#you know. red like ash. blue like her

[silverselfshippingchaos]

breaking news!!! local plushie sees herself in video game and is baffled!

[alexjcrowley]

Coffeeshop au but the couple fistfight on the counter because the barista didn't give the client the essential small glass of water next to the espresso

[utterlyotterlyx]

Skin and Bones

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary - Cassian barely knew who you were let alone your affections toward him. Determined to not play the Lord of Bloodshed's puppy, you kept quiet, silently waiting for the Mother to give you your chance. But, one Starfall, everything changes.

Warnings - pining, fluff, alcohol use, swearing

Based of this ask

The teasing had become a common occurrence.

It wasn't often that you left the confinements of The Library, but when you did, for whatever reason that would be, you'd always find yourself in the same place as the Lord of Bloodshed, and his mere presence encapsulated your attention enough to shush to to complete silence.

Cassian was a god-like specimen, the curves of his taut, trained muscle contorting with each movement, his hair pulled back into a well-maintained bun with slices falling over his face that faded down the sides to that impeccable beard ; he was ruggedly handsome, rough-hewn with sun-kissed golden skin, and brown-green eyes that made you weak whenever they passed over you.

He had only spoken to you twice, once when he asked if you were alright after you had dropped a stack of books upon seeing him, little did he know that you weren't just some clumsy researcher, but that you were awestruck upon seeing that carved from the mountains complexion and those large membranous wings. The other time he had spoken to you was to ask for a book that Amren needed, a request you had quickly granted, your giddiness drifting like ash in the wind when he took the book from your grasp with a small thanks and looked right through you.

Other than those two instances, Cassian hadn't spoken to you, it was like you didn't even exist to him.

You weren't the most ongoing female, you didn't find joy in sauntering about the room and throwing yourself onto any male who deemed you worthy enough. You were reserved. You were quiet to all but the ones who truly knew you well enough to say that you were by far the most complex thing in all of Velaris.

And that was saying something.

"He's never going to notice you when you hole yourself up in the corner like that," Mari drawled, rolling her eyes at you as you had, yet again, found Cassian laughing thunderously across the room and set your sights on him, "Go and talk to him."

Your friends had consistently tried to convince you to talk to him, to try and give you the confidence you needed to walk right up to the Lord of Bloodshed and tell him exactly how you felt.

"How long are you going to look at him until you just do it?" Rita's was teething with thumping music and swirling talk, it was the night of Starfall, and the entire of Velaris had moved from their own private celebrations to dance and drink the night away at the city's favourite bar.

Not taking your eyes off of him as he stood between his brothers, laughing like a giddy child with his white canines shining in the glittering light, you told Sia, "As long as I need to."

Sia scoffed, pushing her moon white hair back over her shoulder and allowing her silver gaze to tear into you, "Not good enough, Y/N."

Humming in agreement, Mari leaned over the white marble table and grasped you chin in her delicate fingers, "You look insane tonight. Don't waste it by sitting in that corner. Even the High Lady doesn't outshine you in that dress," Mari's dark pools of onyx and blue winked, her voice was as soft as summer rain.

"I'm not going to be a puppy that chases him around-"

"It'll happen when it happens and all of that crap," Sia waved her hand, reciting your weekly words, "And looking at him like that every time is doing what exactly?" Heat crept up your cheeks and you scowled, "Come on, we're dancing," Sia sank her drink, the delightfully tropical concoction that was once in her glass dissipating, "I'm not asking."

Mari was right. You did look incredible.

Red fabric doused in diamonds clung to every curve and shimmered in the faelight with every movement you took, an off-the-shoulder neckline which highlighted the hollowness of your collarbones, a high slit that reached your right thigh, matching lace gloves that kissed your elbows. Absolute perfection.

With a sigh, you slid your covered hand into Sia's who wasted no time in hauling you up and dragging you through a sea of intoxicated bodies to the centre of the dancefloor, just in case you changed your mind. Caging in the little mouse with no means of escape.

They were lucky to have been able to convince you to treat yourself for once, to buy a new dress and put makeup on, to give yourself something to look forward to. Sia and Mari knew how lonely The Library could be, though of course knew that you didn't mind one bit, you loved what you did, it had enabled you to travel the world and find things no male ever could. It was always about perspective, you had told them.

Sia placed her hands on your waist, making you sway to the beat of the music with her, your bodies moving like a ripple down the Sidra. Light fell over you, drifting through the crowd who were becoming lost in the thumping melodies, falling victim to the alcohol in their systems. It was Starfall, how couldn't they?

Your friend reached behind you, pulling the pin from your delicately wound updo, allowing your hair to flow down your spine and smiling as you ran your fingers through it, twirling around and feeling every hit of bass reverberate through your body.

Too busy losing yourself in the moment, you didn't feel a certain gaze floating over your figure, drinking in your large smile and giggles as you danced, drinking in the curve of your breasts and hips, "Who are you looking at?" Mor appeared next to him, swaying slightly from the amount of alcohol she had drank, crouching beneath his chin like it would help her focus on who had stolen his attention. "Oh, please tell me you're looking at Y/N."

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, puzzled, he tilted his head to the side, looking at your closer, the pretty eyes and soft features, the pure joy as you jumped to the music with your friend.

"Y/N? Prythian's most accomplished researcher?" Mor barked incredulously, in disbelief that anyone could have the gall to not know who the female was, "She's the most impressive person I've ever met."

"More impressive than me?" Cassian smirked at the golden-haired blonde, it was suggestive, it was teasing, it earnt him a sharp jab to the arm, "Ow," he rubbed over the clothed patch of skin, enjoying the feel of the silk black shirt he had decided to adorn that night.

"Way more impressive than you, Lord of Bloodshed," Mor finished the last of her drink and leaned into him, "I'm surprised you haven't noticed her before, she's always helping Azriel and Amren out with whatever they need."

That's it. Y/N.

Cassian knew who you were. The ditzy researcher that worked within the library in the River House, the one who had gotten that book for him one time, the one who had dropped a stack of tomes on her toes and repressed the squeal until she'd gone red in the face.

But surely that female wasn't you. You looked- you looked so radiant, practically glowing like a star in a sea of darkness, completely different to the grey-blue tunic pants you wore alongside a thick black woven jumper that drowned you.

"That's Y/N?" Cassian asked, shocked, narrowing his eyes on you when Mor nodded, "But, I've barely even noticed her, she's so quiet."

Azriel laughed then, loudly too, one that rumbled through his chest as he clasped Cassian's shoulder, "Y/N is not quiet," he told his brother, looking to you fondly, "She's the loudest thing ever actually, funny too."

"I've never heard her. I've barely noticed her existence."

Mor reached a finger out and flicked the pendent dangling from his neck, "Because she's not loud when you're around, silly."

A beat passed and Azriel let out a small, knowing, "Oh," like a lightbulb had flashed on in his brain, the penny dropping in his mind, and a shit-eating grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What?" Cassian asked, his gaze flickering between Azriel and Mor who were silently communicating with their eyes.

Mor smiled, "I think you should go and talk to her, say hi, happy starfall and all of that stuff," Mor gave him little option, pushing him from their ledge and onto the dancefloor.

Cassian rolled his shoulders and turned to Mor and Azriel with a scowl, they had taken a step closer to one another, whispering between themselves.

She was right though, he should be polite and wish you a happy starfall. Adjusting the open collar of his silk shirt, he moved through the crowd that parted like the Sidra before him until he saw a straight line guiding him to you.

Your friend saw him coming and dipped her head to him before taking a step back, smirking to herself at your complete unawareness of the situation as you twirled back to where you thought she was, only to meet a wall of rock hard muscle and wings that cast a shadow over you.

Dark amber, smoke, and cloves stung their way down your nose and into your lungs, it was the deepest breath you had ever taken. Those brown-green eyes that stalked your dreams were now peering down on you with splendid wonder, his entire figure curled around you, and you felt your heart beating a mile a minute.

"Hi," his voice was low and rough, his breath smelt like aged whisky, and his entire body heat made you feel like your skin was on fire, "Y/N, right?"

It took you a moment to respond, "Yeah," you replied, gravity shifting around you and the music dimming into a hum in your ears.

Cassian grinned, "I'm Cassian."

"I know who you are," the movement of your lips had him entranced, like they were moving in slow motion, he watched them peel from one another, he watched the movement of your tongue with every sweet syllable that moved through them.

It wasn't often that Cassian found himself speechless, it wasn't often that he stood before such an accomplished female and knew little to nothing about her, "Mor mentioned that you're a researcher, that you help Amren and Azriel sometimes. How come I know nothing about you?"

His eyes were hypnotising, "You've never looked long enough."

Cassian smiled, eyes glistening with approval as he took a step forward, laying a hand on you waist and sending an electrifying current over every inch of your skin, "Maybe I should."

You hummed, "Maybe it's time you did," you were doing everything you could to keep your soul from trembling, to keep your voice calm and stoic, to throw that confident façade up like a shield.

His finger, as rough and calloused as you had dreamed it would be, took a strand of hair and pushed it over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your collarbone on their retreat. "Dance with me?"

You spent the remainder of the night in his arms, dancing with him to the music, allowing his large hands to roam your body and ask questions about you that no one had ever bothered to.

It happened to be the most magical Starfall that either of you had ever celebrated.

[mishoarts]

Few differents between Canvas and Original :[What we know so far]

1-Bus graveyard gang were a little older (16)

*Aiden had a rented van to drive,

2-

Ashlyn's parents weren't military, they worked in a family friend's restaurant.

--Ashlyn used to work as a dancer on Saturdays ( she's still under the age but the owner allowed her because he knows how much she likes dancing, as long as she covers her face )

3- Ash's parents design 

(Mike fans how you feelin rn )

4-Ashlyn

Ashlyn was more like an introvert who hates socializing than someone who just doesn't like people(and kinda a little shy lol)

However, she still had that "done with everything" energy ✨

5- Witch Curse

In canvas, the curse didn't start with the sorrel weed house, it's originally from a trap in the witch house 1642 

*there wasn't a tour guide (no jasmine) they went in all by themselves

And unlike O. Ashlyn hearing phantom noises since childhood, C. Ash started hearing them in the witch house -(and got possessed immediately)-

6- Colored speech-bubbles:

Ashlyn > green

Aiden  > yellow 

Tyler  > brown 

Taylor  > orange 

Logan > blue 

7-Aiden :

Instead of our lovely cupcake we have in Original, Canvas Aiden was known as the crazy psycho of the school who no one dares to get near him (except Ben ofc), -- like a suspicious evil weirdo --

BUT the funny thing is that C.Aiden fears hights while O. Aiden is suic/idal careless who likes jumping (lmao)

8- Teacher

Instead of Thomas, it was a normal kind teacher called Mr.T, who tried to push Ashlyn to socialize.

9- T twins

-changed race, 

Tyler's personality was a little different ( less grumpy)

Sadly, the available Canvas chapters ended at this panel before the website moves to Original, so that's all what I know (if you know anything else tell)

END OF WHATEVER THIS WAS, THANKS FOR READING 🩵🫡

[ All Canvas credits to Red ]

____________________

I had to make this so you can have some background information before I post random translated panels.

In case you don't know where I got these, there're 9 chapters from canvas translated to Arabic on some unofficial website.

Some panels have a weird font type, that's just my hand writing I didn't have that time to edit them 🗿🤚🏻

__[ This took me too long to make pls like 🫠]__

[outdoorpool]

I've seen no one talking about the alchemy so here we go I took an entire graduate course on alchemical processes so I am prepared. alchemy is all about the transmutation of metals into gold and boy oh boy do we know someone who loves to reference gold in her work, usually - I thought - as color symbology. but lyrics such as "your midas touch on the chevy door" / "deep blue but you painted me golden" / "I once believed love would be burning red but it's golden" all suggest the transformation of something into gold. the purpose of completing an alchemical process is to find the life elixir or universal cure ("we thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won't" and "I'm getting tired for a phoenix always rising from the ashes" - alchemists LOVE phoenixes because of their transformation and healing abilities). traditionally, alchemy was thought to confirm the presence of God on earth, as if he was revealing his secrets to mortals (false god) and so I'm by far the most excited to hear the alchemy because she's been building these really subtle alchemical references for so long and always as this magical, happy thing and I will be devastated if she's like. jk we did not find the cure and I'm never singing about gold again

[zelphin124]

Killer x Y/N short story

One of the few short stories I will be writing. Requested by the wonderful @itsxroxannex as her honorable mention prize.

I do write commissions and short stories! Do you want a story? I can work with a small price (:

I'm using an image from Bing Image Creator to help the readers visualize where they are at and who they are talking to. It's for visual purposes only, and I do not claim it.

Enjoy the story!

~o0o~

The light from the sun bouncing off the rock hallways started to fade as the moon rose. The dripping from the ceiling had stopped, and monsters and humans started filling the tavern. It was supposed to be very busy tonight.

The tavern was underground, just below the surface life. Dartboards hung across the walls on various barrels. Small candles were lit beside them, either hanging from the ceiling or resting on uniquely carved tables. Carpets were strung across the floor, filled with old designs and symbols that the humans didn't understand, and the monsters refused to explain.

The bar itself looked like any other bar, but the counters were carved into the rocks and the drinks were stored within the earth. The tables were made from woven branches, and the chairs were also made from scattered parts of trees that were no longer needed elsewhere.

You weren't much for drinking. You had only come to the bar to talk with your friend, Shiro. Shiro ran the place during slow hours. Now that the night rush was coming, his co-workers came in to help him run the shift. He wouldn't have much time to talk anymore.

You started to pack your computer, flinging your bag over your shoulder. Shiro had told you of the many tales and tragedies that happen during the night rush, and you didn't want to stick around to become one of them.

"Leaving so soon?" Shiro asked as he wiped the table where you just sat. His baggy white hair fell over his face, and he smiled softly.

"You know how I am with crowds," you responded, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn't. "Well, surely it shouldn't be that busy tonight-"

He was cut off as three skeletons walked down the entrance stairs. It was apparent that they were some sort of gang, as they all wore the same-colored jacket, pants, and shoes. Each of them stood proudly as everyone went silent.

The tallest one had a large hole in his head, and his left eye was huge. It glowed red and barely made any movement when he looked around. He hunched over and had a large ax on his back. He never stopped smiling, which left an unhinged feeling in everyone who saw it.

The shortest one wore a hood over his head. His eyes glowed red, and one of them had a purple and blue tint to it. Unlike his tall counterpart, he never smiled. He glared at everyone who even dared to look at him. Monster ash covered his clothes, sparking fear in all who noticed.

The third one seemed the most normal of the group. His smile was contagious, and his extroverted personality always drew attention to him. Big black stripes dripped from his void eyes down to his neck. His coat was fluffier than the rest, and his soul wasn't hidden. It hung in front of his chest like a big red target. He twirled a knife in his hand before resting it by his side.

The Murder Time Trio, you recalled. You recognized each of their faces from wanted posters across the town. Working under Nightmare, they worked to harvest negativity.

The Star Sanses - rulers of this AU amongst many others - wanted to bring them to justice, but with all of the Sanses abilities to travel alternate universes, they were hard to track down.

You couldn't buy into the fact there were other worlds than your own. The only reason you believed it was the evidence before you; multiple versions of the same person taking different paths.

Shiro glanced over as the tavern filled with noise and music again. He rolled his eyes, grabbing a notepad and pen before walking over to the table they sat at.

The dart games began. Multiple people threw darts across the room to the targets. According to Shiro, this was how all the drama started. Someone would think a shot was unfair, and a fight would break out.

Deciding it wasn't the best idea to stay any longer, you weave through the crowd of monsters and humans trying to get to the bar to drink. You glanced at the table where the trio sat as they talked with Shiro. You pray they don't do anything to your friend.

As you stood between the dart targets, waiting for the round to be over, you eavesdrop on Shiro's conversation. He seemed bored, surprisingly.

"I'll have a margarita," the striped face one said.

"A big beer, please," Horror lowered his head.

"Think you can handle one of those again, Horror?" The striped face asked.

Horror didn't answer him. He waved his hand in dismissal to Shiro as he looked at the menu.

"I see," Shiro scribbled down the orders on his paper. "And for you, Dust?"

"Nothing," the hooded skeleton replied. "Someone has to be sober when Killer isn't."

"Hey, I would do just fine," Killer smirked. "I don't see you..."

The conversation faded out of hearing as shouts echoed across the tavern. Glancing behind you, you see a human and a monster arguing about who hit the target first as they shot their darts at the same time. The shouts almost frightened you, and you didn't think before stepping forward. Your goal was to get away from the chaos before more violence broke out. Maybe you shouldn't have come here, maybe it was a bad idea after all.

A dart flew towards your face.

You didn't have time to react before you were pulled off your feet, resting in the mercy of someone's arms as he caught the dart. "Woah darling, careful there," he sighed, his head turning toward the people who threw it.

You realize the man, or the skeleton that saved your head was Killer. His grip was firm around your waist from when he had pulled you away from the weapon. He dropped the dart and continued to glare at the monster that had thrown it.

The people playing the particular dart game went dead silent, all pointing to the person who threw the dart. He didn't seem to care. "Oh, come on, she walked in front of it! It's not my fault!"

"Pay attention to your surroundings more, mm?" Killer smirked, tilting his head. He turned towards you before the others could reply. "You too, cutie," he smirked, poking your nose. "Gotta be careful in places like these~"

His grip on your waist loosened as you backed up. A blush painted your face as you stared up at him. As your blush increased, so did his smile, making you blush more. The blood rushed to your face as you tried to cover your cheeks with your favorite-colored scarf.

"Do you seriously have to flirt with everyone you see, Killer?" Dust snapped, opening a deck of cards and flushing them across the table.

"Look at them, they're pretty!" Killer replied. "I didn't want them to get scratched by a silly dart!"

"Then they shouldn't be in a place like this," Horror rolled his eyes, glancing at the deck of cards Dust had started dealing.

Instant guilt washed over you. You didn't mean to cause any trouble, and Shiro was nowhere in sight to defend you. You gesture to Killer, thanking him for saving you before telling him you'll leave to not cause any more trouble.

Killer looked you up and down, smiling as his eyes made their way back to your face. "What's your name, Hun?" He smirks slyly.

You tell him your name, scratching your head in the process. One of the most wanted men in the multiverse was talking to you. In fact, he smiled when he looked at you. How could this be?

"Y/N, what a beautiful name," Killer takes a step closer to you, extending his hand. "You plan to get on out of here? I can make sure you get home safely."

You open your mouth to accept the offer but hesitate. He, along with his friends, were mass killers. It was obvious by the dust and blood across their clothes. Was he going to kill you? You had no idea.

If he was, then why would he go out of his way to pull you away from an incoming dart?

"Killer, you play or not?" Horror asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Not now," Killer didn't take his eyes off you. "I wish to walk this lovely human home."

"Oh, can I come?" Horror smirked, his hand reaching for his ax.

Dust slapped his hand. "Not that kind of walk home," Dust rolled his eyes. "Look at him! His soul his turning into a heart! Pathetic, really."

Dust wasn't lying. Killer's soul had taken the form of an upside-down heart momentarily. You tilt your head in curiosity, surely that was a good sign.

"Hey!" The monster that had thrown the dart earlier shouted. "You broke my dart with your disgusting fingers!"

Killer raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. "Oops."

"That dart cost me hundreds of G!" He growled. "You're gonna pay for that!"

You felt Killer's hands run along your shoulders. "Time to go~" he whispered behind you.

As the monster tumbled near, he suddenly faded from sight. Everything vaporized into stripes as the underground tavern disappeared and was quickly replaced with the cool breeze of the surface.

The moon glimmered in the sky next to the stars as it shined down on the slightly paved street. There were no streetlights, but you could see the village in the distance. Fireflies glittered the sky along with the stars. There were a few trees and a river to cross, and the bridge over the river linked the road.

"Whew, that was close," Killer chuckled, letting go of you. He walked over to your side and smirked down at you. "Don't worry, he won't catch us now."

"Thank you," you sighed with a smile before walking toward the village.

Killer started to follow you. "Hey, I know we like, just met, right? This is a little crazy," he glanced down at the ground as he caught up to you. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he couldn't stop smiling. "But can I get your number?"

You widened your eyes, surprised. He really wanted your number after two minutes. Surely that couldn't be... This couldn't be happening, right? Wasn't that a red flag of some sort, and you, out of all people? You didn't see why someone as famous and as brave as him would pay attention-

You snapped back into reality, realizing that you had given him your phone, and he was already punching in his own number.

"Thanks, doll," Killer smiled to himself. "I didn't expect you to actually say yes. I'll fulfill my promise; let's get you home safely."

How the- you paused, unable to comprehend what just happened.

Despite the darkness and eerie noises surrounding you, you felt at peace. You couldn't help but wonder if that was because a skilled killer was by your side, ready to defend you if anything came your way. He made that clear with his actions at the tavern.

It didn't take long for Killer to start a conversation. He asked many questions and answered any questions you had. He often would laugh, smile, and tease you in such a way that made the butterflies in your stomach squirm. He was very charming, flirtatious, and unique. You couldn't recall if you met anyone like him.

And you liked that.

He was so different from everyone else that you had met, treated you well, and it was so easy to be yourself around him. He brought out a side of you that you thought died a long time ago. That side that made you feel... wild and free.

"Look look look," Killer begged, running off the path toward a lake. He picked up a rock and threw it across the water's surface. It must have skipped a hundred times before it plunged into the depths below. He picked up another one and did the same thing. "It's perfect water to skip the rocks on!"

You join his side and sit on a boulder nearby, watching him skip rocks as he continues to tell you about the first time won a card game, which you learned wasn't very often due to Dust having a special connection with cards.

"The look on his face when I won, hah! Priceless! Should've known better to have challenged me!"

You asked him if he had won the next two games after that.

"Uh, no, but that's not the point silly!" He smiled, heaving a great sigh as he looked up at the stars. He closed his eyes, letting the wind blow across his face as the ripples on the lake settled. The moon complimented his face and made him seem so peaceful and innocent. It highlighted his chest and showed the two small eyes that he had hidden within his skull.

You commented how he looks great in the moonlight. When he asked you how so, you got up and pointed out the various places the moonlight shined on him, and how it made him look so handsome.

"Tch, you're sweet," Killer snickered, brushing the hair out of your face. "But the moonlight on me is better on you."

Before you could recover from the sudden blush, he continued. "Have you ever skipped a stone across the water?"

As you shook your head, Killer frowned. He turned you around to face the lake and picked a stone up from the ground, admiring it in the moonlight. "Here, I'll teach you darling." He placed the stone in your hand and gestured that you try.

You tossed the rock into the water, it sunk in front of you.

"Heh, not like that." Killer came up from behind you and grabbed your wrists gently. "Here, let me guide you."

For the next thirty minutes, Killer moved your wrists in the correct motion. He gave tips on what to do with your fingers when you release the rock. You would have gotten it much sooner if you weren't so distracted by his sweet breath brushing against your cheek.

As you threw your hundredth stone, it skipped across the water more times than you can count. Joy filled your face, and your smile only increased when you heard Killer congratulate you.

"That was awesome!" He gleamed, running his hand along his skull. He quickly picked up a stone and skipped it across the water to catch up with yours. "Fast learner, eh?"

Before you could reply, Killer came up to you and embraced you. His hug was so snug, you felt safe in his arms. You wrap your arms around his back as the tension in your body flees. He was so warm, and he held you so tight... you didn't want to leave his arms.

Alas, it didn't last for long. Killer smiled and took your hand, guiding you up back to the path. "Alright, it's best I get you home, cutie," he smiled slyly. "The boys are probably wondering where I am."

You were closer to your home than you thought, to your dismay. Killer stood close to you, putting his hood over his skull to hide his face from the town as they turned down the street to your house. You almost had forgotten that he was a wanted killer with how enjoyable your time was with him. Surely, he wasn't all everyone said he was... he was so nice to you.

"Lovely house you have, I'll have to visit you sometime," Killer commented, smiling his usual charming smile as you approached the door. "Y/N, it was fun getting to know you, I'll call ya, alright? You're too pretty to say goodbye to, anyway."

You invited him to stay and watch a movie, but he declined.

"Nah, I'm sure Dust and Horror would be suspicious... besides, I cannot stay in the town for long unless I want Nightmare mad..." He took a few steps toward you until he was inches away from your face. He continued to smile as he took your hand. "However," he paused. He lifted your hand up to his face and kissed it gently. Once he met your eyes again, he smirked softly again. "I'm sure I could make an exception for you another night."

You didn't know how much more of his teasing you could take as your face turned red. You held your hand as if it was made of diamonds.

"Heh, you're so cute," Killer backed up into the street. "See ya later, Y/N."

You barely waved in time before he vanished from sight.

You couldn't stop thinking about him for the rest of the night. He treated you kindly, and his jokes were so funny... you longed for his company, despite his reputation. How long had it been since the tavern? A couple of hours? Were all monsters like this? Maybe there was a special thing about monsters where you grew attached quicker than another human. As if they understood the value of another living being and had a way to make another feel at ease around them. You tried to figure it out as you winded down for the night.

Maybe they were masters at this feeling that you felt: love.

Or maybe Killer was just special like that.

[saintmuses]

❝𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩❞

Pairing:

Jealous!Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary:

Despite they were not even together, Jonathan Crane made her suffer the consequences for flirting with Bruce Wayne.

Warning(s): implied future SMUT. Slightly Dub-con. Dominant and implied possessive Jonathan. Spanking. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 954

The steering wheel groaned slightly under the pressure of Jonathan’s hands that were curled into fists around it.

He couldn’t stop the moments from spilling over in his head like flashbacks in a film reel on the screen.

She was…so gorgeous tonight. In that sparkly dress that drew the attention of everyone.

Even Bruce Wayne walked up to her with intentions in his eyes to take her home with him.

Jonathan didn’t…he didn’t think she would be the one to flirt back with that godforsaken man who considered himself as the savior of Gotham, to feed the fuel to the fire of brimstone and ashes inside of his mind.

He was violently screaming inside of his head, unraveling as his rationality fell apart by each word that repeated back to him as a sacred prayer he refused to kneel for.

One of the things he dealt with on a daily basis as a symbolism of insanity that sometimes shone in his icy blue eyes, through words from his tongue, or even in his laughter when he was alone in empty space with four walls around him.

Jonathan was breathing heavily, the pure rage within him having reached its height.

No one had a claim to her, but him. He had always been secretly possessive over her in many forms. When they were in college, she became his friend, and he went so far as eradicating her other friends that way she could only go to him in the name of friendship. However, he had always knew he wanted her, but never as far as doing anything because he never had to worry about her finding other people to be with.

Now that chain that held them together was weakening as it was clear the bond was going to be threatened by others.

She was his.

He steered the car toward the edge of the dirt off the road, then he slammed his foot on the brakes causing the tires to screech as he did so. He pulled the vehicle to a sudden stop causing her to turn her head to look at him with confusion in her gaze.

Jonathan turned towards her but said nothing, his eyes locked on her as his body trembled from the intense rage and he felt like he could burst.

“You really are something special, you know that?” He finally said something, although icily, eyes blazing with brimstone as he stared straight at her.

He was furious to the point that he couldn’t see or think clearly, but he couldn’t deny how much of a lure she was to him.

“I’m not sure why I haven’t given you a good spanking yet,” he huffed, storm began to take over his irises as his lips curled into a snarl.

Her breathing hitched as her eyes widened before narrowing it. “I dare you.” She hissed, eyes narrowing in fury as she challenged him.

Oh, she should know he would accept it.

He heard her yelping when he reached across the passenger seat and dragged her over onto him in the driver’s seat where she was forced to accommodate her knees around his thighs on the leather. He then dragged the hem of her dress just under the curve of her ass, and she gasped when he landed a hard smack on the back of her thigh.

He wasn’t going to stop with one spanking, and he continued to slap one of her thighs until she started to let out little gasps, ending with whimpering.

“You deserve every red mark that’s going to be on your skin, sweetheart.” He said lowly, informing her with monotonous tone.

He reached for her thighs to grab the hem of her dress, pushing it up until it bunched up around her waist. He did all that too quickly that she did not have time to react to his ministrations. She hissed in surprise when his hands grabbed her ass; fingers squeezing her flesh firmly in a possessive hold, ignoring the lace of her panties before using one of his hands to land a harsh smack on her ass. “You’re mine.”

Of course, he knew she was surprised by his behavior since he had never acted like that towards her. He continued to alternatively swat her thighs and her ass, enjoying every second he could spend making her feel the sting of his slaps.

“Am I making myself clear to you, sweetheart?” he growled, glaring at her through the glass bounded by his metal frames.

He withdrew one of his hands from her ass until he reached between them, reaching down towards her legs. His lips curled into a smirk when he smacked her hard between her legs, enjoyed hearing her gasp.

Jonathan noticed the sudden change in her body language and the way her eyes widened as he crossed the line.

Her eyes were a bit strung out, and before she could respond, he reached behind her and grabbed her ass with his fingers, digging into her raw skin with his fingertips which made her thighs quiver in response while whimpering. 

He knew he was getting to her, and he was enjoying it. A part of him could never see himself taking this far, but he couldn’t stop himself now.

He looked at her with a slight maniac grin and continued to slap the inside of her thigh, then he reached for the thin fabric of her panties, curling his fingers into the underwear before pulling it aside until her cunt was exposed as he gave her another slap. He mentally noted a slick sensation that came from her cunt.

“Enjoying this, sweetheart?” he said condescendingly, his voice growing lower and more deeply with each word.

[yxine]

— KOREAN GIRLFRIEND. ❞

Kirsten Dodgen x Reader!:

— in which Kirsten finds out her Korean girlfriend joined the show with her own crew.

— where everyone just find out that kirsten has a girlfriend who is in the show with them.

note: I do not own kirsten or any of the crew, women or the whole show. This is purely made for entertainment purposes!

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Kirsten was chuckling as she looked at the screen of her phone, she could be seen texting someone. Whoever they were made her quite giggly. Interested on why their leader was giggling to herself, Ling leaned over Kirsten's shoulder to see who she was talking to.

"Ooh~ who you getting all fuzzy for capt—WHO IS THIS 'LOVE'?" Ling exclaimed as she finally saw who she was texting to. Kirsten has a boyfriend and she knew this now?! After all these years, she only found out today.

"Shh! Not so loud!" Kirsten covered her teammate's mouth, they were the only ones in the Jam Republic room since the other three members were in the bathroom retouching their makeup and whatever they need to do in the bathroom.

"But yes...we have been for 3 years now." Kirsten said to Ling who gaped like a fish. The Asian woman felt a bit hurt to know that this has been hidden for a long time now and she only found out today. Now that she thought about it, she's seen her leader chuckle and even get a sudden call when teaching her classes, she always picked it up immediately and excuse herself. So it was her lover, huh?

"So, where's he from?" Ling asked Kirsten who sighed while looking up on the ceiling.

"She's from here in South Korea, one of the reason I agreed to join this show." Kirsten responded before chuckling at the sudden shocked gasp from Ling.

"SHE?!"

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A group of tall attractive women could be seen walking from the front of the studio on where the show is being held. Each scene of the camera revealing very attractive faces of the women, they all looked qualified to be a model.

"Woah, can't believe we're actually here." One of them mumbled in awe as all of them looked around. Her name was Lee Dohee, a tall woman with a brown pixie cut hair and cute-like features. She is the maknae of the group, age ranging of 19.

"I know right? It's a bit nerve-wracking now that we're here." KZ another member of the crew said as she shook her hands. She is a woman a bit taller than Dohee with black long hair and ash red highlights stopping just at the middle of her back, her age ranging of 26.

"Oh! Do you think we'll have international groups? I heard that swf is planning on inviting some! Do you think they'll get famous dancers from other countries? Someone we know? Someone that's like an underdog? Ooh! Maybe someone from Royal Family?! But that's a bit hard to do though especially when they have a tour going on around the world right now." Hollie the hyper one in the group said multiple things in wonder. She had two high up pigtails for her long navy blue hair as she made big gestures while talking.

"Calm down, Hun. I'm sure we'll find out when we enter the studio." Kim Sarah, the second oldest member of the group told the young woman. She had platinum blonde hair that's in a boy-cut, contrast to her looks, she was the mom of the group while their leader was like the dad.

Said leader only chuckled to herself as she led the team through the small hallway to get to their assigned room.

Sin-ergy

The banner was colored red with devil horns and their crew name on it, it was their room next to Jam Republic whose banner is bright compared to theres.

"Jam Republic?"

"Looks like they did invite people we know from overseas."

"Do you think Kirs-unnie is in there?!"

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Kirsten who heard her name called outside the room perked up, that high-pitched voice sounded familiar. Where did she hear that from again?

"Wow, they are loud." Latrice chuckled, liking the energy the women outside their room let out. (They don't know what they're talking about since their translator went out for a bit, so the translation isn't working for now that's why I said Latrice likes their energy.)

"At least we aren't the only ones here to just have fun and experience." Ling said with a slight smile as they all kept listening to the crew outside.

Kirsten on the other hand, kept contemplating on if she knew them or not. She can't help but feel like she should go outside and greet them but she decided not to.

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Every crew was already downstairs, now they were only waiting for the last one.

As if on cue, voices from upstairs rang out to the bottom as everyone put their gazes up to where they heard the voices are.

"Woah, this kinda looks cool!" Hollie exclaimed as she skipped across the large hallway as her team watched fondly at her.

"We should take pictures here later." KZ said as the others nodded in agreement.

"we're approaching the stairs, get ready." Y/N ever the dominant leader said as her members either hummed or nod in agreement while she led them from the front.

"Woah..here they come." Mannequeen's Yoonji muttered as she straightened herself in anticipation for the last group.

Sin-ergy stepped down the states as everyone stared at them in awe mostly at their tell structure and the energy they let out. They were even more intimidating than Wolf-lo and that's saying something.

"They're so tall!"

"They all look like they could be models."

"Oh my, look at Y/N!"

"Wait doesn't Y/N's outfit look kind of familiar?"

That statement that was said out loud made everyone realize where they saw that top before, their heads then snap towards a certain leader of Jam Republic noticing how similar their outfits looked. Though it's a bit absurd that they assumed such a thing, the way Kirsten stared at the leader of Sin-ergy in such shock and a look of knowing who she was made them think otherwise.

The tall group of women finally arrived on the stage waiting for the critiques of the other groups.

"Their team doesn't really stand out, it's only because of their heights."

"They're too tall for a dancer, i mean how do you move those long arms? Throw them around like some sort of stripped paper?"

"I don't see the point of them being a crew when it all just looks like Y/N with a bunch of back-up dancers."

Y/N just stared at the screen with a unnerving gaze causing the ones who made those comment to shrink in their seats as they were intimidated by her stare.

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"How dare they.." Kirsten muttered as she seethed silently in her seat. They dare talk to her woman in that way? They must have a death wish.

"How dare they what?" Latrice who was behind her asked her leader. She was confused on what she meant as they don't even know those tall women. Kirsten stiffened a bit as she didn't realize she said it out loud so she just waved her off.

"It's nothing, just remembered something." She can't just say her girlfriend just got dissed and now she's pissed off y'know? Can't she?

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"That's funny.." Y/N muttered amused by their comments, her team was also amused as this wasn't even diss, it's like eight grades bullying each other. Though they don't let it show as they kept giving a uninterested stare that kind of came off as them being mad due to the dominating aura they give off.

"Let's go." With that one command, the five of them went towards their spot just across Jam Republic.

"Wait, are my eyes messing with me or is Kirsten across us?" Holli grabbed KZ's arm as her eyes widened, the same could be said with the other members as they look at Kirsten who only smiled in return, amused by their reactions.

"Looks like we're against each other." Dohee said as she nodded in greeting to Jam Republic who returned it.

"This will be fun." Y/N said as she hotly smirked at the Jam Republic Leader who shyly smiled at the tall woman.

"A battle between lovers, now that's an interesting plot."

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user1234: WHAT? THEY'RE TOGETHER?

leyley__: MY TEAM LEADER HAS A LOVER AND I JUST KNEW NOW?!

-> kirstendodgen: surprise?

iluvkirs: IT'S ALWAYS THE HOT WOMEN THAT'S TAKEN I SWEAR

-> luvluvy/n: I KNOW RIGHT?

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taglist!: @ssivinee @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @kayascar @tikitsune @thefrostedwinter

[lovesodakid]

what a tease.

chris x fem!reader

summary: y/n and chris have a ‘weird’ friendship. that friendship took a sexual turn one night. which ultimately led them to being friends with benefits. now, playing card games with everyone with slight teasing between two of them.

warnings: smut!, teasing, dom!chris(ish). should be it. *not proof read*

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“oh my god, nick!” i whine, throwing my face into my hands.

the triplets, madi, and i are all having a game night at the triplets house. we all collectively decided that we needed to have a night to our selves, all of us being so busy with work causing us to almost barely see each other anymore.

nick, matt, and madi sit on the couch as chris and i are sat on the floor in front of the coffee table facing the couch. a deck of UNO cards sitting in a nice stack in the middle of the table, while right beside it, is a messy stack of cards that’s been thrown down by each of us.

nick just threw the +4 card down on me.

“sorry y/n!” he giggles, showing anything but empathy in his face.

i groan before grabbing 4 cards off of the stack, earning myself 2 reverse cards, a +2 card, and a regular blue number 9 card.

chris being after me, he lays down his choice of card before speaking.

“you’re definitely the type to throw tables when you lose a game y/n/n.”

my eyebrows furrow as i shoot him a disapproving look.

“you are so insanely wrong,” i begin. “i might hate losing but i definitely don’t throw tables.”

“i don’t know, you kinda seem like that type.” matt chimes in.

i throw my hands in the air, opening my mouth to speak until i get cut off by nick and madi agreeing while laughing to themselves.

the game continues, music humming at a low volume coming from the tv.

once the game end games with matt winning, we sit around in the same spots, just talking about life and what our plans for the future are.

“i’m working on new designs for second choice right now, i don’t have anything else going on other than that at the moment.” madi explains to all of us.

“can i see some!” nick asks excitedly.

“of course!” madi smiles, grabbing her phone, scrolling on it, seemingly showing nick her designs as he lets out a few ‘oo’s and ‘ahh’s in adoration.

matt, sitting next to them scrolling on his own phone.

chris and i, sitting next to each other, also on our own phones. occasionally showing each other funny tiktoks that’s come across our for you pages.

“here.” chris says. pointing his phone toward me so i can see his screen.

i look over to his phone, expecting some video of someone falling, like he’s showed me pretty much everytime he decides to show me something.

but oh. was i wrong.

when i look at his phone, it’s one of those slide pictures, with a red background. i swipe two times before reading the words on the red screen.

“you look good in clothes. but you’d be looking fine ash without them.”

im surprised my eyeballs didn’t come rolling out of my head by how wide my eyes opened, along with my mouth.

i shake my head, pushing his phone away from me as he lets out a small chuckle.

a few moments go by, occasional conversations between nick and madi, sounds coming from our phones, and the music in the background filling the silence.

until i feel a warmth on my exposed thigh, due to my pajama shorts. i look down, noticing chris’s hand almost completely covering it. god. how i love his hands.

i quickly come out of my trance of staring at his hands as i look up to him, furrowing my eyebrows.

he notices, and mouths a quick “what?”.

i look down to his hand, then back up to him, almost as if to say: “what are you doing?”

with that, he just gives me a cocky grin as he turns his attention back to his phone, keeping his hand on my thigh.

thankfully, it seems like everyone else is in their own little world, completely oblivious to chris’s actions as he slowly and sensually works his hand more upwards. closer and closer to my center until his middle and ring finger are slightly ghosting over the middle of my shorts.

“hey y/n/n, do you want to see my new designs?” madi asks, turning her phone around to face me as she slightly leans over the coffee table.

“sure!” i smile, leaning my own body forward a little bit.

in my peripheral vision, i notice chris’s face being taken over by a sly smirk. before i can question it, i feel a quick up and down motion right on my clothed clit. that’s why he was smirking.

“so…what do you think?” madi asks, excitedly.

i clear my throat to choke back a small moan as his finger movement speeds up. “t-they’re gorgeous!” i chirp back.

she smiles sweetly at me as she leans back into the couch, attention going back to her phone.

i turn my own attention on to not making any sounds as chris continues to speedily move his fingers against me.

i grab his hand with mine, harshly moving it to his own lap as i leave it there. which causes him to quickly snap his head toward me with the most smug grin on his face.

i roll my eyes, turning my phone back on to scroll through instagram.

“hey do you guys wanna bake some brownies?” nick questions the group excitedly.

-

“and now we wait 30 minutes.” madi tells us, setting the pan of uncooked brownies into the oven.

“i don’t know if i can wait that long!” chris groans loudly.

“you’ll be fine kid.” matt chuckles, picking up the trash that was left over from our baking.

i walk over to get the bowl of brownie batter. because everyone knows brownie batter is the best part about brownies.

i swirl the spoon around the bowl, picking up some of the left over mix. i lift it up to my mouth, licking the spoon clean as i hum at the chocolatey taste.

i go to put the spoon back in the bowl to scoop up the rest but i stop as i get the feeling of eyes burning holes into me. i look up, noticing chris staring at my mouth. like his eyes can’t be ripped away.

i smile to myself, scooping up the rest of the batter before i stick my tongue out, slowly licking up the spoon. i hold eye contact with chris as i do so.

“hey y/n…can you come help me pick out an outfit for our next photo shoot?” chris asks, a small hint of urgency lacing his voice.

i nod my head, putting the empty bowl and spoon into the sink.

“don’t take too long, we got brownies to eat!” nick exclaims as chris and i make our way to his room.

well more of chris dragging me to his room.

once we get to his bedroom door, he swiftly opens it, pulling me into the room behind him. he practically slams the door shut as he pushes me against the back of it, pinning me to it.

“what the fuck was that?” he rasped.

i furrow my eyebrows, allowing a playful smirk to spread across my face.

“what?” i question dumbly.

“you know what.” he retorts.

i shake my head side to side. “no i don’t.” i say mockingly.

he lets out a low chuckle before leaning into me, his lips grazing over my ear. i’d be a fool to say the sound of his husky laugh coming from his mouth didn’t turn be on tremendously.

“licking that spoon like that?” he rasps, lifting his left hand to caress the left side of my face as he breaths into my right. “the same way you use that tongue on my dick?”

he closes the gap, his mouth attaching itself on that spot right under my ear.

“chris!” i yelp breathlessly, the tingling in my abdomen becoming almost unbearable from the teasing earlier and now this.

“hmm?” he hums. “what is it baby?” he detaches hisself from me, staring into my eyes.

i whine at the detachment as i return his gaze.

“i need you.” i whine in a whisper.

“mhm.” he hums, a smirk present on his face as he connects our lips.

our lips dance across each other smoothly like a ballerina sways across a stage.

his left hand slides from my cheek to my neck, wrapping his hand around it firmly as he pulls me off the door.

he swiftly turns me around, walking me backwards until the back of my knees hit the smooth frame of his bed.

he intensifies the pressure on my throat. but as quickly as he does, it’s also gone as he uses that to push me onto the pillowy soft comforter of his bed.

my body bounces from the impact before stopping, sinking into the mattress.

he waists no time in using his hands to loop around the waistband of my pajama shorts, yanking them down. they end up finding home somewhere on his bedroom floor.

“god ‘ma. did i do this to you?” he groans, noticing the wet patch in my orange lace underwear. he takes his index finger, running it up and down my clothed folds. repeating his steps from earlier.

my hips buck up, not expecting the sudden motion.

“chris!” i cry out.

“shh baby,” he removes the hand from my center, covering my mouth with it. “don’t want them to hear you, hm?”

i nod my head. he smirks, removing it. “think you can handle being quiet?” he husks, removing his sweatpants.

i nod my head once again, this time at a faster pace than before.

he pushes his red boxers down, stepping out of them. his cock visibly throbbing, needing attention.

he kneels back down between my legs, his hands making their way up the plush of my thighs. once he reaches the lining of my panties, his fingers hook around them before skillfully gliding them down. which also end up making home on his bedroom floor.

“we gotta be quick ‘ma.” he breathes out. referring to the fact that there’s still a house full upstairs.

he crawls over me, using his hands to hold himself up as they come on each side of my head.

“you ready baby?” he cooes, rubbing his hand up and down my clothed stomach. the both of us only being nude from waist down.

“yes.” i whisper, entangling my hand in his hair.

he smiles as he looks down between us. i moan softly as his tip begins pushing into me.

“fuck.” he groans as he bottoms out, his head falling into the crook of my neck.

“move chris, please.” i whimper.

he pulls out, leaving his tip in before he pushes back in at a slow pace.

he continues the slow thrusts, my walls hugging his dick in all of the right ways.

“chris, faster!” i moan out.

almost as if he was waiting for me to say it, he speeds his thrusts. rutting into me at a harsh but pleasurable pace.

“taking me so well, hm?” he grunts into my ear. the rasp of his voice traveling through my ear straight to my pussy.

the tip of his dick continuously kissing the sweet spot inside me, sending me over the edge.

“mm-fuck.” i moan quietly, reminding myself of the people upstairs.

“were you thinking about this when you were licking that spoon like that?” he grunts. “maybe next time you can use that pretty little tongue on my cock?”

i moan in response. his hips snapping into mine at a quick pace.

“chris-i’m gonna cum!” i warn, feeling the coil in my stomach get closer to snapping.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.” his already quick pace speeding.

almost as if my body needed confirmation, the coil snaps immediately. ecstasy coating my body.

“fuck.” chris moans in a grunt. his hips sputtering as he paints my insides white.

we lay with our body’s connected for a moment as we both catch our breaths.

he eventually pulls out, causing both of us to hiss at the slight overstimulation. he walks to his bathroom, grabbing a towel to clean the both of us up.

once we’re both clean, he dresses himself before dressing me.

“let’s head up now, yeah?” he pulls me up, leaving a small kiss on my forehead as i nod.

we both make our way out of his bedroom, back upstairs to join everyone else.

“took you long enough! the brownies are done!” nick yells excitedly. a plate with a half eaten brownie sitting on it. matt and madi sitting with him at the table.

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a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long to get out !! im working on sts 6! and sorry this is so rushed, esp towards the end, i kept zoning out during it so it lowkey kinda sucks lol

(also thank you to @imwetforyourmom and @bernardsbendystraws for lowkey helping me out w this 🙏)

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[silverselfshippingchaos]

it's the 23rd... you know what that means...

Happy Ash Day!

[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. 

[madschiavelique]

hii my love! would u mind doing a little blurb on miguel finding out the woman he has been seeing is a stripper? she just feels so embarrassed to admit that and scared It would drive him away but instead he’s pretty much more open about it and become far too protective too. thank you:))

OMG ANON YOU DON'T KNOW HOW OUR BRAINS CONNECTED because listen : i have an au in mind where my spiderpersona is a succub in a strip club, and basically when Miguel is brought there by his friends, they meet

SO YEA i'm living for stripper!reader x miguel (also this was supposed to be a blurb but i got carried away fdkzefrgd - the club scene from Closer really inspired me for this)... now i want to make a multiple chapter fic on stripper!reader x miguel hELP

summary : miguel discovers you're a stripper

content warnings : NSFW, stripper!reader, reader gives a little private show to miguel (just removes the top though, doesn't reveal the cunt), fem!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 2k song mentionned : world outside - the devlins

tag list : @fandom-ash

Up until now, you had decided to keep your professional occupation to Miguel, for one simple reason: fear.

Fear filled your stomach at the thought of telling him you were a stripper. You and Miguel had been dating for some time, and had quickly become close. The bond was shaping up to be strong, and you were worried that the information about your job would ruin everything.

He'd already asked you a few times what you were doing, but you'd always managed to deflect the subject elegantly. Yet there's no stopping Miguel's determination and curiosity, least of all when the topic of conversation turns out to be you.

So he did something he wasn't particularly proud of, but couldn't resist: while you were out working, he asked Lyla where you were.

She'd given him an address, and some information about it...

"A club?" he'd asked, looking at the street information for the address. "A strip club," Lyla had corrected. "There's no mistake? Are you sure?" he'd questioned, taking a closer look at the establishment's hours and information. "Have you ever seen me calculate a lot of errors?" sighed the artificial intelligence.

Never. Hardly ever had he seen her fail in this area. Maybe you weren't really a dancer there, maybe you were a bartender, or a waitress, who knows. Only, the idea of seeing you wearing a fine outfit and swaying on a stage was strangely appealing to him.

Without missing a beat, he made his way to the address. It wasn't far, which surprised him as much as it reassured him. The very idea that your place of work wasn't far from home appealed to him, as it ensured that if you ever needed to be picked up for any reason, he'd be there.

He arrived at the entrance, breathing in, passed the bouncers who joked that with his build he could get into the business, and entered.

Blue light from two corner spotlights illuminated red velvet-covered staircases leading downwards. He moved forward, the mirrored walls reflecting him. The room's bass could already be heard from outside, but now he could hear the music more clearly.

You light up my dreams, light up my skin. You're so far away, you're holding it in.

The place was quite crowded, and Miguel noticed a fair number of men in suits and ties. He wouldn't have cared in any other context about the consumption habits of these men here, but suddenly the very idea that there were potentially regulars coming to see you displeased him enormously.

As for the place, it smelled of violets and lemongrass. The ceiling was high, revealing a second floor from which hung three chandeliers surrounded by red cubes.

Spotlights were placed here and there, illuminating the important places: the round tables, like the one next to Miguel on which two women on their knees were swaying, undressing each other under the watchful eyes of all the men around the table; the U-shaped bar, from either end of which women were dancing in wisps of sinuous white smoke; and pole-dancing pedestals on their red-lit floor that emphasized the curves of the dancers placed on them.

And he recognized one of the dancers: it was you.

It was an evening like any other, your garter belt was already generously stuffed with bills of various colors against your thigh and you'd already put on a private show. You were on the pole bar, dancing and undulating your body against it under the round, adoring eyes of your little audience.

You'd been in the business for a while now, and you'd managed to make more friends than enemies in the club, enough so that your colleagues became your buddies.

In fact, your friend right next to you softly called your name, and you turned to her as you danced.

"Did you see the one that just came in? He's huge," she pointed out, smiling at the customers around you. "And pretty good looking too."

As you continued your endless choreography, you glanced surreptitiously at the said customer. But your heart dropped into your stomach for a moment as you met Miguel's gaze.

You hesitated between freezing on the spot and running away, but instead tried to keep your cool and your professionalism and continue your dance until he arrived near the pedestal.

"This one," you pointed out to your friend, "is for me."

She gave a little laugh as you motioned for another dancer to take your place and gracefully stepped off your pedestal, advancing towards Miguel as you would a normal customer

"So this was where you were hiding?" asked Miguel a little above the music, tilting his head to the side as he looked you up and down.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, as inquisitive as you were nervous.

"Curiosity got the better of me, and I was right to give in to temptation."

He was watching your outfit, which emphasized your body, your curves highlighted by the glitter and rhinestones mixed with the laces. You were close to him, almost to the point where a simple movement on Miguel's part would allow your two bodies to meet.

"But I'd prefer to discuss this somewhere else...?" he says.

"I'm in the middle of working hours, but... how about a private show?" you offered, drawing even closer to him as your eyes seemed to him irresistible through your lashes.

He shuddered.

"I'd like that."

You smiled softly, taking his hand to guide him towards one of the Paradise Suites. You guided him a little further until you came to a door you knew well and opened it to let him in.

A round sofa circled a round table at its center, the latter illuminated in pink. A strip of light circled the sofa, another path laid out to encourage strippers to be creative and use the room as they saw fit. You weren't expecting to give Miguel a private show tonight, but fate had played a nice trick on you.

You guided him to the sofa, letting him settle there as you climbed up on the table, looking at him with eyes that were usually calculated to convey desire, but this time really felt it.

And he looked at you with, his were dark, pools of ink attentive to your every move.

"How long have you been doing this?" he'd ask, his attention unwavering.

"Five months," you toyed lightly with one of your shoulder straps as you let your other hand roam your body.

He was going to be able to ask you all the questions that came to mind, only if he didn't get too distracted by your beauty.

"Are you allowed to flirt?" he asked.

"Yes, I am." you replied, letting your hand slide down your chest.

"Do you have any regulars?" he leaned forward, his head tilted back to watch you dance.

"Yes, I do. Private clients as well." you turned, your back to him to loosen your corset behind your waist, undulating your body.

The idea that you had regular clients here wasn't disturbing, but the fact that you had private ones displeased him a little more, for the fact that your security was much less framed than it was here.

"I want names."

You let out a small laugh as you turned to face him again.

"You want to make me lose my job?" you knelt on the round table to get to his level.

"No, I want to replace them." he said, his eyes moving from yours to your fingers removing the first strap.

"I'm not allowed to have relationships outside of the club with clients," you countered, tracing the skin of your bare thigh sensually.

"And what do you usually do?" his chest puffed out as he inhaled, feeling a little hotter little by little.

"I dance, I talk, I laugh, I strip, and that is all." you confirmed as you removed the second strap, and with a simple movement unhooked the little clip between your breasts to reveal them.

His eyes were eager, watching your perfect breasts as he parted his lips, mouth agape.

"No touching?" he questioned, eyes still on your body.

"No touching, you can just slide the tips in the garter belt" you advised, your hand sliding against the latter where a few bills were lodged.

"What would happen if I touched you now?" he asked, moving a little closer to the edge of the sofa.

"I would like it," you said, shifting your legs over the front to stand up again on the table gently, "but the security cameras would notice, and probably get you out of here."

Miguel looked up, just above the table, on the ceiling, was a small half globe with a small point of red light.

"Pays well?

"Very well." you smiled, your hands playing dangerously with the string of your thong.

"How much will it cost me to be here with you?"

Miguel wasn't afraid of going broke here, especially for you, he was plenty rich enough for that.

"Depends on what you want." thinking that maybe Miguel didn't want to make you work right now, you got off the table and climbed onto the sofa and then its edge instead, sitting there.

"How high are the prices? I haven't seen the menu of services."

"Our VIP options can go up to 1500 dollars." you say wearily, pretending to walk your index and middle fingers in his direction on the strip of light.

"1500?" he almost exclaimed, raising his eyebrows.

"Mhm," you hummed, "two hours with two dancers and a bottle of Don Perignon."

He turned towards you, coming closer, his head level with your thigh as his eyes inevitably fell on the bills you'd been given.

"And what's the price if I only want you and nothing else with me?" he questioned as his gaze returned to yours.

"Here, from 80 dollars I can give you a 10-minute air dance." you said as you leaned towards him, your faces close but not yet touching. "Outside, nothing."

A small, proud smile appeared on his lips. However, you being far too hot and gorgeous, he was beginning to feel tight in his clothes, especially his pants.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, sitting up differently, your eyes falling on his crotch and smiling as you bit your lip.

"Five o'clock. Will you last until then?"

He sighed, his eyes falling on your lips, eager.

"I just don't know if I'll be able to keep my hands to myself."

You smiled, then straightened up, reaching for your top. But Miguel took his wallet out of his pocket and slipped a bill under your garter belt. To be deprived of a view like this? Never. You smile a little more, and sit back down on the table, kneeling upright to let him get a good look at you.

He leaned towards you again, intertwining his fingers as his gaze softened slightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You sighed, biting your cheek as you looked down at your hands carefully placed in your lap.

"I was scared," you admitted with a sigh. "Scared that this would end what we have."

You knew that not all men or simply partners were comfortable with their halves being strippers, and the idea that Miguel shared that opinion terrified you.

"Nena," he called your nickname.

Your head was still down, and you felt the soft sensation of money paper under your chin. Miguel straightened your jaw with a bill, bringing his eyes to yours.

"This isn't a problem to me." he smiled, lowering his hand to place the bill under the elastic of your belt. "This is actually really good."

Confusion seized you along with relief, causing you to frown while sporting a grin.

"Why?"

He tilted his head to one side, smiling proudly.

"I get the satisfaction for everyone to see how gorgeous you are, while being the only one who has the right to touch you."

You let out a small burst of voice somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, the relief of his answer washing over you like a wave of comfort.

After that, he'd deserved more than just a show.

[nikosaki]

“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

[ab4eva]

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

-

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

-

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

[abooklover]

Lines/things in the red white and royal blue movie that make me scream and laugh hysterically (bear with me cause there’s a lot):

‘an urge I currently share’ (Ellen)

‘Making it was one of the most depressing moments of my career and I once saw Mitch McConnell eating a banana’ (Zahra)

‘You can hate prince Henry all you want but the minute you see a camera you better act like the sun shines out of his ass and you have a vitamin d deficiency’ (made even funnier cause of how literally this turned out) - bonus ‘what if I set myself on fire’ (Alex), ‘we’d ship the ashes to Heathrow’ (Zahra)

‘That’s perfect, you can kill me and I won’t have to go’ (Henry)

‘That’s what makes you so charming. That and your eyelashes.’ (So fucking glad they included at least a reference to this. Taylor’s lashes were working fucking overtime in this movie.)

Henry’s text with the attachment and ‘but we were ever so careful, dear’ (One of my favourite texts in the book and I’m so glad it made it into the movie)

‘Can you think of anything more wasteful’ (Alex), ‘Perhaps this conversation’ (Henry)

Henry’s weird little attempt at dancing while chugging out of a champagne bottle with on fist pumping weakly into the air (he is so me it hurts)

‘He grabbed my hair in a way that made me understand the difference between rugby and football’ (Alex)

‘Princes aren’t allowed to be gay, you should know that’ (Nora)

Alex trying to look cool for when Henry walks into the red room (we love an awkward boy)

Alex and Henry jumping apart to do the most unnatural things (Alex inspecting flowers like it’s his job and Henry perusing the bookshelf) like the idiots they are when Amy walks in on them making out

‘Are you still…’ (Alex) ‘Like Stonehenge’ (Henry), ‘or Big Ben’ (Alex)

‘Henry and I are much happier against walls’ (Alex)

‘Are they known for their homosexual tendencies’ (Alex)

‘And I thought Alex Gabriel Claremont Diaz was a mouthful’ (Alex), ‘He is’ (Henry) - and the fucking looks that followed it (kill me now)

‘I went to an English boarding school dear, trust me you’re in good hands’ (Henry)

‘Once, unsuccessfully’ (Henry)

‘Oh gee kid I’m sorry to interrupt your process of becoming but you’re the one who decided to put your dick into the heir to the British throne’ (Zahra), ‘Technically I’m the spare’ (Henry), ‘Not talking to you sir’ (Zahra)

‘Every time I see you it takes another year off of my life’ (Zahra)

Alex’s ‘Noooo..’ and the little laugh he does

‘If I’d had more warning I could’ve made you a PowerPoint presentation’ (Ellen) - another incredible callback to the book

Oscar Diaz’s affectionate ‘you little shit’

‘I’ve been thinking’ (Alex), ‘I seriously doubt that’ (Henry) and Alex’s mimick of it (absolute gold)

‘Or find herself at the top of the staircase with Phillip around’ (Bea, you literally had no right)

Zahra’s face when Alex starts mooning over Henry after his speech, then Zahra saying ‘oh my god, I just have to do everything round here’ and do not get me started on her whole speech to Shaan (greatest thing ever)

‘You might be lousy at keeping secrets kiddo, but I’m not’ (Zahra), ‘Zahra, I could kiss you’ (Alex), ‘Touch me and die’ (Zahra)

‘They can’t keep you locked away forever’ (Alex), ‘We really need to get you a book on English history’ (Henry)

The way Stephen Fry says ‘homosexual’

‘You still haven’t noticed my tie’ and Henry’s little smile afterward (oh how far we’ve come)

BONUS: ‘Do you think anyone noticed?’ and Henry’s exasperated sigh afterward

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of assault, mocking, face fucking, somnophilia, dacryphilia, dubcon.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, did you all see AO3 was down? I was distraught lmaooo wtf??? But it's back up now which means I can have my little night time stories again hehe. Reader has been working hard to get where she is and honestly? Slay. So here is the next chapter, I will say, things will be moving a lil quickly from here on out so buckle yourself up babes <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 81: A Council of Green

The dinner was uncomfortable for you all. Just as expected. 

You had gotten dressed for the evening with the help of Joanna and Amala, a black dress with red stitching and embroidery, hair half up, and half done in intricate braids with small rubies laid inside.

Aemond had been dressed in his usual black leathers again, the tunic buckling up high on his throat, but his hair was braided back and away from his face, half up, half down. 

Two halves of a whole.

You had walked together, anticipation strumming in your veins with every step you took towards the Great Hall with Aemond. Anxiety steadily building as you got closer, knowing that you would be in the presence of Aegon once again, and not only that, but his entire small council including the slimy Lord, Jason Lannister.

When you had arrived, you had been relatively on time. Most of the Lords arrived at the same time as you, with Alicent decked in her usual deep green. She had blinked at you oddly, as though she had not expected you to join, or that she had been told that you would not.

Though Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

Ser Otto Hightower however, did not even spare you a second glance, as though you were part of the furniture or one of their tacky Seven tapestries that defiled the castle walls.

Perhaps you were like a part of the furniture by now.

There, seen, and rarely heard.

When Aegon finally arrived, all having waited for him for a time, food already atop the table, he was flanked by Ser Cole, who announced his entrance to the Great Hall and the small council who joined as though they were not aware of who the pompous silver haired fool was already.

The wives of the Lords of the Small Council were also present, dressed conservatively in their House colours, bright blues and soft yellows and reds. When you had sat yourself down and looked amongst the long wooden table, you had attempted to gage the attention of the other women, hoping that perhaps you could make a friend. But none of the women turned to acknowledge you, avoiding your eye carefully.

The table was full tot he brim, and even the longer tables that flanked the sides of the Hall were full of men and women, servers and guards stationed about the sides of the room. There were even some lower Lords who were not a part of the council, but in charge of large plots of land or advantageous Houses and trades. 

It was, for the most part, a loud and joyous affair for them, or for all those except anyone who had witnessed the Prince and the King’s spat. Whenever Aegon’s eyes would graze over the two of you, landing on you in curiosity, the Maester or another Lord like Jasper Wylde, or even Otto Hightower would ask the King a question, speaking loudly to gain his attention. 

Like you would a child.

But whilst most eyes were not on you, you felt a pair beside the King’s short glances to be particularly burning. 

Jason Lannister sat at the end of the table, donned in his House colours of red and Gold, his blue eyes glued to you and Aemond. Beside him, an empty chair where his wife would have been.

"And where is your wife, Jason.” Aegon asked, noting the absence of the woman, and the presence of every other Lords.

“She sends her apologies that she could not join me in King’s Landing. She is recently with child, and well…” Jason intoned, a limacious smirk winding on his face, “You know how women get when they swell.” 

The Lords wives stayed quiet, some with small, shy smiles on their faces in mock agreement whilst the Lords half heartedly agreed, others more enthusiastically than others.

It made your skin feel alight. 

“And how do they get, Lannister?” Your voice carried across the table snidely before you could stop it. 

A knife scraped across a plate, and all eyes were on you. You could feel Aemond’s careful gaze on the side of your cheek as you stared at Jason. 

Prick. 

The sound of Aegon snickering caught your ears, and you fought to not turn and face him. 

The Lord pressed his tongue into his cheek as he looked at you, “Well, I am sure you will find out in due time.” He smiled, eyes flicking from you to Aemond. 

“Of course, but I’m asking you.” You smiled back falsely, reaching to take a sip from your wine primly. 

Jason laughed, and some of the other Lords laughed awkwardly with him, sensing the tension, “My wife,” He began, looking around the table, “Has a terrible craving for fried trout, and will burst to tears if she is without it. It goes without saying, her hysteria can be quite jarring.”

“Interesting.” You mused, placing the wine back down, “Perhaps she is not being adequately satisfied with other smaller meats.” You grinned. Aemond hummed in amusement beside you. 

Aegon bellowed, large hand slapping against the wood of the table jolting goblets and cutlery. The other Lord’s joined in with their King, seeing permission to laugh at your snide remark. Even Jason himself huffed out a laugh, though the smile did not reach his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight. 

“My niece everyone.” Aegon boomed, “The sharpest of tongues and the tightest of cunts.”

The room burst into laughter again, some more nervous than others. Otto did not laugh nor smile, and Alicent glared at her son. Aemond inhaled sharply beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Ser Cole shift. 

"Aegon." Alicent warned beneath her breath, eyes darting from Aemond, to Ser Cole, and then back to Aegon.

“My brother is a lucky man.” Aegon hollered, raising his goblet up in mock toast. 

Aemond did not move, eyeing his brother down, anger radiating from him. 

It was perfect. 

You lifted your goblet to Aegon, toasting to yourself, before taking a deep sip, turning your head to Aemond, smiling. With a soft hand, you grasped his on the table, squeezing it twice. 

Aemond did not squeeze it back.

“That he is.” You smirked, head still turned to Aemond who slowly turned his gaze onto you. 

He was furious. 

Good. 

“And how is your son, My Lord?” You asked across the table, looking at Jason Lannister who’s face beamed with pride, “The last I remember was you offering his hand to me, not too long ago.”

Aemond took his hand away from yours and moved it under the table, gripping your thigh. 

“Loreon grows bigger by each day,” He grinned, “ A fine young Lord. He has his mothers eyes, but thankfully my hair. Can’t have a lion without its mane.” The Lord joked, and all chuckled with him. “Perhaps one day if you are to have a daughter, the Targaryen and Lannister Houses can be united.” He grinned. 

When the world is on fire, and I am long gone. 

The rest of the Lords moved to their own small conversations as you continued yours with Jason, feeling Aemond’s fingers dig meanly into the flesh of your thigh.

“Only if you were to build a Dragon Pit in Casterly rock. Our daughter will need to house her dragon there some day, and I expect I would come to visit.”

“You are welcome at the Golden Tooth whenever you please, Princess. We have the finest silk sheets, and the softest of beds.”

“I suppose I will have to see for myself if the riches of the Lannister House are truly what they are said to be.”

“If it is anything like the beauty of the Targaryen House is said to be, then you will find that the riches are just as spoken of.” He boasted and flirted. 

You had to bite your inner cheek from gasping as you felt Aemond’s hand bruise your leg meanly, his nails biting into your skin.

“You’d best watch yourself, Jason.” Aegon smirked, “Aemond looks ready to summon Vhagar.”

Jason paled, “My apologies, Your Grace. There were no ill intentions.”

“My husband is a possessive man and protective.” You intoned, turning your head to face Aemond whose eye was locked on Jason again, "Issa iā orvorta, ñuha dōna. Ao gīmigon iksan aōhon.” He is a cunt, my sweet. You know I am yours, You cooed sickly sweet, hand coming to brush against Aemond’s cheek.

Aegon burst into childish giggles, throwing his crowned head backwards against the high seat of his chair. Aemond’s jaw clenched. Whilst Jason cocked his head, not sure of what you had said and turned to join conversation with the other Lords. 

“Yn emā issare ñuhon tolī.” But you have been mine too, Aegon grinned, looking at you with bright violet eyes. 

Your heart leapt in your throat, bile rising in your mouth. 

“Daor ondoso iderennon.” Not by choice,You plastered a fake smile upon your lips, Aemond’s hand digging harder into your thigh as he straightened in his seat. 

To anyone else at the table, it looked as though the three of you were having a lighthearted conversation in your mother tongue. 

To the three of you, it was a stand off. 

“Kostan tepagon ao iā iderennon.” I may give you a choice, Aegon smirked, sipping his ale, “Aemond kostagon urnēbagon lo ziry jeldan.” Aemond may even watch if he wishes.

“Aemond iksis ñuha iderennon.” Aemond is my choice, You purred, sipping your wine, mirroring the King. You felt Aemond’s hand on your thigh loosen. 

Aegon rested his elbow upon the table lazily, sitting his chin in his palm as he looked at you both, “Sesīr hae ēza iā līve?” Even as he has a whore?

Anger bubbled up inside of you. You ground your teeth together and pushed out a false laugh, far too high to be believable, Alicent’s eyes darting to you with her brows drawn.

“Sesīr pār.” Even then. 

“Lēkia, emā zirȳla orvorta qilōny.” Brother, you have her cock whipped, Aegon smirked. 

Aemond hummed lowly, “Issa iā sȳz ābrazȳrys.” She is a good wife.

You almost beamed at the praise. You picked up your goblet to stop yourself from smiling, bringing the cup to your lips to sip at the honeyed Essos wine.

“Ivestragon nyke, qilōni's orvorta iksis rōvykta?” Tell me, who's cock is bigger? Aegon asked, and you spluttered your wine, inhaling it and coughing into your palm. 

The urge to dive across the table and force a knife between his eyes grew larger. 

You stayed quiet, sipping the wine again to settle the tickling burn in the back of your throat, and the rising anger that continued to mount within. Words fought in your chest to fly from your lips, but you swallowed them.

“Aōha lykemagon vestras nyke.” Your silence says me.

“Ñuha āeksio valzȳrys’.” My Lord Husbands, You smiled, wishing to sink your teeth into his throat, biting through the tendons and flesh, and ripping your head backwards, tearing the flesh away and watching his blood spurt out. 

Aegon ignored his Small Council, Lords and Ladies who had travelled from all over the realm to dine with him, and enjoyed the small time given to direct snide remarks to Aemond without the chastising of his mother. 

“Ao gīmigon lēkia, eman ryptan mirri sȳz udir hen Harrenhal.” You know brother, I have heard some good news from Harrenhal.

Aemond stilled.

The King grinned, teeth and gums being revealed by his lips pulling back, “Ēza Aemond ivestretan ao?” Has Aemond told you?

“Nyke gīmigon iksā nūmāzma naejot.” I know you’re about to, You snipped.

“Ah, ēza daor. Sȳrī,” Ah, he hasn’t. Well, Aegon smirked, leaning forward, “Gaomagon ao remember bona witch isse Harrenhal?” Do you remember that witch in Harrenhal? He tapped his chin in mock thought. 

He knew who she was.

“Alys?” He continued.

Alicent’s head snapped to her son, eyes darting back and forth at the sound of her name. Your heart raced against your chest, heat rising to your cheeks. 

How could you forget? 

“Hen rhinka.” Of course, You said dully, swirling your wine in your hand as you tried to not give him any satisfaction as rage bubbled inside of you.

Not only at the King, but at your husband.

“Ñuha lēkia ēza issare working qopsa, pār emā daor given zirȳla iā dārilaros.” My brother has been working hard, since you have not given him an heir.

An heir. 

“Aegon.” Aemond warned, jaw set in a stiff line.

“Skoros? Kostagon nyke daor biarvī manaeragon ñuha lēkia becoming vala? Iā kepa?” What? Can I not celebrate my brother becoming a man? A father?

Your blood ran cold, and fire licked at your face.

“Kepa?” Father? You seethed, teeth showing, smile faltering on your lips.

“Oh yes, Alys iksis lēda riña.” Alys is with child, Aegon grinned.

With child.

With child.

You saw red.

“Alys iksis lēda riña.” You parroted, tying to collect yourself as you thought of driving your fist into Aemond’s sapphire eye.

With child. 

Alys was pregnant. 

“Y/n-“ Aemond began.

“Aemond,” You interrupted him, turning your face to look at your husband, face cool, “Rijes aōt issi isse jorrāelatan. Kostilus, jikagon ñuha udir naejot aōha līve.” Congratulations are in order. Please send my word to your whore.

Aegon guffawed, eyes bouncing between the two of you. Aemond stared at you with a sallow face, your own carefully schooled.

You were enraged.

Your hand around your goblet tightened, nails reaching around the cool metal to dip into your palm as you desperately tried to use it to ground yourself. 

“Bisa iksis daor skorkydoso-“ This is not ho-

“Valzȳrys,” Husband, You smiled joylessly, all teeth, “Ivestragī īlva daor ȳdragon hen aōha nādrēsy’s.” Let us not talk of your bastards.

“Kostilus īlon should maghagon-“ Perhaps we should bring-, Aegon began.

“Aōha Valyrīha jorrāelagon mirre.” Your Valyrian needs work, You snipped, mock toasting your wine to him again, small droplets falling from the rim to the table below at the force of your thrust, barely contained anger spilling over. 

You let your eye trail over the King, his crown atop his head, wavy silver hair peaking beneath it, a small blush on his cheeks from the ale. 

You were furious. 

You were enraged. 

You wished to hurt Aemond. 

"Sir bona nyke pendagon hen ziry, iksā qumblie.” Now that I think of it, you are thicker, You mused, eyes quickly dropping to Aegon’s waist before back up at his face.

You reached to grasp the decanter from in front of you to refill your wine which disappeared at a rapid rate, and Aemond’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. The rest of the tables eyes flitted to the sharp movement. You snatched your hand away from him, not even sparing the man a glance as you continued to refill your wine. 

"Konīr's bona ēngos,”There's that tongue, Aegon chuckled, smiling at you appreciatively, his eyes grazing down your body, "Nyke gīmigon iā sȳrkta gaomagon syt ziry.” I know a better use for it.

"Ȳdra daor.” Don’t, Aemond finally spoke, voice low and rough, hand returning to your thigh where he dug his fingers into it again, possessively and angrily.

Aegon giggled, excited that he had finally gotten Aemond to react, the unfinished fight between them simmering to almost a boiling point. “Nyke gōntan daor jiōragon naejot sylugon ziry.” I didn’t get to try it, Aegon pouted.

“Se kesā daor.” And you won’t, You purred, sipping your wine, “Yn ñuha valzȳrys gaomas.” But my husband does.

Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightened again, and you watched as he grabbed his goblet of wine and drank deeply from it.

"Kostilus kesan mirri tubis.” Perhaps I will some day, Aegon mused, pouting his lips at you as he fought off a grin. 

You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, swallowing thickly as you looked Aegon in the eyes.

“Kostilus.” Perhaps.

The conversation had ended there, and Aegon had smirked, eyes half hooded as he looked at you. Alicent did not take her gaze from the three of you before you excused yourself, stating that you were tired and wished to leave your husband to his duties and fellow Lords for the rest of the evening. 

You had pried Aemond’s hand from your thigh and bowed to Aegon and the other Lord’s, reminding Jason Lannister that he should begin preparing a Dragon Pit for Casterly Rock, to which he grinned in response. Aemond’s heated gaze followed you as you left the Great Hall, walking back to your chambers alone. 

You arrived in your chambers and laughed loudly, furious at the news of Alys.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant and he had not told you.

She was a greater risk to you now than before. You picked up a goblet at the side table and filled it with wine, already tipsy from the night, tossing its contents back down your throat. 

But Aemond’s reaction at dinner was another thing all together. 

It worked. 

Your last lingering comment to Aegon, a small, ‘Perhaps', left the One-Eyed Prince reeling in his head, his hand not once undigging itself from your thighs. Even Jason Lannister unburdened flirting that evening had helped you along tremendously. 

You had filled your goblet with wine once more, sitting in Aemond’s armchair, drinking slowly as you thought of the evening. Of the way his anger rose off of him in heated waves, the way he had become possessive of you with Jason. The way he scowled at his brother. 

He was beginning to resent them all.

The door to the chambers slammed open, and the storming footfall of Aemond caused you to lazily turn your head to look at him. 

He was irate.

“You seek to humiliate me in front of the council? In front of the King, flirting like a whore?” He sneered, marching over to you as he yanked you up from his chair, the goblet of wine tumbling from your fingers to the stone floor below, the red alcohol spilling across the tiles like blood. 

“And what of you? What of your whoring? Your bastard is pregnant.” You retorted, lips pulling back to bare your teeth. 

“She gave me an heir long before you did.”

You hand slapped across his cheek, Aemond’s head turning to the side. 

“You disgust me.” You spat.

A shadow crossed Aemond’s face.

Your knees hit the harsh stone floors before your brain could catch up, Aemond’s large hands jarring you down by your shoulders. His eye crazed. 

“You want to act like a whore, I will treat you like a whore.”

You tipped your chin up to look at him and smiled meanly, “Like Alys?”

“I told you, I did not see her.” He growled at you, hand gripping the side of your hair as he tugged your head. 

“I don’t believe you.” You sneered.

Aemond’s hand moved to the front of his breeches and began to tug at the strings, impatiently ripping them open in front of your face. 

A warmth spread within you. 

He was so angry. 

So on edge. 

It had worked.

It was working.

Aemond finally undid the last of his ties and yanked his pants over his ass, pulling his cock out of the confines of his breeches. You looked up at him defiantly as he began to stroke himself in his hand, slowly getting hard. 

“Having trouble?” You mocked, watching as he frowned down at you.

“Cunt.” He swore, before grabbing the back of your head roughly and tugging you towards his length.

“Open.” He barked, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes on him as he slid his length cruelly down the back of your throat in one rough push.

You gagged around him, tears prickling your eyes.

“Much better when you can’t talk.” He grunted, holding you down on him, the light curls at his base tickling your nose.

Aemond roughly pulled you back off of him by your hair, a spluttering cough escaping your lips as you sucked in a lungful of air. 

“I should have his head for that. Who does he think he is?” Aemond growled, pulling you back on his length, saliva dripping from your lips onto the stone below. 

Your knees ached as he began to thrust into your face harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you breathed through your nose, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Fucking Lannister scum. A Dragon Pit?” He grunted, using both hands to pull your mouth up and down his length, “He thinks he could fuck you? He thinks he could please you? Silk sheets? Is that what you want? You want fucking silk sheets?”

You gagged loudly as he pushed himself all the way in, holding your head down on him as he shook you with your hair, causing his cock to beat against your gag reflex.

“Stupid cunt. None of them could give you what I do. None of them could fuck you the way I do.” He continued, and you squirmed on the spot, bringing your hands up to his thighs to hold on for balance.

Aemond’s hands slapped yours away, “No. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You dropped your arms, digging your fingers into your thighs as he continued. 

“I am the only man for you. You are my wife.” Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust. 

Warm heat settled in your gut as you hummed around him, curling your tongue up against the underside of his cock. Aemond moaned, letting go of one side of your head to brush hair away from your cheeks.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He praised, framing your jaw with one hand, “Such a good little whore.”

Your core clenched around nothing and you shut your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache that steadily began to rise in you.

“Aegon is a cunt." The Prince growled, "A depraved, pathetic excuse for a man. Do you think he could please you?” He grunted.

You did not want to think of Aegon.

You squeezed your eyes tight.

“A useless King,” Aemond continued, thrusts becoming harsh again, “Can't even perform his own duties. Has me do them. Has me fly about the realm when he has Sunfyre and does not ride him.” Another growl, his length heavy on your tongue, you could feel every vein and ridge. 

“Mother should have put me in line for the throne. We had to search the Silk Lanes for him when father died.” The wet sound of your mouth filled the room with Aemond’s complaints. “I hate him.”

I hate him.

Hate.

You sucked at Aemond’s length harder, a whine falling from this lips.

Rewarding him.

It spurred him on. 

“He should beg for my mercy. Should have me rule.” 

Delight sparked within you. 

You curled your tongue up against the underside of his shaft, pressing the wet muscle against him as his thrusts became sloppier, thick strands of saliva hanging from your lips as he continued, the front of your dress and the stone floors below wet with it.

“Fucking pathetic.”

You hummed in agreement, opening your eyes to look up at him. Aemond looked down at you watching the way his cock disappeared into your lips. A groan falling from his mouth as you caught his gaze.

“He could never have you. He does not deserve you. He is not worthy.” His tip hit the back of your throat, “Not worthy of your perfect cunt.” 

You moaned around his length.

“Not worthy of the throne.”

Thrust.

“Not worthy of life.”

Thrust. 

You suck sharply on him as his thrusts grow sloppy, his mouth slackened as he breathed heavily, hands holding your head still as he chased his peak. You fought against your gags, tears moving down your face as you continued to squirm from your spot on the tiles. 

It turned you on. 

“Fuck.” Aemond moaned, pushing himself as deep as he could go.

His hot seed burst down your throat, causing you to cough and gag on his length as he moaned above you, holding you down on it with no escape. Each pump of his seed coating your mouth and tongue. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke.” So good for me, “Vok byka ābrazȳrys.” Perfect little wife.

Aemond pulled himself from your lips, and a sharp inhale sucked air into your lungs as you coughed, swallowing what was left of his seed. The Prince’s hand moved to the side of your jaw stroking it as he looked down at you, thumb swiping up the seed that had escaped from the side of your mouth. Aemond rubbed it over your lips as he looked at you, your knees aching in protest.

“Filthy.” He purred.

Aemond bent down and pulled you up. The Prince took you to bed before hardening again, fucking his seed deep inside of you in the hour of the owl. You had whined and moaned, and he had fucked you roughly against the soft sheets, growling about his brother, about Jason, about the throne. 

And you had encouraged it. 

As the ebbs of your third release left your body, you found yourself boneless in the bed beneath Aemond, who crawled down the length of your body, planting insatiable kisses against your sensitive skin. 

“I am falling to sleep.” You had argued, trying to pull him up and away from your core, where his tongue darted between your folds. 

“Then sleep.” He uttered, “Let me enjoy the pleasures of my wife.” 

His tongue was soft and gentle, pressing soothing kisses to your core as you felt your eyes flutter shut, fatigue dragging you down into the depths of sleep.

You woke some time later to the familiar stretch of Aemond’s cock moving through you. You had groaned, blinking in the dark up at Aemond he pushed himself inside of you.

“Wha-“

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

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