 

Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store. 

He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate. 

Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party. 

Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough. 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.

“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?” 

You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster. 

He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.” 

“You won’t even kiss me.” 

He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.

It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else. 

“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat. 

The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka. 

You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it. 

When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion. 

And then he said no. 

“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse. 

You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.

“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time. 

You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-” 

He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!” 

Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.” 

“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.

“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?” 

The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession. 

“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.” 

You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you. 

There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?” 

The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true. 

“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”

The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings. 

“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”

“Why?”

An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better. 

“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.” 

You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson. 

A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand. 

“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.

And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.” 

He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.

You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted. 

Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed. 

And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t. 

He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.” 

His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver. 

Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys. 

Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.” 

You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent. 

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably. 

But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul. 

It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough. 

And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour. 

—

You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together. 

Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be. 

Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored. 

And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss. 

But after three days, you had started to worry. 

Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed. 

Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.

What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much? 

You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if. 

If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.

You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern. 

“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.

It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.

Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance. 

“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him. 

He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised. 

It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you. 

Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.

It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room. 

Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.

Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?” 

You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.

You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui. 

“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?” 

You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison. 

He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.

“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks. 

You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.

“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.” 

You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“ 

A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.” 

Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.

“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.” 

He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.” 

“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.” 

It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.

His soulmate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”

“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”

“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.” 

He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”

You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.

You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.

When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?” 

“I love you,” you smiled, “That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”

“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…” 

But you didn’t. 

Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?” 

That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.” 

You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”

“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.” 

Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you. 

All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync. 

—

You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time. 

Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that. 

It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.

You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue. 

“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.

Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought. 

“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.” 

In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach. 

“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow. 

It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.” 

Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.

You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm. 

Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”

“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead. 

That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate. 

You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.” 

There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own. 

If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started. 

“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.” 

“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point. 

“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”

Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?” 

“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.” 

—

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice. 

But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.

A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing. 

You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t. 

That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy. 

It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search. 

And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader. 

When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.

The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate. 

He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.

The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him. 

You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help. 

When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him. 

When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation. 

A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them. 

Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it. 

A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve. 

“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”

You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.

And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie. 

It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this? 

But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him. 

You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin. 

Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive. 

“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world. 

His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat. 

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?” 

It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape. 

“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you. 

“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.” 

He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto. 

That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too. 

“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.” 

“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.” 

He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time. 

When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand. 

You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours. 

“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.” 

He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision. 

“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-” 

You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids. 

“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.” 

Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead. 

“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.” 

He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides. 

Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time. 

Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid. 

After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you. 

You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him. 

—*ash, stop reading here*—

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose. 

You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.

The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy. 

“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”

Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you. 

As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.

You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey. 

Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him. 

The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs. 

It’s black and white. 

The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.

It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone. 

As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood. 

The colors are gone. It’s black and white. 

“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?” 

The colors are gone. 

A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic. 

Eddie. 

You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone. 

Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.

It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color. 

That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time. 

Frozen in time, frozen in black and white. 

Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand. 

Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.

She understands.

Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows. 

“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph. 

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.

“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.

Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

“Eddie!” 

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t. 

[ask-thearchivists]

Speaking of color, do you like the color of the sky?

(Sorry everyone. I have to put anon in the ground. If you're on desktop press J)

The Coordinator: Yes, I very much enjoy the view of our galaxy outside the doorways behind us. The ambient color is always a lovely shade of purple here.

The Charmer: It's so nice, but I do miss the blue-green color of the Illusory Galaxy. I can't see myself leaving to found my own Archive anytime soon, but I sometimes imagine the beautiful color it will be.

The Cartographer: Since they're mortal, don't you think that what they meant by asking that is in reference to the view of the sky from the surface of a planet?

The Curator: Oh, that's a hard question that will probably require a lot of discussion before we remember all of our favorites.

The Cartographer: Once I went down to a planet and the sky was the pale blue of my body spots. That was striking, holding my hand in the air and seeing it vanish against the sky.

The Coordinator: Yes, it is striking when that happens. The first one that comes to mind is a blue sky I saw once, the exact same shade as half my skin, with white clouds like my hair.

The Charmer: Once I saw a world where their sky was a deeper blue like my skin during the day. Maybe worlds have blue skies by they are rarely ever such a dark shade of it, because of their suns.

The Curator: Wow, what boring answers. I like when planets have ammonia crystals in the upper atmosphere that make the skies look like the same pretty yellow shade as my skin.

The Charmer: Okay, but now you're just listing a sky that looks like your skin.

The Curator: Oh no, whatever shall I do? Maybe if you all think of more interesting colors for the sky to be, I will think of better colors too.

The Cartographer: Well, I remember a planet that we visited that had permanently orange skies from its incredibly dense atmosphere. They were the color of my eyes.

The Coordinator: Well, I do also recall a planet that had red skies. It was caused by smoke in the upper atmosphere because of the intense volcanic activity of the planet. The mortals were so interesting.

The Cartographer: I mean, you never see it on satellites capable of spontaneously creating life. But planets and moons with very thin atmospheres for one reason or another, their skies are pitch black in the day because there's nothing to catch and scatter the light. Though, I hate those skies.

The Charmer: Eugh!! Stop talking about that! You know those ones give me the creeps. It's like you're the last living creature in a dead universe where all the stars have gone out except one. It's like the only thing that is unsettling to us.

The Coordinator: Yes, I would like us to talk about different skies.

The Curator: Well, it's not the exact same but being in a mortal city and looking up at a black sky from light pollution is also interesting.

The Coordinator: Those skies are always so sad. When it gets to that point most mortals are not even aware that they are missing anything. The believe the sky to be unimpressive, typically unaware that they are no long able to see the stars.

The Charmer: Well, anything is better than those skies.

The Curator: One of my favorites skies that I've seen is one where the atmosphere had a lot of argon in it, so it was naturally purple. It's also really common for mortals to believe that their skies are blue when they're really purple because they didn't evolve the ability to see purple as well as other colors.

The Cartographer: There was one world I visited where the sky was a really pretty shade of blue-green.

The Charmer: The sky there was pretty, with its yellow clouds, but I would prefer not to compliment that terrible place.

The Coordinator: I agree. It is extremely rare but I like worlds with pink looking skies. It is typically just a washed out red but sometimes it looks more vibrant.

The Curator: The bright magenta sky worlds give ME the creeps, it's like a sky made of blood. Makes my skin crawl.

The Charmer: And then there's worlds with white skies. There's so many reasons the sky could be plain white.

The Coordinator: Oh! Do you recall that planet where the atmospheric conditions were so specific that the light from its star was pure white, and everything would appear grey-scale until there were fires or lightning strikes, or when it was overcast because the moisture of the clouds split the light and showed the colors of the world below? It was such a fascinating place.

The Charmer: Oh I almost forgot about that place! The sky there was so amazing.

The Coordinator: My favorite sky color is dark red.

The Charmer: After all this discussion I think I remember my favorite sky color to be vibrant magenta.

The Cartographer: I have to choose the golden orange permanent sunset skies.

The Curator: I'm going with purple. I love the rich royal purple skies on worlds with bacteriorhodopsin.

[teacasket]

pink champagne

genre: fluff au: non idol au warnings: alcohol word count: 0.5k   pairing: gn!reader x bang chan a/n: happy 2024, everyone!

A new year, a new city, a new friend. This is how trouble begins, you think, as you follow Chan through the crowds. Sequins and lamé glitter under the golden lights of crystal chandeliers, and premature confetti covers the floor. Waiters in dark, clean-cut suits carry trays of champagne, while guests drink, mingle, and take pictures in front of the famed staircase.

You climb up that very staircase, earning yourself a few disgruntled cries and disdainful looks. Chan mutters an apology but darts upwards before they can say anything. On the other hand, you linger to take in the beauty. They don’t have historic hotels or fancy parties like this where you're from.

The guests on the stairs scan you up and down. Sneakers and a warm coat aren’t wrong for this party, but scuffed canvas and loose, fraying threads are. You squeak out a jumble of incoherent words and run up after Chan.

He waits for you by the elevator and graciously gestures for you to head inside first. The doors shut, and the long ride to the topmost floor starts.

“Told you the lobby would be worth it,” he says, smiling as if you were against the idea in the first place.

“Shut up. You sure we can get on the roof?”

He pats his bag, heavy with illegally copied keys and other secrets. His friend used to work at the hotel, or so Chan said. You didn’t bother asking for more detail.

On the highest floor, he leads you down hallways of closed doors before stopping in front of a metal door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in red. He slides in his key, and the lock gives. When he pushes it open, you brace yourself for an alarm, a security guard hurtling through one of the dozens of doors, anything that signals that you and Chan aren’t permitted onto the roof, but there's nothing.

You tentatively step out, and the winter chill saps all of the warmth from your skin. Your breath makes wispy, summer clouds in the winter air as you take in the city below you.

Music and shouts intertwine like a sonata. Faraway windows glow, shining like the stars above, and crowds swell and ripple like a silver snake. There is so much light, it threatens to drown out the night.

“I love it,” you declare, spellbound by the view. You sit beside Chan, close enough to feel his leg shift as he involuntarily leans closer. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, I got a surprise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of pink champagne. “Friend of mine stole it on the last day of work. He said it was expensive, so it’s probably good.”

“Is this the same friend who used to work here?”

“Maybe. Watch out.”

It doesn’t open with a pop and a flying cork but with a light hiss that is barely audible over the sudden thundering of fireworks. You stare in awe as the sky lights with gold and white, so blinding you have to look away. If you reach your hand up, you swear you could catch a spark in your palm.

“Happy New Year,” Chan says. He takes a hearty swig of champagne, exhaling with pleasure as he holds out the bottle to you. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Me too. Happy New Year.”

As you put the bottle to your lips, you think this is what fireworks must taste like.

if you liked this, maybe you’ll like one of my older pics also centered around chan and new year’s: ringing in the new year

[danc12321]

Love Nikki 10th Anniversary Hell Design Review/Discussion

Since it's the 10th anniversary of Love Nikki’s Chinese server today, I thought I'd look at the new hell’s suits and review them! The suits are all based on people and places from the game’s main story, so the character/place names will be in brackets after the suit names. Also, credits to the official Love Nikki Discord for name translations!

Note that I'll only be looking at the hell suit designs, not their prices, breakdowns, etc. I'm also not looking at anything 10th-anniversary-related outside of the hell for simplicity's sake as well.

Spoiler warning for volume 1, once again these suits are based around people and places from the story so they contain some pretty major spoilers.

This took me a while, so please check it out below.

Ballad of Lingering Clouds (Wheat Fields, Apple Federation - Bobo)

This suit is based on the Wheat Fields in Apple Federation, where Nikki first arrived in Miraland and met Bobo for the first time. Obviously this design goes all-in on the "wheat field" part, with wheat and floral motifs all over the dress, headwear, and umbrella, but I absolutely love that about it. In my opinion it manages to capture such a nostalgic and pure feeling with its various shades of dull yellow and cream. I also love what they did with the people made of clouds in the background, to me it makes it feel like the suit is embarking on a new journey with more to be discovered ahead. All in all this feels very representative of the beginning of Love Nikki and the time in which Nikki and Bobo meet. That being said, I think this suit could do with a few adjustments. The green on the end of her dress and coat feel out of place with the rest of the colour palette to me, being way more vibrant and saturated than anything else in the suit. Though it definitely would have been too monochromatic with the same yellow there as the rest of the suit, I think a brown or even just a less saturated green would have been more fitting with the wheat around her. Also, her singular glove feels strange to me - why is she wearing a ring over her glove? And why is she using a glove but holding an umbrella in her ungloved hand? I think switching the glove's hand or giving her 2 gloves instead would have made much more sense for this outfit.

Overall I'd give Ballad of Lingering Clouds a 7/10, I really like most of it but there are a few elements that feel out of place.

Sea of Neon Dreams (Wintermount, Lilith Kingdom - Yvette)

This suit is based on Wintermount in Lilith Kingdom, and the time Nikki spent at the Designer’s Tea Party with Yvette. This is the point of the story in which Nikki becomes determined to be a good designer, and I think this suit’s numerous design-related motifs capture that nicely. I love the various tape measure, button, and stitching patterns throughout, plus her expression and background ornaments really capture a sense of wonder around designing. The little heart details on the dress and headwear are also very cute. However, the colours here are an absolute mess. The reddish-purple of the gloves does not work with the bluish-purple of the dress at all, and the dress barely even works by itself either. Having such dark purples touching these very light pinks is such a strange choice, and it throws off the entire outfit for me. I think this suit would have been much more aesthetically pleasing if they had chosen pink OR purple, rather than using both in various places.

This suit could have been really nice, but the extremely messy colour scheme really brings it down. Overall I'd give Sea of Neon Dreams a 6/10.

Sound of Heaven-Shaking Tail (Cloud City, Cloud Empire - Lunar)

This suit is based on Cloud City in Cloud Empire, and the moment of Lunar's death (rest in peace you will live forever in our hearts and my Dreamweaver menu). We've gotten quite a few Lunar suits post-death at this point, but I think this one does a really good job at capturing that moment. The giant bolts of lightning and strong lines throughout the suit do a great job of representing the pain and anguish of the moment. I also love the use of Lunar's main motif, a blue phoenix, as a giant bird behind her which in my opinion manages to capture such subtle but strong sorrow in its expression. Personally, I am not a huge fan of the yellow-blue combination they used here, but the large contrast between them definitely manages to give a very dramatic impression of the moment it represents. The detailing across the outfit is also very impressive. I love the wing/feather details throughout the headwear and dress - this alongside its gracefully flowing fabric almost makes it feel like the suit itself is a phoenix as well.

Outside of the colour scheme, I don't see many ways in which this one could be improved. It is a highly detailed outfit with a lot of thought put into its presentation, so I’d give Sound of Heaven-Shaking Tail a 9/10.

Recollection of Skies and Rose (Oren City, Pigeon Kingdom - Ace)

This suit is based on Nikki’s time in Pigeon Kingdom with Ace. To be honest, I'm less familiar with this part of the story than the others, so I have less to say here about its relation to the events and character it's based around. However, I absolutely love this suit's design. Being a primarily white outfit, it's easy for it to appear washed out or bland. However, the small pops of purple along the dress’s hemline as well as the green corset and colourful headwear really make this suit shine for me. The colour scheme as a whole feels very fresh and light, reminiscent of an early spring morning. The hairstyle also feels perfect for an upper-class Pigeon lady, and the accessories are all gorgeous. The one critique I have is about the suit’s perspective, it looks like we have a bird's-eye view of her directly on top of a pond, but she is also sitting on the edge of a flowerbed which feels a little strange.

Despite not really knowing the lore significance of this suit, I’d have to give Recollection of Skies and Rose a 9/10 as well. I absolutely love this outfit as a whole, it's definitely my favourite from this event.

Live2D: Moment of Blooming Miracles (Nikki)

This suit is based around Nikki herself, showing herself through the years (with the suit animations including child and teenager versions of Nikki). I'm glad they included Nikki in this hell, considering she's the main character and all, and the base outfit here is really cute. The shades of pink they chose feel like a perfect representation of Nikki and the little scribbles around her are adorable. I absolutely love the dress and its gradual shift from white to pink, it feels simplistic but very elegant in my opinion. However, I think this suit's Live2D animations are fairly disappointing. While I appreciate the idea of having younger versions of Nikki included in the suit, their appearances here feel out of place, especially since these 2 younger versions of her don't exist in Love Nikki’s story at all. The suits used for these sprites are also not very notable in Love Nikki’s history, being a children's day event and a free login suit, and don't really fit with the original Live2D’s colour palette. I think it would have been more effective to use Nikki’s numerous story and hell sprite outfits instead, all of which are also pink, achieving a similar effect with more relevance to the game and a more suitable colour palette for this outfit.

If this was a free, non-animated suit I'd be extremely happy with it. However, because of its place as a Live2D with disappointing animations, I'd give Moment of Blooming Miracles a 7/10.

Minor suits (Ruin Island, Ruin; Ash City, North; Wind Valley Forest, Wasteland)

Since these are minor suits I have a lot less to say about them individually, so I've put them together here instead. It's definitely disappointing that these 3 nations got sidelined as usual, but I understand that they're less important to the plot so they didn't want to use them in place of the other 4 nations.

I love the Ruin suit’s colours and the magnet theming is pretty cute, I especially love the shape of the hair. The recolour is a little bland being fully black and white, but I appreciate that it's very different from the original and not just yellow or purple like most other ruin suits. I'd give the Ruin minor suit a 7/10.

The North suit feels very generic to me, I feel that a lot of North Kingdom outfits are very similar to this one. I do really like the top’s shape though, the lower part that drapes down to below the waist is especially nice with the red on its inside adding some much-needed colour to an otherwise very monochromatic outfit. I do find the recolour a lot more compelling, but it still feels fairly generic to me. I'd give the North minor suit a 6/10.

I really like the wasteland suit’s original colour scheme, it feels very fresh and reminiscent of something like a watermelon. The dress hem has some really nice details as well. However, the fur at the top of the dress feels severely out of place, with the rest of the suit comparatively being very flowy and light. Moreover, I fear that (like many other Wasteland suits in this game) it may be misrepresentative of its source culture, using a dream catcher at the suit’s waistline. I could be wrong about this so feel free to correct me if you are more well-informed about Native American culture, but after minor research of the culture dreamcatchers originated from this suit does not seem to be inspired by their people at all. To me this makes the dreamcatcher seems more like a generic “ethnic” motif rather than being something properly researched and considered together. I'm also not much of a fan of the recolour, its earthy palette is very unoriginal and generic for Wasteland suits. I'd give the Wasteland minor suit a 5/10.

Conclusion

Overall, this hell is quite mixed for me. I absolutely love Sound of Heaven-Shaking Tail and Recollection of Skies and Rose, but the other 2 major suits, the Live2D suit, and the 3 minor suits all have a few issues each. Nevertheless, I am very glad they made the 10th anniversary event so heavily based on Love Nikki's storyline, it feels nostalgic and it's nice to see moments of the main story represented in such large-scale suits. As a whole I think I'd have to give this hell a 7/10.

Thanks for reading and feel free to share your thoughts in a reblog or comment! I'd love to see everyone else's opinions on this event.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #53] Imposter Syndrome

warnings: namseok aka the starluvrs biggest supporters!!, gallery date <33 starluvrs playing pretend <333 oh they luv each other soooo much :( disgusting! so lovely!

notes: remains to be one of my fave bd doodles hehe. the is the last chapter tonight bc it leads us into a lil treat tomorrow <3

wc: 5.7K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

So used to chasing stars, Jeongguk had almost forgotten how much he enjoys chasing sunsets, too. Sky clear, save for a few wispy, high-altitude clouds, it fades through blue, clementine, pink - until, eventually, it's overwhelmingly mauve. Has him thinking about that time on your apartment roof.

A few canvases and far too much paint, he remembers it fondly - and knows that you were right to implement that five-date rule, no matter how spectacularly you both failed at it.

"This doesn't feel like home," you say with a coy smile, Jeongguk taking a wrong turn as you enter your city.

Leaving it up to him to implement the bird, you're sort of surprised that he hasn't mentioned it for the entire drive. Hasn't even been a little provocative in his jokes or the placement of his hand on your thigh. Has behaved himself well. 

It's very confusing, by all measures.

"No?" He replies, as if he isn't responsible for it.

"No," you insist. "You never go this way."

You'll still be able to make it home, it just adds a fair distance onto the journey. You live across the other side of the city; Jeongguk centrally. You haven't been out this way since Taehyung's last showing at the Ryu, but you know the area well. All the galleries worth noting in the city are in this district.

"First time for everything," Jeongguk says softly, as if he isn't taking another left turn further away from the roads that would lead you home. It dawns on you that perhaps he has a place in mind to complete the bird - but you know your surroundings. Know that there's one place this particular road leads. Can see it in the distance.

Brutalist in its architecture, the cluster of concrete ahead of you looks out of place and yet totally at home against the striking mountains that shadow your city. Coming into summer, their green leaves obscure the rocky terrain that presents itself during the colder months.

You always thought there was beauty to be found in the brutal. Have had endless discussions about the building and how it's the epitome of what a gallery should be: imposing, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore, no matter how much you dislike it.

The largest gallery in the entire city, it's home to a rotation of exhibitions, hosting both heritage and contemporary showings for local artists, as well as international showcases. That's what really sets it apart. Gets people talking. You've a yearly membership, but haven't been in months. Have been too preoccupied with your own showcase organisations for Taehyung, or busy tending to your origami children with their father.

"Gguk," you gingerly question, glancing across to find a charming smile settling on his pretty lips. "What are we doing here?"

Lights spill from the large glass windows of the entrance lobby, and the parking lot is packed. Unusual for this time of night, for it closes by dusk most evenings. Only ever stays open late for special events - of which working in an art cafe has never provided you with the privilege of attending.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jeongguk is a terrible, gorgeous liar. "Dunno. Just thought I'd see if anything was going on."

And as you spy an incredibly animated Hoseok enthusing with Namjoon out by the front of the building, dressed far more formally than either you or Jeongguk currently are, you know for certain Jeon Jeongguk will never stop with the white lies - but you also realise that perhaps it's okay to let them slide.

Pulling into a parking spot, Jeongguk's grin persists.

"Your nose'll grow," you tell him of his Pinocchio-adjacent tendencies.

Glancing across to you, Jeongguk licks his lips. "Don't act like you'd hate it if I had a bigger nose."

The way your lips part satisfies Jeongguk like nothing else. Knows he's got you thinking about his nose in a capacity that very few people will ever get to think about his nose in. Knows you're reliving the way it feels. Doesn't help with the way his cock is ready and willing to step into action at any given moment. Has been dying for the entire day.

"I'm not dressed for a gallery," you whisper, looking over to the building, ignoring his suggestive comment.

"I've got a spare blazer in my boot," Jeongguk says. It's on a hanger with a crisp black shirt, of which he knows he'll quickly change into. "And there's like, three pairs of your shoes in there, too. I'm certain there's some heels."

An oversized blazer with heels won't look terrible with the jeans you're wearing, but you're sure it will be far more casual than the rest of the punters.

Twisting his key in his ignition, Jeongguk tells you to wait where you are as he heads out to the boot. Returns quickly with the hanger for his clothes and a pair of heels looped over his fingers.

"Here," he says, passing the shoes over to you, then rids himself of his casual wear. Is thankfully parked far enough away from the gallery that he's obscured in the settling dusk of the evening. Strips the white vest that had been clinging to his skin. Tosses that towards you, too, then begins to thread his arms through the black shirt. "For under the blazer."

Credit where it's due, he really does think about the fine details. Staying in his passenger seat, you're a little restricted, but manage to get out of your sweater and pull the fabric of his vest over your body.

Tight to your chest, it definitely wasn't made for your body, but it's warm, and it smells like him, so you think that perhaps it was. You quickly switch shoes. Are pleasantly surprised, because you've been looking for these heels for weeks, unaware they were hanging out in his boot. Left them there after Pohang. Was worried you'd left them at the vacation house.

Blazer on, as you step out of the car to smooth yourself out, you're pleasantly surprised by the switch-up of your outfit. Make a note to seriously steal his clothes in the future, instead of settling for shirts.

A whistle pierces from Jeongguk's pouty lips. "Damn."

Walking around the car to meet you, he just can't help himself. Hooks an arm around your waist. Pulls you closer to his body, and steals a kiss. Mumbles into your lips. "I changed my mind. Back in the car. You're too hot. Gotta fuck you."

"Mmm, your self-control... so sexy," you joke, so amused with how weak he gets whenever he's a little horny.

"You forget I've seen you naked," he husks. "Self-control around you is impossible."

Gently pushing him away, you glance across to Namjoon and Hoseok, who are pretending like they aren't talking about you, when you know for a fact they most definitely are.

"We've got eyes on us," you say in regard to your friends.

"Good," Jeongguk huffs as you clasp his hand, pulling him towards the gallery. "Maybe they could learn a thing or two."

"Such as?"

"How to stop beating around the bush and actually date."

"Gguk," you can't help but laugh at his sheer audacity. "Took you, like, a year, a million birds, and what? Like, four hundred non-date-dates for you to actually ask me out. And I had to tell you to do it."

"Still did it."

"You're just as bad as they are," you insist. "Worse, even."

"How?!" He protests, quite positively affronted by such a claim.

"You were shagging me for months-"

"That's neither here nor there."

"-and still didn't ask me out."

"You didn't want to be asked out!" He defends himself with a mischievous grin. 

"Doesn't matter!" You laugh. Neither of you are taking this conversation seriously - which is just as well, because you're coming within earshot of your friends.

"What doesn't matter?" Hoseok asks, a brow raised. Dressed in all black, there's a sleekness to his understated formalwear. It's classy. Sophisticated. The slicked-back hair, and menacing grin on his lips, too.

"How I managed to wrangle entry for tonight's exhibition," Jeongguk replies, finally giving you a little context on why you're here, 'cause he knows it'll shut you up.

By the entryway behind Namjoon and Hoseok are vertical banners advertising the seasonal exhibition that launches tomorrow morning. Brilliant and metallic as they flow in the light breeze, the signage reads: Golden Rage - in association with Amsterdam Museum.

Anyone with a pinprick of art history proficiency will understand the reference to the Dutch Golden Age, a term now abandoned by Amsterdam Museum to be more reflective of the darkness surrounding the seventeenth century. Still, the artwork produced at the time tells stories of everyday people often forgotten about in time. Moments of history were captured in a way that reminds you of your photo booth pictures with Jeongguk. Names and identities lost, but evidence of love and desire remaining for centuries.

Namjoon just raises a brow. Smiles. "You didn't wrangle fuck all. You're committing fraud."

"And you're assisting," Jeongguk playfully banters, as Namjoon unclips his PRESS badge from his breast pocket and passes it over to Jeongguk. Hoseok does the same, but his badge simply reads GUEST .

"If anyone asks, you're giving it five stars," Namjoon tells Jeongguk. Had been invited to the exhibition as a member of the press. Mentioned it to Jeongguk in passing, and had subsequently been roped into an elaborate scheme involving identity theft and the need to ask Hoseok to come along, just so he could get a guest pass, too. Swings and roundabouts, Namjoon thought when he agreed to it all. "Don't get me fired."

Jeongguk tells Namjoon to fuck off, but also promises he won't. You bid your friends farewell, smiles all round, and slip into the ease of what it's like to have Jeongguk's hand on the small of your back. Though his blazer obscures the touch and removes some of the intimacy, it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Head up," he whispers as you stroll past the reception area. "Pretend like we're supposed to be here."

You've badges that prove credentials, and very few people (if any) would even think to check them. You're fine, and you know it, but there is a little adrenaline that comes with sneaking in somewhere you know you shouldn't. It excites you. Makes you feel all giddy, as if you're getting a glimpse into the life you want to build for yourself.

The gallery's white walls and marble flooring are clean and sleek in a way that feels like a far cry from the cafe you work in. The Ryu offers a nice middle ground between the two, admittedly - but you've spent so many hours there now that it doesn't have the same overwhelming essence that the gallery you're in now has.

In fact, you feel somewhat at home at The Ryu.

Jina's assistant, who's filling in for her during her maternity leave, is perfectly nice, but also far too keen on taking the credit for the showcases you plan and prepare for Taehyung. There's another one in the works, two weeks from now.

It's a little different from all the others. There's a lot riding on it. In fact, it's probably the most important and ambitious exhibition you've helped organise so far. Whenever Jeongguk asks about it, you downplay it - but as you glance across to him, and slip your hand into his, you know you need to be honest with him about it all.

And you will be.

Just not tonight.

The world can wait a little longer. You wanna stay in this dream with him while you still can.

"We are supposed to be here," you sweetly hum, playing into the role you're taking on for the night. "What's our story?"

Jeongguk chirps a slight hum of confusion, his warm grip on your hand tightening, then contemplates your question momentarily. Smiles, when he thinks of that first trip to Busan, and how you had decided to be versions of yourselves that don't exist. Realises that you're wanting to do it again; to make some pretend life for yourselves.

It's not 'cause this life isn't satisfying. Quite the opposite.

It's just 'cause you like playing make-believe with the man who makes you feel unreal in the most intrinsic of ways.

He likes it when you're playful. Likes what it leads to, yes, but likes the ridiculousness that comes before it. Safe and secure, he's allowed to be a fool with you without feeling foolish.

Rounding the corner, into the hustle and the bustle of the gallery lobby, he quietly weaves a tall tale of your lives.

"I'm disgraced art critic," he tells you with conviction, and is pleased when you gasp.

The chatter and laughter of galleryists obscures your conversation. Your lowered tones can't be heard above the pianist playing in the corner of the ample open space, champagne flowing and lofty laughter echoing from wall to wall.

You've privacy in the most public of spaces; a shared intimacy never to be shared with anyone else.

"Disgraced?!" You whisper with surprise, playing into his dramatics.

"Disgraced," he confirms with a cloying smile and a thump in his chest. There's an effortlessness to your back and forth; an understanding that you can indulge in such fivotly without fear.

And so you implore a little further. "What did you do?"

"It's not what I did." Jeongguk leans a little closer to your ear, so he can really whisper, "It's what you did."

You gasp, pulling away from him to turn your head in surprise. "Me?!"

"You," he nods, looking down towards with such affection you forget there are other people in the room. Don't care for the art, nor for the networking. You care for him, and little else. The feeling is mutual. "You're an old money heiress. The bird around your neck? Tiffany. The blazer? Gucci."

You're pretty sure it's Uniqlo.

Still, he continues with his lies of such grandeur that anyone would be enthralled to hear him speak. There's a magic to Jeongguk's mayhem, a sparkle in his eyes whenever he indulges in these little fallacies with you. 

He's cosmic in your company.

"You were a muse," he tells you. He thinks it should be true. Thinks artists would be mad to look at you and not paint a masterpiece. "To some of the finest artists of our time. So many of the greats wanted to paint you - and so many did."

There's lore to this little life Jeongguk is making up for you. In his head, you're way back in the Golden Age. The 1600's. Europe, maybe. He's not sure. Has let the banners advertising the exhibition inform his delusions.

You're imagining the 1920s. Opulence and indulgence at the very heart of it all. He'd mentioned Gucci after all - but your art history is far better than your fashion history. You're thinking a good forty-odd years ahead of the first clothing pieces made by the designer brand.

Accuracy isn't important here, though. You're colouring outside the lines, and are damn well having fun doing so.

"So what did I do to disgrace you?"

"Well, I became infatuated," he states all rather plainly, with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"Dangerous."

"You were too gorgeous," He says, then presses a kiss to your hair. Reinforces, "Too damn pretty. Out of my league and out of my tax bracket. Wouldn't even look in my direction-"

"But what if I did?" You suggest a revision to his story. "But you never noticed because you were always too concerned with other people also admiring the artworks of me?"

"Well, then it proves I was right to be disgraced for my actions," he assures you.

There are large archways around the lobby, all leading off into different exhibition halls. While you could make your way into one of them, you find yourselves walking around the spacious white lobby, weaving in and out of people.

"Tell me what you did," you giggle, your spare hand coming to clasp his wrist. It's an enthusiastic display of affection; reinforcement for the holding of hands. Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip. Tilts his head to the side and then shakes it gently to rid himself of his giddiness.

"Collected art," he says, still smiling. "So much. I'd put a gallery of this size to shame - but the issue? They were all artworks of you. Lined the walls. Had run out of space. Different angles, different colours, different styles. Had every version of you imaginable. Bordered on perverse, actually."

You picture it now, Jeongguk standing in a gallery full of your reimagined portraits, bereft at the idea of never being able to have you. Perverse in his eyes, but pure in his heart - and you find the scenario far more erotic than you should. The obsession. The yearning. The desire. The make-believe that you know is rooted in something authentic. There's a reason that painting is still up in his living room. He gets off on it. Not sexually, but mentally. His ego inflates when he looks at it.

Admittedly, he does often end up a little horny, but that's thanks to the memories. Thanks to you.

"All portraits?" You clarify.

He nods, continuing to guide you around the room even when you reach your starting point once more. "All until the one that sent me mad."

"Which was?"

"You had a lover," he tells you - and finds that his stomach does a pathetic little churn at the mere thought of it. "Some asshole, sleazebag in the upper classes. A shitty artist, but one that kept getting shows because his daddy had the money to fund it and no fucks to give about his kid."

"Your contempt sounds personal."

And it is.

In Jeongguk's head, this asshole looks a lot like Seokjin. Prick.

"I'm an art critic, baby," he reasons, as if he's not just called you baby outside of the bedroom. Your heart is in your throat. Might just throw it up onto your sleeve. Give it to him. Let him eat it up. "Just being... critical."

"Okay, so go on," you smile. "Why did you hate his work so much?"

"They were sketches," he eventually says. "Charcoal, or something like that. No larger than A4."

"But?"

"But you were nude in every single one of them."

You gasp. "Jeongguk!"

"Hey!" He defends. "Wasn't me. Blame your asshole lover."

"Was it a scandal?" You pout.

"Not really. The sketches weren't known about really, not amongst the wider audience of art appreciators," Jeongguk reassures you. "But within the circles your shitbag lover frequented?"

"Oh, what an asshole," you say, understanding immediately what he's getting at.

An old-fashioned case of revenge porn. A strange thing to think about.

"God, everyone wanted you."

"And so how did it disgrace you?"

"One was delivered to me," he says. "To the place I housed my collection, attached with the note: Look, because you'll never get to touch. I knew the asshole himself must have sent it. Something came over me. A fit of rage. So, I went to his seedy little studio and burnt the place down."

"Jeongguk!"

"What?!" He protests. "I was defending your honour."

"How?!"

"I was burning all of the nudes!"

"Okay, so fast forward," you laugh. "We're here together - how did we get from nude burning to attending galleries together?"

"Well, it caused quite the commotion within the art circles of the time. Everyone knew it was me, but it couldn't be proven at trial, so I went home a free man - and when I arrived home, who was there waiting for me?"

"Me?"

He nods. "You. You were fascinated by my obsession," he says. "As if you're not a totally reasonable obsession to have. Anyways, during the trial, you'd become just as infatuated with me as I was with you, desperately trying to understand my mind."

"Did I ever?"

"In a way, yes," he smiles. "We both just fell into this state of mutual obsession. You were ostracised for associating with me, and ever since, the rooms we walk into fall silent at the mere sight of us."

"Do we care?"

"Not in the slightest," he says. "In fact, we revel in it."

There's a certain truth to this, no matter how absurd and whimsical the story may be. You do like it when people catch glimpses of you and Jeongguk. A woman across the room has turned her head three times within the first fifteen minutes of you entering the building. Likely just checking Jeongguk out - but how can you blame her? Face like an angel, body built for sin.

Much like Jeongguk's fantasy version of himself, you're convinced that the people who gawp at Jeongguk are perverse. That they want in him in the worst of ways. The best of ways, too - though you suppose they're one and the same.

Picking up gallery guide pamphlets as you walk on by the stand, you know that you probably look out of place.

Admittedly, Jeongguk's clothes look effortless on you, thanks to the proportions. The skin-tight vest and the oversized blazer seem intentional. Tucked into your jeans, the white fabric is thick enough not to go entirely sheer over your bra, but you're a little conscious of it regardless.

Jeongguk's black shirt is formal enough for him to blend right in - but you both know you're a little out of place.

Part of him regrets not planning this aspect of his evening - but he also hadn't planned on visiting his parents when setting the wheels in motion. Had forgotten he needed to swing by with the trophies when he'd arranged all this with Namjoon.

Nodding to a dark entrance towards the rear, Jeongguk says, "The exhibition I wanna show you the most is through there."

Dark and imposing, it's a large curved arch that appears almost black beyond it.

"Y'know, we could have just come on the weekend," you say softly, so beautifully in awe of the effort he's gone to.

Sure, it's just a few pulled strings here and there, but you don't think anyone has ever done something so considerate for you. 

Silly as it may be, you feel like an imposter; as if things like this don't happen for people like you. Not that you've done anything not to deserve it, but because you've never really had someone care like this before.

Jeongguk, at the root of your relationship, is your best friend. He knows you like the back of his hand. Every vein. Every freckle. Every scar; what caused them, and what had to be endured in order to heal.

Attentive in his nature, you shouldn't really be surprised by such a gentle act. If you'd have heard a similar story relayed from his time with Jiyeong, and the art gallery was replaced by something she was particularly interested in, you'd have thought: Yes. That sounds like something he'd do.

You've imposter syndrome in the silliest of ways. Feel out of place - but you're surrounded by art. Know you're right at home.

Though if you were to think about it, it's really not the art that makes you feel that way.

Jeon Jeongguk is like the first bite of a strawberry in the chill of winter. 

You wait all year for the mart refrigerators to be lined in pristine punnets of crimson and cadmium. Will pay a small fortune for those early-season pickings. A little underripe, and far too much white beneath the lush green leaves, you don't care for imperfections. 

By the time strawberry season rolls around, you'll have spent so long without the delicacy that every single one of them will be perfect. Bruised skin, blackened seeds, it matters not. The flaws only make them sweeter.

"C'mon," he encourages, a saccharine smile on his soft pink lips, eyes adorned with stars as he looks at you. The warmth of his hand in yours only intensifies. You're not an imposter, his touch whispers. You're right where you're supposed to be. "We'll get distracted and miss it if we don't make the effort to actually go in there."

That's the thing about you and Jeongguk. Time wasted together is never a waste, but letting it slip from you is just so easy. Rough grains of sand; hours, minutes, seconds tumble through your fingers - but just like its honey hue, it'll stick to you, too. Will forever tarnish your skin.

Lasting, is the impact of Jeongguk. On you. On your life. On the very fabric of your world.

"Us?" You grin, taking the lead, pulling on his hand as you head towards the entrance. "Get distracted? Since when have we ever done that?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

You say no. There's no need. Will natter about nonsense as you amble over to the archway, instead.

Both laughing, you're in such good spirits that it's hard to remember a time when happiness didn't sit on your shoulders like an old friend; an imp with devilish horns that you know are the result of a clumsily broken halo. No malice, just mischief.

Above the entryway, thick black text boldly declares the intention set out by the curator: Common Skies . A play on the term 'common ground', you raise a brow as you look at Jeongguk. He isn't looking at you, but he is biting down on his bottom lip as if he knows you're putting it all together.

"What?" He sheepishly mumbles through an incredibly pleased, suppressed laugh.

"Skies?" You question the choice of word.

"Common ones, apparently."

Rolling your eyes, you decide to take the plunge and enter the exhibition - and are pouting instantly .

On a central pillar is the focal point of the small gallery room: Verschuier's Tailstar over Rotterdam.

Deep, burnt oranges illuminate a nightscape of the titular city, where townsfolk watch on in awe as the great comet of 1680 passes over it. Though children are crying in the foreground - fear of the unknown, you suppose - the piece has an overwhelming sense of wonder. People stare towards the sky with navigational tools. You wonder what they were aiming for, and decide that maybe it's better not to know.

How human it is, you think, to wonder. To marvel. To fawn and theorise over the things you can't explain, and the possibilities this world could have.

When you glance over to Jeongguk, there's a depletion to your heart rate. A calmness. Contentedness. The promise that for as long as he shall live, you will always have a man who marvels at you like you're a comet worthy of the history books.

Just like the subjects of the painting, he'll fawn and theorise over you. Won't be able to explain a damn thing about you, 'cause he'll spend the entire time fighting smiles and being at war with himself over what to talk about first.

"So," Jeongguk begins, recalling the research he'd done on the topic just so that he could talk you through the exhibition. "In Europe, historically, comets were signs of huge catastrophes. People thought they were a warning. Apocalyptic, kind of."

"Same as here," you muse, connecting the dots together and understanding the concept of the exhibition as a whole. "A common ground."

"Common ground over common skies," Jeongguk smiles with a nod. "This section of the exhibition is all about stars and comets. How different cultures reacted to them. Europe and the Joseon dynasty were worlds apart during the time period, yet they shared the same sentiments. Feared what they didn't understand. Still romanticised it."

Turning on the spot, keeping a tight grip on his hand, your eyes scan over the collection - and sure enough, you're surrounded by celestial events that must have shocked worlds and changed the trajectory of lives.

Despite the volume of work, it's curious how the most stellar depiction of a cosmic entity exists not on parchment nor on canvas. It's not etched into wooden plinths or carefully traced onto ancient moon jars that sit upon them.

Instead, they reside in your eyes and his; beaming at one another like lunar lighthouses in the midst of a tidal storm. The waves glitter and glow around you both, but your light will prevail, always.

Antares, is the way you feel for one another. The heart of the Azure Dragon. A red supergiant. Twenty-five million years in the making.

No piece of art strung up on these walls could ever compare. There are stars in abundance, of oil and acrylic, charcoal and calligraphy ink, but they don't capture the beauty of the sparks that fly whenever Jeongguk is by your side.

Strangers notice it. Do double takes. Whisper to their companions, do we know them? Are they famous? There's something familiar about them...

It won't be until they're on their way home, speckled skies twinkling in delight, that they'll realise they must have seen incarnations of shooting stars with their very own eyes. Manifestations of magic only ever seen in fantasy novels, or whispered around campfires.

Your evening is spent in an amaranthine haze of whimsical stories and unfiltered laughter. There truly is no better person to be around than Jeongguk. From hypothetic stories behind artwork that neither of you recognise, to the genuine, considered thoughts he puts into analysing the works you're keen on with you, he's the best gallery partner you've ever had.

The only one you've had, really. Seokjin never cared much for art, only for the superficial monetary value of mundane canvases. You've had a handful of museum dates over the years, but they were always awkward and forced.

And so galleries have been a place for you to indulge in introversion; a recharge for your batteries.

Something about Jeongguk stems your batteries from ever running low. He's like Duracell bunny. Go, go, go. The conversation never needs to cease - and it doesn't, or at least not until you're back in Jeongguk's car.

He's driven a little further into the city. Parked up at his favourite vantage spot on a small mountain not too far from the centre. The starlovers playlist hums quietly in the background, lights from the city glistening beneath you.

With your back to the door, heels off, your foot rests on the pad of the passenger seat. Anyone else, and he'd tell them off. Say something about how you should be more careful with the upholstery. Would reach over. Knock your foot down.

But he's too dumbstruck to muster any words. Just giggles when he looks at you. Bites his lip. Lets his piercing do the thing. Shakes his head. Eventually, tenderly says, "This is so stupid."

"What is?" You beam right back, so pretty in your shared happiness.

He shrugs. "All of this. You. Me. The fact we're a couple . What we're about to do. So stupid."

Not stupid bad. Not even stupid good. Just stupid in how giddy it makes him feel.

"You're thinking too much," you tell him with unbridled fondness. Know exactly what he means. Feel it too; foolish in the frivolity of it all. "But a word to the wise, Gguk - most girls wouldn't take too kindly to being called stupid."

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he assures you - and he's right. You do know. You just like winding him up.

"Too late," you feign over-dramatic insult. Pout. Wipe away a faux tear from your sparkly cheek. "Can't believe my boyfriend just called me stupid ."

Boyfriend .

Yep. He's still not used to it. Still gets ridiculous butterflies. Confirmed.

"I would never," he protests, reaching out to pull on your wrists. Drags you closer. Ignores the awkwardness of leaning over the centre console, as his hands find your cheeks. Faces no objection when he presses dumb, nonsensical kisses against your lips. Is dopey and obtuse and ever so simple in the way he giggles, even now. Doesn't stop smiling. Not once. "Not stupid."

Deep down, you know you both are, even if just a little bit. It really doesn't matter if you're a bit ditzy in each other's company, for you still managed to work out that all of your puzzle pieces perfectly align. Pretty smart, if you do say so yourself.

"Know what is stupid?" You hum against his lips, not pulling away. He punctuates your question with a tender kiss.

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

You smile. Punctuate his sentence, now, with dainty acts of devotion. Whisper, "The fact we're not on the backseats right now."

And while Jeongguk will gladly be a fool for you, he knows better than to keep up the dense facade.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He smirks, pulling away. Is arrogant as he cocks a brow, back inclined up against his door. He knocks his head to the side, indicating where he wants you. "Ladies first."

"On one condition," you bargain, playing into his flirt. Will give him what he wants, but won't give it to him easily.

"I'm listening."

"Ladies first in all aspects of what we're about to do."

"Is that not always the case?" He ribs, using his tongue to toy with his lip ring. Knows exactly what you're insinuating. "Do I not always make sure ladies come first? In all aspects."

You shrug. Flirt. "Just a friendly reminder."

But Jeongguk has spent a day thinking about all the things he wishes he had done to ruin that damn friendship with you months before he mustered up the courage to actually do so.

"There's nothing friendly about what I'm gonna do to you, B," he assures with a cocky grin, then corrects himself. "Do with you. Now, get that pretty ass of yours in the backseat."

"Say please ."

He shakes his head. Presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Smirks. "Don't make me ask again." 

"Say please," you reinforce, just to rile him up a little more.

But Jeongguk is in no mood to let you take control of the situation. You're in his clothes, and he wants to be in you. Thinks it's a fair trade. Knows you'd agree.

"Backseat, baby," he instructs, jaw sharp, eyes dark, determination unwavering - and how can you refuse? "Now."

[eclectic-sassycoweyes]

Knot-a-lot of Moons Ago

A Birthday fic for @heartstringsduet

Hi Michelle! Sorry I'm late! This is for you, on your birthday <3

I won't say Happy Birthday, bc it'll mess it up (this one doesn't count bc it's deleted). You might also notice three extra, free flowing Happy Birthday's in the header. That was a mistake, but it all adds up, as you'll see soon.

And if you feel like saying thank you, or even saying 'Maarr almost 16K words? This is too much!!' Just know that, 1) As for the word-count, this fic turned into a monster all on its own, one that I completely lost control of. And 2) You having a birthday catalyzed me actually posting my first fic to this fandom, so really I should be thanking YOU! (thank you)

Summary:

Knot - ugh NOT (and why does TK keep seeing that word everywhere now?!) even a year ago TK Strand gave fully into the universe and it's magnetic pull towards one Carlos Reyes, and married him.

Ever since they did the photoshoot that brought them together, the internet has been going wild over them, and TK not so secretly enjoys the attention. Carlos doesn't really get TK's guilty pleasure of reading fanfiction about them, though TK claims it's good for 'Inspiration'.

One night, TK comes across the fics of a certain user named EnchantedToReadYou..

Beautiful words woven in intricate patterns makes him think of him and Carlos, their story and what they had to go through to get to where they are now. And both he and Carlos certainly finds some inspiration.

A fanfiction about fanfiction. And about TK and Carlos. And an homage to EnchantedToReadYou's writing, on her birthday (or well, on the day after because this author is late as usual.)

And a snippet (or frøsnapper as they say in danish):

It’s amazing, TK thinks, skimming over now familiar words, how this author brings color to their stories with their words. The mystery-filled deep darkness of a room at night in New York City barely concealing someone trying to make their way through a window, bringing the light that they thought they were seeking out in the very room they’re trying to enter. 

The harsh cold grey of a city on days where nothing makes sense, the green grass and clear spring air and pink fluttering butterflies both outside and inside someone’s belly on a day where it does. Every color made clearer and yet clouded with the nerves of being newly in love and knowing it’s reciprocated. By the hope of trying and the fear of not knowing the destination. 

Or the sunflower yellow of a day spent in love, matching the flowers that symbolize finding yourself by becoming someone who might be able to be someone’s boyfriend, the dark center of the flower painting the background of truths not yet confessed and everything else ruling against these two lying lovers.

This story is a sultry, warm yellow, intensely inviting, speckled with the purple of lovemarks scattered on inner thighs, deep in color as all the layers of love and worship, of hunger, surrender, and trust.

[bonesofapoet]

(Occidui temporis umbra) Lucanis with a dilf Rook. I loved your first prompt done with him!

tangled like summer ivy author's note : thank you sm!!! this has been my fave request lately bc the combination? genius. lucanis pines for rook on the rooftops of treviso but he hopes for something more. minor spoilers. prompt : occidui temporis umbra: a shadow at sunset word count: 1280

He finds you on a rooftop, wrapped in all of the rainbow beauty of the setting sun.

The divine display has painted a masterwork for those who have taken the rare pause to look up, raising their eyes to bear witness: vivid sunflower yellows, mauve and lavenders swirl and melt and dance as they cool down the heat of the sun, burning the horizon in fiery reds and every shade of burnt orange, tangerine, and peach. Thick bundles of clouds were not swept away fast enough before bursting into flame; the sea salt breeze does nothing to rescue them from the rich golden gilt highlighting fluffy peaks and coalescing with wispy trails they leave behind.

Treviso glows in heavenly glory, a world among the throes of yet another apocalypse made beautiful by the simple act of taking a breath, taking a break, going for a stroll where no one would notice, because rooftops aren’t where day blooms gracefully into night.

You’re glowing too, when Lucanis finds you draped over a brick wall crawling in webs of ivy as ancient as the city itself. There is magic in this moment; he feels it in his bones, feels a strange sort of warmth nestle deeper into his heart, senses it burrow deeper still into his soul where it settles, calms, and, finally, stills completely.

He knows he’s breathing, can feel the way his lungs expand and empty, catches the scent of fresh pastries on the air kissing the unmistakable brine of Rialto Bay as they meet with every inhale, taste made stale on each exhalation. He’s grateful, for the reflex of it – otherwise, he fears upon seeing you look so at home against the backdrop of his city, well. He wonders if he’d ever remember to breathe at all.

What a kind way to die, he thinks, to be felled by your beauty.

So, he lingers a little longer instead of going to you. He tells himself its to give you another moment of peace, another moment to relish in the glory of enjoying a breathtaking view, warm, steaming mug in hand, alone. Especially these days, when the Lighthouse was becoming a home, and everything else was becoming a luxury.

He tells himself he wants to give you space, when all he really wants is to spend another second, minute, hour simply soaking you in. Committing to memory how you appear to him, in this very moment swallowed up in all the glory of the dying sun.

Content, is what first comes to mind. Your head tips back, welcoming the warm rays before they disappear behind skyline and horizon line, until tomorrow when everything rises again, anew.

Relaxed follows closely behind, as your body leans against the ledge, the ivy a soft bed in which to cradle the way your hip braces along the wall, protecting forearms resting on the chipped stone, cup loose in your grip. There is no tension here, in this rooftop haven you’ve carved out for yourself. No worries, no fear, no world weighing heavy on shoulders so powerful Lucanis has to look away.

That warmth blooms in his chest once more, pushing him into action, because -

Because, because, because.

The light is fading quicker now, the warm tones of golden hour have washed the air in a pale pink stain before giving way to dusk, and he knows these moments are always cherished alone, yes. He also knows that a well loved memory is first spent with someone you adore.

He takes a breath. Shifts his weight, as if he’s just arrived. Dusts off gloved hands for good measure, and makes his way over to you, twisting in the rose colored light upon hearing footsteps. You face him as his shadow falls over you in a strange sort of comfort, after basking in the light for so long.

“I was wondering when you’d find me,” you say, lips tilting up and eyes brightening, always, when you look at him.

It’s the smirk, however, that makes him weak in the knees. How it sharpens your features in all the ways that makes him want.

Lucanis has never acted on the concept of want before, has never felt like it was allowed, to a certain point. Illario has, of course, encouraged him to dabble, has supported him in the acts of following his desires as Illario does. But Lucanis is not, and could never be, his cousin.

Yet every time he's alone with you, it’s at the forefront of his mind, hovering along the edges when it isn’t.

His eyes slip from your lips to search among the sun sinking farther into the bay as he settles beside you, palms skimming vines and leaves and stone. He has to do something, if he can’t reach out and trace the lines of honey gold still clinging to your jaw, your nose, the column of your throat, exposed.

With yet another breath, he steadies himself and mirrors your smirk, relying on the mask of his training to to see him through the next moment, the next breath, if only until he can get a Maker’s blessed grip -

“I thought I’d give you a head start,” he drawls, unwavering. “I didn’t want to interrupt your evening too soon-”

Your laughter gives him pause, when it interrupts him. He feels his eyebrows rise at the outburst, surprised.

“Lucanis,” his name sounds like a song when your speak it, the dregs of laughter living, still, in your voice as you speak. “You could never interrupt anything for me, even if you tried.”

Your laughter reminds him of the thrill of a risk, a stolen summer kiss, and the radiant shine of starlight. He wants to bottle it, cap the sound with your enticing sense of safety, even as it whispers danger along the shell of his ear. He ignores it, for once, because, mierda. That feeling is prevalent again, soaring through the skies to mingle with the gods-touched clouds, rides the wind swirling around his beloved beside him, the embodiment of roguish charm in this very moment.

Lucanis pinpoints the second his composure ripples like the tide in Rialto Bay shimmering broken reflections of the sky, the sun, the ships in the distance. Can feel the moment it buckles, threatening to collapse like it’s been hastily packed together like a sandcastle, instead crafted out of fade-touched Nevarrite, curated and honed and nurtured with the lifelong skill and precision born of an Antivan Crow, the Demon of Vyrantium, First Talon.

“Besides,” he continues, with no small effort. “Moments like these are best enjoyed together, in the company of those dear to you, no?”

A smile grows upon your lips, blooming into something genuine and enigmatic and passionate – as if Lucanis has just shared a secret with you.

And, in a way, he supposed he has.

Your smile is the kind that’s shared, and Lucanis is more than willing to return it, to let go for a single moment and simply live. And so he does, if only because yes, he realizes, as you take a step closer to him, the electrifying hiss of fabric kissing fabric, arm brushing arm – it sparks something alight, shakes something free from the confines of his carefully built and maintained cage. What a beautiful way to die, upon the tip of your bladed smile – but what an even better way to live, kneeling before you for as long as you’ll have me?

He wonders, as the sun sinks into nothing, the air turning chill as night ascends it’s throne. He wonders, carefully, slowly, hesitantly – if you’d ever do the same for him.