#that shit does Not seal. Don't Fucking Tilt

[orcelito]

after the trials of today, if anything happens to those 8 vats of tea i made, i am going to go full ???%

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the heavy weight of guilt (part two)

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

part one / part two

“what the fuck did you do?” rafe growls.

“what?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him. “you would never leave her unless she found out, so i made it so you have to be with just me.”

“you're fucking crazy if you think im going to stay with you after you destroyed my family.” rafe grunts out.

“destroyed? you did that by cheating on your wife. don't blame me for exposing the truth.”

“the truth is that you came into me, practically forced yourself onto me.”

“yet you were completely willing. don't be ridiculous rafe. you don't even care about your dumb kids or stupid wife anyways. all you care about is fucking young pussy.”

“aren't you worried ill leave you some day then? get with someone younger as you grow old and wrinkle.” rafe tilts his head to the side, trying to anger you even more.

“oh rafe” you laugh maniacally. “i will never let you leave me. i wont lose you like your wife did.”

“goddamn it.” rafe grunts, bending down and picking you up, slinging you over your shoulder like you're just a sack of flour.

“damn, you're strong when you're pissed.” you chuckle, which just makes rafes hold on you tighten further.

“shut up, please.” he begs. he needs to get his anger and frustration out, and since you're the cause of his guilt, it's going to be by using you.

“fine, we can talk about our new living arrangements after you fuck me silly.” you know you're only antagonizing rafe further as he tosses you onto the bed, throwing you so hard you bounce against the mattress.

“i hate you.” rafe says before smashing his lips against yours, dominating your mouth as his hands begin to strip you of your clothing, pulling it away until you're naked.

“get undressed, let me see you.” you say, trying to unbutton rafes shirt, but he just pushes your hand away.

“im gonna fuck you how i want to fuck you. you're not in control anymore.” 

you're surprised by his sure dominance. he's always been on top before, but he's never disobeyed you.

you keep quiet, lips practically sealing closed as rafe undoes his pants, tugging his zipper down just to pull his cock out, already hard like it always is whenever he's around you.

“god, look at you.” rafe groans when you spread your legs, pussy blossoming open for him like it always does. “such a little slut. my slut, and now im yours too. you made sure of that, huh?”

you're not sure how to respond, but rafe barely gives you any time anyways as he pushes forward, plunging his cock inside of you in one smooth motion.

despite his size, he gives you not even a moment to adjust as he begins to fuck you without a care, snapping his hips forward, focused solely on his own pleasure.

you try to keep your body relaxed as you watch rafe above you. his eyes are on you but they're glossed over, like he's in another place.

you sit up rapidly, tapping your palm against his face. “hey.” you grunt. “you're not thinking of someone else right?”

“what, like my soon to be ex wife? so what if i am? you ruined that already.” 

you move quickly, pulling your body away only to grab rafe and bring him forward onto the bed. he's so surprised by your sudden show of stretch that when you flip him over onto his back he doesn't question it.

“it's only me. you're mine forever.” you sink your pussy down on rafes cock.

his moans betray him as his head tilts back, mouth wide as you ride him, moving your hips quickly and aggressively to spur him on, not caring that your pussy is already sore.

“mine.” you growl as your hands attack the buttons on his shirt until you're able to pull the two sides open and reveal his bare torso, muscled and covered with a faint dusting of hair.

“i know, shit.” rafe knew he was yours from the moment your lips met, cementing the end of his marriage and end of the good guy streak he had going for many years.

“and you're going to cum in me and actually get me pregnant.” you already stopped taking your birth control the day after you sent that video to rafes wife. “and you'll like this kid and raise it how you want and never leave them or me.”

“god, you're fucking crazy.” rafe says, hips rising up to meet yours.

“and that's why you'll be mine forever.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

so scarlet (it was maroon)

in which eddie gets everything he dreamed of - except you. based off of "maroon" by taylor swift.

→ warnings: smut, severe angst, hurt/no comfort, 18+ minors dni

→ pairings: rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

→ wc: 11.3k+

→ a/n: don't mind me, just trying to see if tumblr will let me finally post this. this is cross-posted from ao3 (and wattpad)

ao3

"When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend"

“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie sits up to stare at you, lit joint still dangling between his ringed fingers and the last of his latest hit lingering in a ghost of white smoke on his lips. 

“I’m not,” you laugh at his reaction, tilting your head forward just enough for where you were sprawled out on his bed to get a better view of him, “I’m scared to take cold medicine now.” 

“There’s no way you got high off of the recommended dose!” he cackles, shaking his head in disbelief, a hand coming down on your shin to ground himself. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter, how his curls come down to curtain around his reddening cheeks and his reddening eyes, how his doe eyes are pinched shut and crinkled in the corners.

A map of a million lifetimes, branching out from the corner of those eyes. A million lifetimes, a million possibilities, a million futures. And every single one of them begins and ends with Eddie. 

If you stare for too long, you’re going to say something you regret in your high, so you sit up as he had in order to snatch back the joint, “Stop babysitting. Aren’t you the one who’s always chastising me on ‘puff, puff, pass’?” 

He feigns offense, mouth wide open and face scrunched up adorably so, as you take a delicate hit. The smoke enters your mouth quickly, wasting no time as it barrels down your throat and curls into every crevice of your lungs. Your chest aches slightly at the intrusion. 

His eyes never leave yours. He watches the glaze continue to intensify over them as you slowly exhale. His thumb begins to trace gentle arches over the bare skin of your leg as his warm palm shifts upward, inching until it’s over your knee and resting on your thigh. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

“That you did, sweetheart. That you did.” 

He holds his free hand back out for the joint, and your fingertips brush as you return it to him. 

“So what? Was it better than this kind of high?” he teases before bringing it to his lips. They’re pursed in preparation, and you only lose your concentration for a moment before remembering to answer him.

“I dunno, Munson. You’ve got some good shit here but… Dayquil might be giving you a run for your money,” you mock, tilting your head and leaning in closer to him. He’s grinning again, looking up through shy lashes before he takes his hit. 

This time he doesn’t exhale immediately into the cloudy air of the room. Instead, he takes you off guard as he shifts on the bed and pulls you closer. Soon enough he has you in his lap, draping one arm around your waist as he takes the hand not holding the joint and gingerly grabs your jaw. 

You already know the drill. You’re familiar with the process of his shotguns as his fingers tap your cheeks and you let your mouth fall slightly open, leaning to meet him halfway. He still doesn’t exhale, not until his lips have grazed over yours lightly, teasing before he finally seals the two of you together. The kiss is messy, as it always is with him; your tongue can’t differentiate between the taste of him and the taste of the smoke as he presses the kiss deeper. You’re not even sure you breathed in enough to capture any of it, but none of it feels like a waste as he’s biting your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips impossibly close. The joint is eventually discarded on one of the ashtrays on his bedside tables as you lose yourselves into each other. His nose presses itself into flat against yours between hot breaths. 

“We can’t-” you pull back, a trail of saliva chasing you before Eddie follows, capturing you in another kiss that you pull back from, “The joint-” another interruption with another desperate kiss, “The incense-”

“The incense will be fine, baby,” he insists, pouting slightly, “It’s not going to burn the house down.” 

He kisses you once more, wasting no time to fall backwards into his pillows and dragging you with him. For a moment, you’re straddling him, hovering over him, but he quickly turns and presses your back into his sheets before he’s rolling over on top of you, caging you in. You don’t mind it. You never mind him taking up your space, your breath, your mind. 

A hand comes up to rest on your neck as you take a moment to press both hands into his chest, forcing distance. His eyes snap wide open, and they’re shining like a dozen moons at once, even with his pupils blown out. 

“And if it does? It if does burn down the house?” you whisper, hands beginning to wander, one finding its way up and around the back of his neck, toying with the curls in its path. The other smooths over his shoulder, prepared to pull him back in impossibly close even without an answer. 

He’s looking down at you with all the love in all of Hawkins, in all of the world, as he smirks and answers, “Then I say let it burn.” 

"And I chose you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."

Within a year of graduation, Eddie had made it very clear he wanted to get out of Hawkins. Corroded Coffin had been slowly but surely crawling their way to popularity outside of Hawkins, and when the moment was right, he came to you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

“Come with me. Move to New York. I know, it’s insane, but-”

“Yes.” 

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Was it ever really a question, Eddie?”

He was it for you, and so when he’d been prepared to beg you on his knees to move with him, it had been a no-brainer. You packed up all your belongings without second-thoughts, said goodbye to the town that never really deserved either of you, and started your life in a big city. 

The apartment was small and impossibly cramped, but the first night you two arrived, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was in the dingier part of town, or that you two were going to be penniless the next several months as you barely scraped by with rent. The moment you walked into that one-bedroom apartment, you knew it was yours, and you knew with certainty then that you had done it - you had escaped the bleary town and come out the other side. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs as he places down one of the last few boxes you’d brought with you amongst one of the several piles littering the living room. You’re sitting on top of one particularly sturdy stack of boxes, the top one serving as a seat most likely filled with your books from home. 

“Yeah,” you breath, looking around, completely stunned, “Holy shit.” 

Eddie turns in a full circle, almost as if he was drinking it all in, before he faces you once more. His face is a blank slate only for a second before the serendipity and sudden gaiety takes over his features. He’s unexpectedly running in your direction, arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the boxes as you squeal, swinging you around effortlessly. 

“We fucking did it!” he cheers over your giggles. When he finally finishes spinning you, letting your sock-clad feet find stability on the hardwood floors, he still doesn’t let you go. He only pulls you into his chest tighter, “We did it. We’re in New fucking York.” 

You smile brightly, pressing your cheek painfully against his t-shirt, nodding as you echo, “We did it.” 

The moment pauses as he pulls away as suddenly as he had picked you up, still radiating happiness.

“Hold on, wait here. I’ve got an idea.” 

He jogs over to one of the stacks of boxes at the entrance of the kitchen as you just laugh, “Not like I’ve got anywhere to run off to, Munson.” 

“You better not!” he calls over his shoulder, digging for whatever his brilliant idea was. 

You disobey him indirectly by wandering across the living room, steps slow and careful as you approach the large window offering a lackluster view. All you could see, for the most part, was the large brickwall of the neighboring apartment building. It was old and faded, scattered marks of paints from clear graffiti at random intervals. The city had clearly tried to wash away the few remnants of whatever art the random city vigilantes had covered it with, but the reminders of what once was remained. A nod to the fact that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to wash away things, their legacy lingers stubbornly. 

You don’t even hear Eddie setting up one of his old boomboxes with a favorite mixtape of the two of yours until it begins to play from the speakers, probably a bit more loud than you should have if you were attempting to be considerate neighbors. 

But neither of you cared. 

When you turn, you find Eddie approaching you steadily to the beat of the song playing. He takes a step with each beat, swaying his hips in clear exaggeration. 

He’s only several paces from you when he holds out a hand, grinning like a fool as he says, “Dance with me, sweetheart.” 

You take it, immediately. There’s not a trace of hesitation as you let the boy who held the sun in your eyes drag you across the barren living room, not even dancing to the beat but growing dizzy with love regardless. You let your own happiness mingle with his. As he spins you for the hundredth time, dipping you low and dramatically, you imagine that this is it - this is as good as it could possibly get. Because you’re with your boy, and you two are dancing to your own beat as the mixtape ends, and there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person than him. 

He brings you back up to him as he stands up straight, and not a word is passed as lips crash together. An eager kiss, all teeth and revelations and silent promises of forever. It’s saccharine sweet as his tongue passes over your lips, begging for more closeness. Your chests are so tightly pressed together that with each breath he gasps in, you’re forced to exhale. 

“I love you,” he mutters, pulling back momentarily and staring into your eyes. His arms cradle you so carefully, as if scared that when he lets go, you’ll completely disappear from him, “I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.” 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar,” you reassure him, “Now shut up and kiss me.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, already so close to you that his lips brush against yours before he’s back on you, hot and heavy. 

You’re not sure how exactly it happens, or who first starts encouraging the steps taken towards the hallway, but you end up with your back against the wall as Eddie leans completely into you. You both feel drunk on each other, giddy on your current reality. After a particularly harsh tug on his hair, in sync with a yearning squeeze on your hip, he whispers ‘jump’ into your kiss. Hands find the back of your thighs, molding them into his knuckles as he carries you into the bedroom. 

The room is only filled with a few artifacts: boxes of both of your clothes, Eddie’s prized guitar propped up in one of the corners, and a mattress on the floor only covered in a comforter and no sheets yet. The afternoon light is golden as it flutters in through the open window, the sounds of the city muted by your breaths. 

He’s impossibly gentle as he lowers the two of you down onto the mattress, careful as he lets you unwrap your legs and flop back. Even with his carefulness, you find your own eagerness causing your movements to be too rough, bouncing back slightly and bumping noses with him. You both take a break to laugh. 

“Careful, you klutz,” he warns, balancing himself up on his forearms as he looks down at you in adoration. You don’t respond, instead lifting yourself to capture his lips in yours, pulling him down. Your teeth clash with his as you both continue to giggle into the open-mouthed kiss. 

He gives in, hands roaming as they slip below your tattered shirt you’d worn for the occasion of moving. His warm hands find home on your chest, squeezing softly and thumbs flicking your already pebbled nipples in order to pull gasps from you. He lets his head drop to your neck, his messy curls tickling your nose as he presses wet kisses down your jugular. Each kiss is in sync with the heavy beating of your heart. 

He stops when his path leads him down to your collarbone, sucking and nipping before releasing blooming skin to glance up at your face, twisted in euphoria. “This is real, isn’t it?”

His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear him. But you look down at him, a boy made of contradictions - of sunshine and moonlight, of passionate and tender actions - and can only smile in serenity. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

It’s the only encouragement he needs to continue his worship, leaving no patch of supple skin unkissed. 

"The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, and how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlett, it was maroon."

It could have been hours later or days when you’d finally tired yourselves out. It took an impossible amount of willpower, but eventually, you two had untangled yourselves from each other, leaving the warmth of your comforter to continue unpacking.

Or rather, you were unpacking. Eddie had taken to stretching out on the bed, back propped up on the bare wall behind him with his guitar in his lap, strumming mindlessly as he watched you begin to pull your clothes from one of the boxes. You took your time, smoothing out any wrinkles that had formed during the move, focused as you hung your shirts on hangers and put them away into their home in your new shared closet. 

Eddie pauses whatever song he had been practicing when he catches sight of a particular shirt you pull from the box. 

It’s a white t-shirt. Nothing impressive, but what piques his interest is the splotch of once-red-now-maroon painting the center of the fabric. It’s faded, feathered at the edges, but he knows the story behind that stain all too well.

“You really kept that shirt? Even after I ruined it?” he chuckles, shifting his guitar off his lap, scooting towards the edge of the bed. 

You hold it up, laughing as well, taking in the stain that refused to wash out, “Yeah. Sentimental value or whatever,” you tease, looking down at him. You take his breath away like this, in nothing but his Judas Priest shirt that barely reaches your thighs, nothing but underwear on underneath, hair in tangles from your previous activities. But you’re glowing, a glow that he’s been lucky enough to witness on multiple occasions, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, “Never really wear it, though. Guess I should get rid of it, huh?” 

“No,” he answers you far too quickly, “Never. Keep it forever. We can frame it, hang it in the hallway.” 

You know he’s not serious, but the thought still makes you smile. You’d never really get rid of it, far too attached to the memories it held, even two years later.

Another Harrington party. Another sea of almost-adults getting far too drunk, far too rowdy. You’d been to your fair share of them, but they never really got easier.

There’s an excitement in the air you can’t place. Maybe it was from graduation, still nearly six months away but on the horizon nevertheless. Or maybe it was simply from the holiday - Halloween. Whatever it was, it buzzed through the air and across your chilled skin. 

Your costume was last minute. A half-assed attempt at a pirate costume. It had been thrown together with things you could already find in your closet, for the most part - one of your more flowy white t-shirts, black jeans you’d taken scissors to the knees of in an act of temporary rebellion, heavy boots originally bought for hiking. The only real clues as to what you were had been aiming to disguise yourself as were the cheap eyepatch and doltish pirate hat you’d bought when shopping with your friends for the occasion. But you’d long forgone your eyepatch as the alcohol impaired your vision well enough without the loss of use in one of your eyes. 

The hat was a cheap velvet-texture, deep maroon in color and an extravagant black feather barely holding on by the factory glue used to secure it. 

Your friends had long since abandoned you. One of them went off with a jock who had caught their eye, the other getting dragged into a very serious game of beer pong. It hadn’t bothered you too much - it had left you to your own devices, nursing a cup of whatever punch had been spiked in a dark corner of the kitchen. You watched your classmates trail in and out for their own dose of alcohol without much interest. Until he walked in. 

He was glued to the side of the host himself, Steve Harrington. You overheard a couple of scolding sentences coming from Steve’s lips, something about ‘cutting him off’ and how he needed to ‘compose himself’. It was entertaining, at the least, to watch the boy fumble with himself. 

“C’mon, you’ve got to have more whiskey around here somewhere, pretty boy!” he whined, leaning into Steve as he lost his balance momentarily. 

“No, Eddie! I mean it, you’re cut off! Now stay here or so help me God-” Steve appeared irritated, but was far more patient than you would have been as he carefully guided his friend to lean on the counter across the room from you. He left the room in a hurry, and you snickered under your breath as the predictable happened right before your eyes - once Eddie was left alone, he immediately began to pilfer for more alcohol. 

It takes him a second, to your amusement, before he reappeared from the lower cabinets he had crouched in front of, letting out a loud ‘Aha!’ with a bottle of red wine in hand. He wasted no time in digging through multiple drawers as if it were his own house before he found a corkscrew, and the entire time, your eyes continuously flickered to the entrance of the entrance, waiting until Steve returned and would catch his friend red-handed (literally). 

He never did, though. Eddie has enough time to begin struggling with the cork, curses and mutters falling from his lips as you watched on. You’re only pulled from your watchful gaze when you hear a loud pop, and hear a triumphant ‘Fuck yeah!’ from the boy. 

Maybe you thought you should intervene, considering you were clearly not as far gone as Eddie, but you weren’t quick enough. You’d walked up behind him, about to announce yourself and stop him, when he turned suddenly, a red cup in hand that was nearly overflowing with red wine. 

Eddie hadn’t expected you to be so close, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the cup collided with your chest and the red wine sloshed down the front of your shirt. 

You gasped, jumping back slightly, as he cursed, “Oh, shit! Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Wide, brown eyes found yours, looking sincere in their apology. 

He looked around before grabbing a random kitchen towel, unfortunately also a starch white, and began to try and dab at your shirt clumsily. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insisted as you felt your cheeks begin to burn. He continued to attempt to rectify the matter, clearly panicked. You have to eventually grab his wrists, pulling him and the now-ruined towel away. He looked back up.

It was almost like slow motion. His eyes met yours and you felt time stop. Your fingers stay pressed into his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, for far longer than necessary. 

“It’s fine,” you said once more, finally prying your grip from him. You might have been a little too drunk to care, and you’re sure that sober you would be disappointed in the comfortable t-shirt now being collateral damage, but for now, it didn’t matter. 

“I had no clue you were there. I’m- Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m an idiot. Sorry,” he slurred, looking down at you. 

You shrugged, playing it off, “Shoulda announced myself sooner. Don’t be sorry, it’s a problem for sober me.”

You really had liked that shirt. It was a shame. 

“You know, if you really wanted more alcohol, they still have punch left,” you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the direction of the crystal bowl on the counter you had just been leaning on.

Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust immediately, “Ew, God no. That shit’s way too sweet.” 

You bit your lip to fight laughter, “And wine is any better?” 

“It can be, when shared with someone as pretty as yourself,” he has a shameless, flirty grin on his features, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You broke, laughing softly and shaking your head. 

He had a point. The punch wasn’t very good. 

“Alright, then, mister ‘you’re cut off’. I suppose I’ll join you in your antics,” you turned to the sink, dumping the remnants of your punch before turning back to him and reaching for the bottle of wine he still held. 

His hand flew out of reach, tsking immediately, “Nope. Allow me.”

It wasn’t a good idea, but you let him take your now-empty cup regardless. He put it down on the counter and focused intently on filling it, nearly emptying the wine bottle as he topped it off just as full as his own had been. 

“Jesus, you’d make a shitty bartender. You’re definitely overpouring right now.” 

“Hush,” is all he replied as he finished the task at hand, setting down the empty bottle once he poured the last few drops into his own cup, attempting to make up for what was now soaking your shirt. It had started to dry, becoming cold and uncomfortably sticky, but you were too distracted with the boy in front of you to care. “M’lady,” he finally handed back the cup, looking far too proud of himself for not making another mess. 

“Thank you,” you teased, giving a messy and exaggerated bow, careful to not spill the wine. 

Once your glass is back in your own hand, his began to fumble into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It led to him spilling some more of his wine onto his own shirt this time, and you considered how lucky he was that he was wearing black. 

“Here,” you gave him no choice as you gingerly took the cup from his hand, freeing him up to find whatever it was he was so desperate to find in his pockets. You take the moment to glance over his costume: he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. On his face, a pair of small, circular sunglasses were perched haph-hazardly on his nose, the lenses a barely opaque red. You noted the obnoxiously long necklace swinging against his chest, a large silver cross at the end, “What are you even supposed to be dressed up as?” 

He yanked a pack of cigarettes successfully from his pocket, grinning like a fool, “Ozzy Osbourne. Duh.”

“Duh,” you mimicked, handing him back his cup of wine before turning more serious,“From Black Sabbath, right?” 

His eyes lit up. “You know Sabbath?” 

“A little bit,” you shrugged, but that was enough for Eddie. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, cheesy grin and all, as he rattled the pack of cigarettes against your ear. “Say, you smoke?”

You didn’t, but for him, you did. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some fresh air anyways. Lead the way, rockstar.” 

"When the silence came, we were shaking, blind and hazy. How the hell did we lose sight of us again?"

“Eddie, you have to call them back and tell them you’ll do it!”

“No! I can’t!”

“You can and you will.”

The fight had started over Eddie’s casual mention of a phone call he’d had earlier that day. It had been six months of New York, of bliss, of living in a pattern of waiting. Every day, you were both waiting; waiting for the next show Corroded Coffin would book, waiting for the next chance he’d have to send off yet another demo to another record label, waiting for the shimmers of what could be his big break. It had been comfortable while it lasted - the two of you were still wrapping your head around having your own routine. Of having something that’s yours. 

The phone call today was the end of that waiting game. 

The management of a slightly larger band, extending an offer to Corroded Coffin - they wanted them to be the opener for their next tour. It wasn’t an overly large one, it hardly spanned over three months and most of the venues were painfully small compared to what you believed Eddie should be playing, but it was an offer. Gigs, travel paid for, an opportunity for exposure right at his fingertips.

He had told them no. 

“I’d have to leave. I’d be on the fucking west coast until December. I’d miss your birthday!” Eddie continues to argue. The two of you were standing in your living room, finally filling out. Shelves had collected framed photos, small knick-knacks that partially came from you and partially came from Eddie. You finally had a couch. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was a couch and it was yours. Something that belonged to both of you.

“You’d be playing shows! Selling merch! Gaining fans! This is your chance. Who cares if you’re not here for my birthday? We can celebrate over the phone, who cares?” your voice was breaking from frustration, not understanding how Eddie isn’t more excited. Instead of the joy you had expected to find on his face when he revealed the news to you, all you could see was fear. He was petrified. You finally drop your voice, taking on a soothing tone as you step in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in shaking hands, “Eddie, I’ll have other birthdays. But this? If you don’t do this… there might not be other tours.”

You could feel tears building up, some from exasperation, but most for the boy in front of you. This was his chance. He was your entire world, and you couldn’t let it pass him by. 

He has tears mirroring in his own eyes, searching your face frantically, “I… I don’t want to be away from you. Not right now, not when we’re just figuring all this shit out.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tearily laugh, “Where would I even run off to, huh? No, stop this bullshit - don’t be an idiot. You go pick up that phone right now and tell that band they have an opener, and a damn good one at that. Right now.” 

He’s frozen, leaning his cheeks into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. He just wants to live in this moment. He doesn’t want to think about the enormity of the decision in his hands - he just wants to stay here, in your arms, in the space you two had come to call home. 

When your thumb swipes one of his escaped tears from his cheek, he caves. His voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go call them. But- But when I get back, we’re celebrating the hell out of your birthday, do you understand me? Fuck Christmas, Jesus has had, like, thousands of birthdays. When I get back, all I care about is you.” 

You believe him. You believe him with your entire being, never once worrying about him missing something as trivial as the celebration. 

“We sure will. Now go on, rockstar. Catch your big break.” 

He finally smiles for the first time since he broke the news.

At the moment, all you saw was a world full of beginnings for your boy. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, and you couldn’t have been happier for him. The rose-colored glasses never gave you the chance to see it was the beginning for the two of you - the beginning of the end. 

"Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us. I feel you, no matter what."

“I miss you.”

Those three months couldn’t have dragged on slower if they tried. But Eddie kept good on his word; every night, like clockwork, he called you. The two of you would take about anything and everything: he’d tell you about the latest crowd that included people who seemed to actually enjoy Corroded Coffin’s set, you’d tell him about the takeout you had for dinner after nearly burning your shared kitchen down, he’d mention the names of cities you could only dream of visiting, and you’d indulge him in theatrically stories of your latest customers from Hell at the small dinner you waitressed at. 

“I know you do. I miss you too, Eds,” you sigh over the line, curled up on his side of the bed, even though it had finally stopped smelling like him. Long gone were the scents of late night cigarettes and woodsy cologne, replaced by a nauseating sweetness of your own shampoo and perfume. You hated it, but you’d never let him know that. Not when he seemed to actually be so happy. His breakdown over the offer seemed to fickle now, as it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was living out his dream. Something neither of you had fully processed yet. 

“Hey, just two more weeks, right?” you whisper, eyes staring into the shadows across the room. Two more weeks. Fourteen days, and he was all yours once more.

It was your birthday. And it had been the most lonesome to date - a few coworkers had convinced you to go out for drinks after closing up the diner, but the entire time, you had just been anxious to get home and prepare for your phone call with Eddie. Just as the two of you had said, you had committed to somewhat celebrating over the phone. 

“Do me a favor. Go into the kitchen real quick,” his voice instructs over the line, and you perk up slightly. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just trust me, sweetheart.”

You do as he asks, making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The apartment is dark, and a bit cold, but you don’t pay it any mind as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now what?” 

“The drawer to the left of the fridge. Open it.”

“Our junk drawer?”

“Yes, the junk drawer,” his tone is teasing, never growing irritated with your endless questions, “Open it.”

You hadn’t really touched the drawer since Eddie left, normally only discarded random pens and junk mail filling it. But you're shocked when you find the drawer more organized than you remember it - and in the center of it is a pack of candles.

“Candles?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips as your free hand reaches down to grasp the package. You flip it around in your palm, heart warming at the notion, but still feeling confused, “Babe, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t exactly have a cake, or even a cupcake, to put these in. 

“You don’t? Damn it. If only I had thought of that,” he hums in a teasing tone, making you lower the hot phone from your ear and glare down at his caller id that illuminates the screen, “Well. What a shame. Hey, do you know the time by chance?” 

“Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass,” you mutter, turning to look at the clock over your oven, “It’s 7:59. What’s your game here?” 

He doesn’t answer, leaving you further puzzled, instead mumbling what sounds like to himself, “Three, two-”

“Why are you counting down?”

“One.” 

A loud knock echoes through the apartment, causing you to jump. 

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” you hiss over the line, gripping the candles impossibly tight. 

“Go answer the door.”

“If you’re on the other side of it, I’m kicking you straight in the-”

“It’s not,” he interrupts, “I wish it was, sweetheart. It’s not. But just trust me, yeah? One last surprise, promise.”

You grumble your entire way to the door, still holding the package of candles as you stop in front of your front door. You pause, taking a deep breath. 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re opening the door.”

“Give me a second. Jesus, for all I know, you hired a hitman and I’m about to be brutally murdered when I open this door,” you bite back, and you can hear his guffawing laughter over the line. Your chest burns, wishing you could hear it in person instead, imaging the glee on his face in the moment. 

“Not a hitman. That’s for after we have life insurance, baby,” he drawls, and you finally muster the nerve to reach out and twist the knob. You swear you can hear chattering on the other side of the door. 

It takes you some struggling as you refuse to let go of the candles, but when you finally swing the door open, you gasp. 

There in the threshold stands your friends from Hawkins. Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Johnathan Byers. It’s clear that Nancy and Steve are mid-argument when you open the door, but Robin stands there, proudly showcasing a birthday cake in front of her, shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Surprise!” she yells, capturing the attention of the rest of the gang that you and Eddie had left behind. Everyone faces you now, beaming, as you immediately go teary-eyed. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp out, dropping the phone and candles to the floor, in shock. Steve steps in first, chuckling as he pulls you into a hug. It’s only then that you notice the bouquet in one of his hands, cellophane crinkling from how tightly he’s holding you. He shuffles the two of you out of the way just enough so that everyone else can enter. 

“Your face! God, Munson was right, that was so worth it!” Robin barks as she steps up to the kitchen table and sits down the cake. She’s the next to hug you, yanking you out of Steve’s grasp and nearly crushing you, “Happy birthday,” she whispers happily into your ear, swaying the two of you as she continues to embrace you. You catch sight of Steve over her shoulder, wearing a look of amusement, chuckling and shaking his head. 

Jonathan is the one with half a mind to pick up your abandoned phone and candles at the sound of muffled yelling over the line. He wastes no time, putting Eddie on speaker.

“Hellooo? World’s best boyfriend here, remember me? Wow. Can’t believe you’ve already forgotten me. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.” 

You laugh as Robin finally lets you go, reaching up to swipe away the tears of jubilation.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “She’s in shock. Give her a second, Munson.” 

Jonathan continues to hold your phone as you’re passed into Nancy’s arms and then his. Each whisper their own soft ‘happy birthday’, rubbing your back gently until your focus is back on the phone.

“Edward Munson-”

“Ah! There she is! She lives! And remembers me!”

“Fuck off,” you half-sob, half-laugh. It may not have been as good as him standing there, on your doorstep and embracing you, but it was damn good, “You’re so dead when you get home.” 

“Dead? Wow. Weeks of planning only to meet my demise,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose it’s a good way to go. At the hands of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beat that, Harrington.” 

“Way to stay humble,” Steve chimes at the mention of his name, still grinning. He suddenly remembers the flowers in hand, suddenly thrusting them in your direction as he says, “From Eddie, by the way. He told me if we didn’t get you flowers, he’d castrate me.”

“And I meant it! That’s still on the table if you guys don’t make this her best damn birthday ever.” 

“I’m sure he would,” you sniffle, reaching out and gripping the flowers. Your heart cracks slightly, not knowing how to tell him that despite how absolutely endearing the surprise had been, it’d be impossible for them to make this your best birthday.

He wasn’t here. It could only make the top of the list if he were here. 

You feel no resentment, though, as you bring the flowers to your nose, smiling until your cheeks ache. “Red carnations. Pretty,” you hum, lost in the moment. 

There’s a beat of silence before Eddie’s voice rings out across the room.

“Carnations? Harrington, I said red roses. You’re a dead man walking.”

"And I lost you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon." 

Once Eddie returns home, it’s just as he promises - he almost doesn’t even make it through the door when his lips find yours at 3 AM, his suitcase thrown off somewhere to the side of your entryway. He’s too busy to care about anything else but you at the moment. 

“Fuck,” he gasps between kisses, “I fucking missed you. God, I missed you.” 

You’re silent as you nod in agreement against him, just eager to feel his touch once more. You’d waited three months too long for this moment, ever since he first left through that door for the tour. 

“Needy, baby?” he teases, just as breathless as you are when the two of you finally pull apart, him kicking the door shut behind him. Your hands are grabbing weakly at the lapels of his jacket, too eager to be embarrassed, “God, always so needy for me. Just how I fucking like you.” 

He’s always talkative, even during sex, but you have no patience for it tonight. “Shut up.”

“Aw, now that’s no way to greet your boyfriend you missed, is it, baby?” he eggs you on, looking down at you and your swollen lips with a wicked grin. 

You open your mouth to snark back, but he refuses to give you the chance before he’s picking you up, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Eddie!” you shriek, but laughter laces the protest. Your hands grip the back of his t-shirt as he begins to walk down the hallway, and you start to kick your feet out of defiance, but a sharp smack sounds through the quiet apartment as he playfully slaps your ass, putting an end to the kicks.

“Yeah, you better warm up those vocal chords,” he chuckles. The moment you’re back in your bedroom, he’s quick to toss you onto the mattress, finally mounted on a frame. The comforter flares around you, your head sinking into a pillow as Eddie is quick to remove his jacket and shirt, climbing up the bed between your legs, “Gonna have you chanting my name like a goddamn prayer, sweetheart.” 

He removes your pajamas as he has a thousand times before, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. You find yourself squirming, trying to help him pull off the flannel pants and t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet, but he stops all movements immediately.

He shakes his head, hovering above you, his hair like a curtain around the two of you as your top lip brushes his bottom one and his mint breath fans over your face. “Slow it down for me, yeah? Wanna enjoy this,” he murmurs. 

You obey, stilling below him save for your chest, rising and falling rapidly with waiting breaths. He finally dips down, his pick necklace tickling your collarbones as his mouth covers yours. 

A culmination of three long months is spent into the kiss. All the restless nights, long phone calls, endless yearning. You can tell that he had missed you, longed for you, just as much as you had him. 

It’s languid, the way your body reacts to each of his touches. As far as it was concerned, no time had passed. He does as he had said, taking his time, savoring each kiss he presses down your throat and over your breasts. He’s memorizing each crevice of you, every soft curve he’d dreamt of for 91 days. 

Your squirming resumes when his hot breath reaches your navel, but he doesn’t scold you, bringing his hands to your hips and pressing them down into the mattress. “Let me show you just how much I missed you. Let me take care of you, baby.” 

He’s enjoying it, the sound of your whines a better soundtrack than any of the music that had damaged his eardrums during the tour. His fingers dance over your bare skin, skimming right over the band of your underwear and tracing lines down your thighs. It’s agonizing - the waiting is terrible. 

Terribly worth it, as it turns out.

When he finally decides to speed up his teasing, bringing a finger to brush across your clothed slit, you gasp. Your hands twist into the sheets at each side of you, but he isn’t having it. 

“Now that’s not where those belong,” he mumbles, a hot breath over your panties sending shivers down your spine. He’s quick - his fingers suddenly hook into the waistband, and he’s pulling them down and off over your ankles with an eagerness finally matching your own. He throws them aimlessly to the bedroom floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes recklessly. Neither of you care - you won’t be needing them the rest of the night. 

He settles into the mattress, a leg thrown over each of his shoulders before he grabs your hands and guides them to tangle into his hair. He’s still taking his time, sucking his way up your inner thighs and leaving flowering bruises in his wake. Once he reaches where you want him to most, where you’re aching for him so pitifully, he pauses.

He repeats his earlier words, “God, I’ve missed you.”

He takes you by surprise as he dives right in, tongue flattening and licking a long stride up, starting at your entrance. His nose bumps over your clit before his tongue begins to dance circles, painting a secret language between the two of you over the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of his hands joins him, middle finger circling your entrance slowly before he presses in. He sets a pace quickly, pumping the finger a few times, tongue working magic, before he adds a second one. They curl with intention, pressing into the spongy spot of your walls that he knew like the back of his hand. It’s the exact spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

He pulls back his mouth, fingers continuing to pump and curl vigorously as he looks up at you dreamily. He eases one of his arms over your hips, pressing down, holding you in place. 

He’s a dream. A goddamn dream. He’s finally here, looking up at you, grinning like a Devil as he watches you unravel at his hand. 

“So pretty. Always so, so beautiful, but especially like this,” he says more to himself, but you hear him, a moan falling from your lips. His mouth returns to you, lips latching onto your clit, sucking harshly. 

“Fuck,” you breathe into the still air of your apartment room, not caring if the neighbors hear but your chest too heavy to grow much louder, head fuzzy and all-consumed by him, “Eddie.”

He was right. His name falls from your mouth in pants, chanting to him as if he were your God. 

It only spurs him on, fingers working expertly as he alternates between sucking and lapping at your clit. You can hear how wet you are for him, how close you are before the knot forms in your abdomen. 

“Oh my God- Oh, fuck. Right there,” your hips buck involuntarily into his face, and he loosens his grip on your hips, letting you, “I’m gonna…G-Gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he encourages, fingers curling harshly, “Cum on my face, baby. Do it.”

He puts his tongue back to work, You force your eyes open to catch sight of him, buried in your pussy, admiring how pretty he looked from this angle. The sight of his tousled curls, twisted tightly in your grip as you yank mercilessly, is all it takes for you to finally come undone. 

A broken prayer, repeated over and over as a warmth rushes over you. Your vision goes white, eyes tightly screwed shut, toes curling and thighs clenching over his ears. It doesn’t phase him, continuing his assault until he’s sure you’ve come down. You have to tug on his hair, more intentional this time, to pull him away from you due to how sensitive you grow. 

He rises, letting your legs fall limply against the mattress as he wears a boyish grin on his slick lips. Slowly, he makes his way up to you, back to the virtues of patience as he takes his time to finally kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a bitter sort of sweetness, as he cradles your face. 

“You good?” he gently asks against your lips. You can barely move, nodding lethargically.

“So good,” you croak, a smile breaking out. Your eyes crack open to see him looking down at you with pure adoration, “I missed you.”

You start to run your hand down his chest, reaching the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops you.

“No, not yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Just wanna hold you right now, baby,” he nearly pleads. You can’t deny him, not with his eyes shining like that, so you allow him to fall into place on his side of the bed before you curl up against his bare torso. 

The two of you stay that way for what feels like hours, his arms wrapped around you as he traces out constellations on your bare shoulder blades. Just outside of your solace, a bubble you’ve trapped yourselves in, you can hear the faint call of the city. Honks from cars on the street, shouts from pedestrians, the occasional siren. It’s all background noise to this moment. 

“I have something for you,” he suddenly whispers as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You hum in response, lifting your head lazily. He pats you gently, signaling for you to let him stand before he walks to his discarded jacket by the door. When he returns to your side, he's gripping a small, white box, tied with a scarlet ribbon. 

“A gift?” you ask, excitement helping wake you up as you sit up quickly, “For me?”

“For you,” he affirms, taking a seat beside you. Your knees bump as your hands fumble to take the box from him. A soft glow from one of the restaurants on your street floods between the curtains and into the room, a soft neon pink illuminating your features as you carefully unravel the red ribbon. 

As the silk falls, you hardly can contain your excitement before lifting the lid off the box. 

A necklace. 

Your eyes trace over it, already fawning with appreciation for your boy, but then you catch sight of exactly what the necklace is. 

“Your mom’s ring?” you can’t hide the emotion that shakes the timbre of your voice. It cracks into a million pieces. 

At the end of the delicate silver chain, sits his mother’s ring. The one you hadn’t even noticed missing from his barren right hand. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pulling you in and pressing his lips into your temple. You’re still too stunned, too overcome with a million and one feelings all at once.

“Eddie… I- I can’t… this is-”

“I want you to have it. I think she’d want you to have it, too,” he insists, taking the box from your grasp and lifting the necklace from its cotton cushion, “I know it’s not a lot, but I just… I wanted to get you something that let you know how important you are to me. Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. This is- this is real to me. The kind of real that lasts forever.” 

You can tell he’s growing emotional, too, as his feather light touch brushes your hair to the side, bringing the necklace up around your neck and clasping it securely. When the ring falls to its new home at the base of your neck, cool against your skin, you can feel tears falling. He’s quick to swipe them away, his own watery irises peering into yours. 

“You’re everything to me,” he says this with vindication. With such assuredness it terrifies you, burrows into your bones and claims you. 

In this moment, you know he has forever stained you. There was no washing this mark he has left you off - there would forever be a piece of your heart occupied by the brown-eyed boy in front of you. 

All you can do is lean forward, hands gingerly threading through his bangs as you push them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. A crimson blush spreads across his cheeks and neck at the act of tenderness. 

When you pull back, he immediately lifts his fingers to the necklace he’s just gifted you, fingers careful but determined as they tug you back to him, kissing you with everything in him. He pours his soul, his body, and his heart into it. 

“I love you,” you exhale against his swollen lips. 

“And I love you.” 

You believe him, because he believes himself. That’s the thing about endings - no one sees them coming. 

"The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home. So scarlet, it was maroon."

The next year proves you right. After that tour, Corroded Coffin became a phenomenon. A record deal falls into the boys’ laps quickly, multiple one-off shows selling out locally before the news finally comes that they are officially in the position to record their debut album. 

The two of you celebrate with cheap wine, but it’s as sweet as champagne in your contentment. 

The recording of the album is brutal. Night after night, you attempt to wait up on Eddie, eventually falling victim to drowsiness before he would wake you with his arrival from the studio in the early hours of the morning. You never minded, only happy for his warmth as he crawled right into bed with you, collapsing into you and letting the world melt away. 

Long gone are the days of struggling paycheck-to-paycheck as the boys’ can hardly keep up with printing enough shirts for their shows, merchandise selling out in the handfuls. 

You catch sight of a young girl wearing one of their shirts one day in the grocery store, and can’t help the flood of pride that overtakes your chest. Your boyfriend, your Eddie, was finally having all of his dreams come to fruition; the world was finally seeing him as the rockstar you’d nominated him as since that first night. 

You can tell that it’s tiring. Eddie is exhausted by the time the album is finished, but you can also sense the satisfaction he felt at finally completing it. When the first demo arrived, he wasted no time in electing you to be the first to listen to it. It was an entire ordeal - the two of you ordered your favorite take-out, curling up on your couch and pressing together as the same boombox that had played that mixtape on your first night in your home now plays his songs. 

Your reaction was exactly as he had expected, as he had hoped for. 

You had always been his number one cheerleader through it all. With each new song, you were gushing to him with admiration and reverence. Pointing out lyrics that tugged particularly taut on your heartstrings, praising the guitar solos and vocals he’d worked tirelessly to perfect. You don’t leave a single stone left unturned, claiming this was your new favorite album.

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re really stroking my ego here,” he warns, but his smile shines as brightly as your own. 

“Eddie, this is… this is… it’s fucking incredible!” you cheer, completely at a loss for words. You weren’t exaggerating - to hear all of his hard work paying off, to have watched him grow from covering Metallica in a stuffy garage to this left you starstruck. You were in absolute awe. 

He blushes, playing with his hair and bringing it up to hide his emotional reaction. 

The album could fail. It could become nothing more than a whisper in the night, but the fact that you liked it was all that mattered to him. 

You look at him earnestly, taking his cheeks in your warm and soothing palms, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

And you were. You continued to be. The album was a hit. 

It climbed the charts with ease, just as you expected. Local alternative stations played it on loop. You were sure to hear it at least once during taxi rides, and had even heard it playing softly over the speakers at the gas station on the corner by your apartment complex. Eddie had been with you, and took pleasure in getting to inform the cashier that it was his song playing, his band was on the radio. 

It was New York, so the cashier couldn’t have cared less, but it made you glow with pride. 

But with a hit album came a new slew of responsibilities for the band, including a headlining tour.

The night that the band’s manager called Eddie, informing him they were set to start planning the tour, he’d run into the room, so frantic you were worried something bad had happened. 

“Holy shit!” he yells, causing you to shush him once you recovered from the scare he’d caused you. He ignores you, grabbing you off the bed, lifting you up and spinning you, just like the very first night, “Holy shit! We’re going on tour! A headlining tour! I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar!”

Once you process his news, you become just as animated in his arms, “What? No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way!”

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

You hear banging on the wall from the neighbors, probably shouting at the two of you to quiet down, but neither of you can contain your excitement.

“I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar, baby,” he laughs deliriously, placing you back down so that you’re face-to-face with him, “A rockstar.” 

“You’ve always been a rockstar, pretty boy,” you giggle, cheeks sore with elation, “The rest of the world is just finally getting the memo.”

The planning takes a while. Part of you is grateful, selfishly drinking in and enjoying the time you have left with him before you’re sure he’ll have to leave for an extended period. The names of cities you had never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with once again enter conversations, talks of how far and wide the band would travel becoming Eddie’s favorite topic. 

You’re proud of him, you really are. But reality seeps its way into the crevices. 

What starts as the possibility of a brief, three month tour - something the two of you had already faced and defeated triumphantly - quickly turns into six months. And it doesn’t stop there. Six months could become eight, easily, with adding in a few pit stops to radio stations to guarantee continued radio-play. There’s talks of signings, of meet and greets, of music festivals. The more time given to planning, the more time given for the band’s popularity to grow even more. 

The entire thing expands without consideration, lifting Eddie right up with it, right out of your reach. 

The night before he’s set to leave for tour, your anxieties are getting the best of you. You had helped him pack, going over the list of necessities with him three times too many. He had everything he needed, packed tightly into a suitcase - everything except you. 

That night, you sit on your side of your shared bed, watching Eddie pace with excitement. You feel guilty that your own anticipation can’t quite match his. All you can think about is how long he’ll be gone: eight months, two hundred and forty five days. Five thousand, eight hundred and eighty hours. Over three hundred thousand minutes. You’d done the math. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, “I still can’t believe this is happening.” 

You can’t bring up your insecurity, your fears, to him. Not when he’s so happy. Not when he’s finally getting everything he’d dreamt about for so long, worked so hard for. No, it would be selfish to share your unease at the time and distance about to spread between the two of you.

Besides, you had done it once before. Not on this scale, of course, but you convinced yourself it would work out all the same. He would call as often as he could. He’d be coming home to you. It would pass - it would work out. 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar.”

An echo of the past. A time that felt so far away from the two of you now. This time around, as you say them, you don’t feel the same joy coating your tongue. 

Your tone is supportive, so Eddie doesn’t taste any of the disdain. Later that night, as he’s kissing you, hips rolling to meet yours in a sacred promise, fingers intertwined in yours as you pant each other’s names back and forth, he still doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is euphoria. And he brings you right to it with him, over, and over, and over again. 

Euphoria tastes metallic by the end of it. 

He leaves bruises painted up and down your neck, covering your collarbones and chest like an art piece hanging in the Louvre. You can’t help but wonder how long it will take for his marks to fade, for the physical reminder that he was here and in your arms to disappear from your grasp. 

As he makes love to you, it begins to feel like a goodbye, because it is. 

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does. 

The first month follows similarly to how his first tour did. Nightly phone calls, whispered love confessions and discussions of each other’s day. For a moment, you convince yourself that all of your fears and anxieties had been silly. They almost recede from your mind completely, fading with his love marks on your collarbone. 

But then it begins.

Phone calls become less frequent. Every night because every other night, until they’re eventually weekly. At some point, you only have the privilege of hearing his voice over the line monthly. It is a slow burning fire, turning everything you had built with him to ashes. Conversations that once could drag on for hours turn to ten minute discussions that end in him rushing off the phone, someone on the other end of the line demanding his attention more urgently than you did. 

You can’t even fight it. You need him, but they need him more.

You know you’ve lost him when he stops saying he loves you. It’s subtle, you don’t even believe he’s noticed, but one night’s phone call is cut particularly short, and the end arrives.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says, the line staticky with white noise, making it hard to hear him. 

He’s never felt farther away, and they’re not even on the west coast leg of the tour yet. 

“Oh,” you whisper, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You miss hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?” 

“Of course. Go give ‘em, Hell,” you keep your tone light, but the tears have started to build up across your waterline, “I love you.” 

The line goes dead before you can even finish your sentence. The dial tone echoes back to you, and it doesn’t matter how hard you strain, no words of affection can be deciphered in its deafening ringing. 

That’s when you break.

The flood comes, tears racing down your cheeks as you roll over and clutch the pillow that you’re not even sure was once his. The bed no longer has a clear boundary, a side that belonged to him and a side that belonged to you. It’s all muddled together now. You’re not even sure you’d recognize the smell of his cologne now.

A heart has never broken so quietly. The sobs are there, but no sounds escape your mouth as you whimper. You had always known it would be hard, everyone had warned you, but you had always assumed you could take it, because Eddie would be by your side, hand slotted with yours as it was the two of you against the world. But now you stood in the storm, and the space beside you was eerily empty. It was all a bit much. A gaping hole forms in your chest that night, gory as it bleeds scarlet red for a boy a world away, and you know that there is not a single bandage in the world to heal it.

He doesn’t call back after that, and the hole tears larger. 

There’s a few texts here and there. But none of them ever say the three words you so desperately crave from him. You feel like strangers. 

After two months of radio silence, save for two text messages from him, you’ve made up your mind.

He never calls, so you never tell him. You gather what belongings can be called solely yours, which isn’t many, and you write a letter in your cowardice. You find an apartment on the other side of town. There’s a nice job waiting for you, something that pays better than waitressing. 

You leave your key on the kitchen counter beside a vase with wilted carnations. 

"I wake with your memory over me, that’s a real fucking legacy (it was maroon)."

Six months later, the ache never fades. He calls. When he returns from tour to find an empty apartment, cursive letter calling it quits, he calls. You almost consider changing your number at one point. 

There’s a flood of text messages. Small letters on a shining screen filled with all the words you needed to hear so many months before. All of the things he should have said, now revealed too late. 

You don’t reply, because if you reply, you’ll change your mind.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. That in order for him to achieve what he’d wanted, he couldn’t have someone back home weighing him down. You were a road bump on his path to everything he was destined to be, and this was for the best. 

At some point, he gets the message. You wish he hadn’t, selfishly so, but he does. The phone calls stop. The text messages don’t light up your phone at midnight anymore. You keep up your end of the lease on your once-shared apartment, sending checks to pay your half of the rent until the lease agreement has ended. You have no clue if he moves. Returning to that side of town would simply hurt too much. 

A new normalcy is found. It is a lonely one, but it is one all the same. Sparse phone calls are still exchanged with your friends from Hawkins, but none of them ever bring up Eddie. You’re sure they know, that he had told them, that they had witnessed the aftermath (if there had been any). They were always his friends first, though, and so when the calls dwindle, it doesn’t surprise you. 

It’s a year later when someone mentions his name to you. You had kept up well enough with Corroded Coffin, the last remnants of your past life being something you couldn’t get rid of. You knew they were thriving; they were in the talks of releasing a second album, and going back on tour soon. His name is mentioned when a coworker brings him up. 

They ask you if you want to attend the Corroded Coffin show with them next week. They have a spare ticket and would prefer to not go alone. 

You lie and say you have plans.

But the only plans you have on that bustling night are the ones spent in your apartment. Your one-bedroom apartment is in a nicer part of town, better views out of the window now. When you pull back the curtains, you don’t find a brick wall forever tainted by what once was - you can see the entrance to a music venue that’s sign currently advertises tonight’s show. 

CORRODED COFFIN, ONE NIGHT ONLY - SOLD OUT

You avoid the window at all costs as you get yourself ready for bed that night. Neighbors had already off-handedly warned you it would be a noisy night, claiming you’d feel as if you were at the show yourself based on proximity. On your way home from work, you bought earplugs. 

But the night grows older, a chill in the air as the clock strikes ten, and you can’t help it. You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, earplugs in, only feeling the faint thrumming of intense bass for less than an hour when you finally stand up. You approach the window timidly, scared of what you find. Maybe a ghostly reflection of him, standing in the street, holding up a boombox playing a mixtape of your favorite songs. 

It’s a bitter hopefulness that is full of childish dreams. 

When you stand in your window, curtains pulled back and earplugs finally disregarded on your nightstand, Eddie Munson isn’t standing on the street. All that is there is the neon glow of a red sign that shatters crimson shadows across your cheeks. 

He’s not on the street. He’s too busy on the stage inside, being the rockstar he had always been destined to be. The one he could be now that you had let him go.

All that you see as you look out the window is your own tired reflection, donning nothing but a wine-stained t-shirt and a delicate, silver chain around your neck, a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to return resting heavily between your collarbones. 

"That’s a real fucking legacy to leave."

reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! <3

[xythlia]

getting high with belphie but he's letting you smoke his shit only so he can mess around with you the type of slimeball guy

𓏲 ࣪₊ belphie x f!reader

dregs demon with a fuckass bowl cut plows ur girl (for the sake of this let's pretend smoking would work the same in the devildom as it does irl okie)

— 1k+

— cw : smoking, recreational drug use, sex under the influence, reference to drug induced paranoia, kinda dubcon ish, humping, degradation, fingering, cervix fucking, dumbification, mating press, crying, squirting, creampie

You should've figured Belphie wouldn't invite you to his room for any actual study session. He sat cross legged beside you on the bed, breaking down the weed with careful fingers before packing it, his practiced ease of no surprise to you. Everyone else in the house preferred to pretend they couldn't smell the headiness that regularly clung to the younger sibling, the result of a long abandoned argument.

His eyes flicked away from you, nervous as you watched his tongue slide along the edge. It was a natural instinct to shift closer as the lighter coughed, watching it spark as he sealed the edge with one fluid movement. Clearly rolling a blunt was second nature to him, and you nearly giggle aloud thinking that he should've been dubbed the patron demon of rolling instead of sloth.

It's clear he sees something flash across your face, barely raising an eyebrow at you before leaning back against the pillows. It irks you for a second, the way he looks at you like you've never done this before and says he'll take the first hit. His faux confidence makes you snort in answer nodding anyway as he brings the lighter in close, cupping around the flame as the end lights up deep orange.

On the inhale, as his shoulders roll back, you feel a strange stirring inside your abdomen. He's always had that grubby sort of beauty about him, a slightly rough exterior that melts in the privacy of his room. You lean back against the wall as he offers it to you, eyes barely open but you can see their sharpness as he watches the way you move.

The paper offers a better flavor than you thought it would, a subtle cherry mingling with thick smoke as it glides down your tongue. The throat hit isn't harsh, a pleasant surprise he wasn't using stem filled regs. You close your eyes as it seeps from your lips in a slow exhale, feeling his eyes on you all the while.

You grin at him, earning a smirk from him as he gestures for you to keep it for a bit.

"Trying to put me on the moon?" It's coy, but you don't refuse the extra hit.

"Lightweight." He flashes a smug smile, "you'd be there in what, five minutes?" You laugh, but can't ignore the way your tummy twists while looking at him and you know he notices, desire subtle in the way his tongue slides along his bottom lip. You take another deep drag before passing it back, holding his gaze.

You hate that he's right, in the next few quiet minutes your brain gets fuzzy and your body comfortably warm, like taffy left in the sun to soften. Your movements feel equally slow and stretchy as you turn to face him, leaning in close. Belphie had the same idea, to your surprise as your noses brush and his inhale stutters.

The hesitation in you both is achingly frustrating, so you take the first step, tilting your head to press closer. Your mouth parts easily, offering no resistance as your lips meet and arousal coats your insides like sticky honey.

His hand, warm and urgent, caresses your thigh as his tongue slides against yours. As your mind drifts farther your movements become sloppier, spit slicking your lips as you move to straddle him and his hand cups your ass, kneading the flesh through your sweatpants.

When you finally break away shyness sets in, your fingers curling against his shoulders as he leans back to raise the blunt you forget about back to his lips for a leisurely drag. His head tilted up, making sure to exhale above yours before whispering.

"You look good," the huskiness of it makes butterflies swarm inside your stomach. That hand slides up to your lower back, slightly pushing you to lean back in as his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"I think you'd look better with my dick in your mouth," he barely whispers. It makes you shiver, eyes wide in shock but before you can even process it hes gone. Pulled back simply rubbing that hand up and across your lower back as if nothing had happened.

Gooseflesh prickles across your skin, making you feel almost paranoid, did he even say that?, until those suggestive eyes come back to you and you know it wasn't imaginary. Before you can open your mouth again he's grinding the blunt out, fingers curling beneath the hem of your shirt and ghosting against your sides.

It makes you jump in his hold, inadvertently brushing against his erection.

"You okay?" he asks, fingers going still.

You don't trust yourself enough to talk, head fuzzy with the high and the desire so you simply nod and press yourself back against his chest. It's warm and comfortable, making you long to stretch out like a cat and close your eyes.

That smirk is back and you know he's feeling smug seeing you like this. Gently he guides you to lay on your back, taking care to lift your shirt off before you're fully against the mattress. He follows, tugging his shirt off before pushing himself between your knees, pressing his erection against your clothed cunt making you gasp.

He takes the opportunity to bring his lips back against yours, devouring your gasps and slipping his tongue back into your mouth, sliding over yours until all you can do is claw at his back and take it. He tastes like the rillo, cherry burnt with earthy smoke, and it reignites your body to move. Hips rolling with his in a strange pantomime of sex, the friction of your clothes making your clit throb with every push.

The high makes you bolder, locking your legs around his hips as he grunts, a faint fuck lost in the perfect meld of your mouths, swallowed as if never spoken at all. He breaks from you, resting his forehead against yours as his breathing comes in shallow pants.

You don't let him ease back though, hips rolling once more and making his chest hitch. He ducks down, pressing lips to your throat before a searing nip from his teeth makes you yelp.

"Don't tease," his breath fans hot across your skin, "I'm trying to be nice here."

"Who ever said you were nice," you quip before you can catch yourself.

As he leans back you see a glint of cruelty in his eyes, then feel the sting of his thumb and index that snuck inside your bra to pinch your nipple. It makes you cry out, grabbing his forearm as he huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, I guess I don't have to be," his hand slides down to slip past your sweatpants and the band of your underwear, "When you're already begging to get fucked there's no point."

The whine you let out as his finger flicks against your clit makes embarrassment sear across your skin, proving him right. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him even as you raise your hips so he can slide your bottoms off, and refusing to show that his words made you even more aroused.

"Shit, you got that wet from a little kissing?" He teased, nuzzling his face against your cheek to make you face him again. "You don't gotta tell me I'm right."

Lithe fingers prod at your cunt, making your hips buck as you finally turn your face and whine, pressing needy kisses to his lips. But he's not just going to give you what you want and you can feel the shit eating grin as he kisses you, fingers swiping through your wetness and barely pushing against your hole, it was torturous.

"You're so needy", he coos and you don't even attempt to bite back, reveling in the feeling of his fingers pushing inside you with a slick squelch. As they scissor and stretch your muscles out you pull him back to you, a kiss all teeth and hunger as heat builds in your gut and you squeeze around his fingers.

As you break away to throw your head back against the pillows he withdraws, leaving you to whimper as he rolls his boxers down letting his slim, but not lacking in length, cock spring against his belly. He gives a few short tugs before rubbing the flushed precum slicked head against your pussy.

As he positions his head against your slick hole you moan, anticipation making your adrenaline spike, yet the satisfying stretch doesn't come. Instead he gives shallow thrusts, just the tip, making you pout and stutter your hips to try and guide him inside fully.

It's making you feverish, squirming against the bed as he hovers over you braced on his forearms. You gasp, making him groan as you clench slightly but in one fluid movement he slides inside you and the length of him momentarily makes your head spin. You almost swear he's prodding against your cervix and it steals the air from your lungs.

Belphie doesn't even wait for your adjustment, thrusting into you so harshly it rips a wheezed moan from your throat, hands frantically finding purchase against his back to dig your nails in. It's all you can do to hold on against the jostling of your body as the obscenely wet sound of your cunt dragging him back inside with every outward pull rings in your ears, toes curling and mouth dripping open as the head of his cock kisses your cervix again.

"D'you hear that?" he groans against your shoulder, making you dig your nails into his skin harder for his teasing. But god the sound alone could make you cum, wet sticky slapping as he fucks you hard enough to make you sob. "Aw, is it too much? You gonna cum already?"

If you could speak you'd tell him you hate him, but his mocking only makes the coil wind tighter in your gut. You choke on your own breath, coherent thoughts unraveling as your impending orgasm mingles with the high to leave you mouth agap, high pitched cries cut off by every brutal thrust.

You don't even realize he's trying to kiss you again, only feeling the spit and drool smear into your skin as your legs hook around him, heels pressed harshly into his lower back. It should be impossible but you swear he's hitting a faster pace now, balls slapping heavy against your ass as he fumbles to shove your legs up instead of around him, hands pressing your thighs to fold up so hard you'll surely bruise in the morning.

The orgasm makes you feel blind, sobbing as you grip the backs of your knees only to end up choking around his fingers as they frantically shove inside your mouth. Salty tears slip against your taste buds, everything a blur as you feel a pressure release inside, not even registering the liquid spurting against his abdomen. You clamp around him like a vise, a grip so unwilling to let go it's like your body's begging for him to cum inside.

Teeth sink into the junction of your neck and shoulder, as his hips slam into yours one last time before you feel thick, hot cum flooding your pussy but it doesn't even enter your mind. Too numb and boneless to protest, sniffling as his fingers leave your mouth.

"Damn, you're so messy", he murmurs, helping you bring your legs down as he pulls out, humming as you feel cum leaking out of you. "I'll grab a towel then we're taking a nap."

You huff, basking in the warm glow before finally getting that stretch you longed for earlier, joints creaking and for once you're incredibly glad he's the demon of sloth.

[happy-lemon]

Tyler was nursing a glass of red wine, fretting about how she'd caused the air to be full of spores simply by opening the sealed door in the lab, when someone came up beside her at the bar.

"Jameson on the rocks, please," a male voice said to the bartender. Then, to Tyler, "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Are you asking me if you're capable or are you asking me permission," she said, as she took in his dark hair and broad shoulders. He was handsome and maybe not quite her age, but definitely not too young for her.

"Okay, fine." The corner of his mouth tilted in a grin. "May I buy you a drink?"

Tyler smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you."

He laughed a little as he leaned on the bar and looked at her directly. "I understand you've been asking around about the spores."

"Is this where you shake your fist at me and call me a meddling kid?"

He laughed again, this time a bit louder. "No." He paused, then lowered his voice. "You need a scanner. I can get you one."

"Why would you do that? What's in it for you?"

The man sighed. "I've got a kid back home in Chestnut Ridge. A daughter I haven't seen since I was deployed to this shit hole last year. If I blow the whistle on this whole operation, I'll be court martialed. I'm this fucking close to retirement and I just wanted to collect my pension and live in peace. But if you solve this thing..."

"We can all go home."

He looked down at his drink as he rattled the ice in the glass. "Yeah."

"So, no pressure, then." Tyler said.

"I'm Brennan, by the way," he said. "Sargent Minor Bernard, officially, but you don't have to call me that."

"I'm Tyler Wes—"

"West. You successfully climbed Mt. Komorebi last fall. So impressive," Brennan said. "Do you want to dance?"

"Ummm...sure?"

Tyler slipped off her bar stool and followed Brennan to the open space near the jukebox. He rested his hand on her lower back and pulled her close, swaying with her to the strains of some old Sinatra song.

"Is this so we can talk without people overhearing?" she asked, tilting her face to look at him.

His face was very close to hers, as if he might kiss her.

"Nah," Brennan said. "I just felt like dancing."

"Does your wife know you dance with strange women in the 8 Bells bar?"

"Don't have one of those," he said. "Unless you're volunteering."

Tyler laughed. "I literally just met you."

Brennan shrugged. "Everything starts somewhere."

[writesology]

in which ace gets lost on his way to class. thank the seven his dorm head is there to help him!

+ bonus drabble below the cut <3 happy valentine's to these losers

(takes place post-dorm ace vignette, but before book 2 aka right in the middle of ace's big fat crush on his oblivious dorm head)

"Shit, shit, shit, I'm gonna be late!" Ace dashes past groups of students in the hallway, magic pen gripped tightly in his hands as wind magic swirls around him. "And I don't even know where the hell I'm supposed to-"

"Ace Trappola! What do you think you're doing running in the hallways!" The first-year freezes at the familiar voice (and no, his heart didn't skip a beat) and turns around to find his dorm head glaring at him with crossed arms.

Two weeks ago, seeing Riddle would've added to his pent-up frustration, and he probably would've gotten his magic sealed (or re-sealed) by the end of their interaction. Now, they're at least on good enough terms that Ace has some hope he won't be arriving to class late and collared.

Plus, there are a few upsides to having his dorm head here at this very moment, none of which have to do with how cute he is.

"Dorm head! Sorry, but I really need your help right now," Ace says as he approaches Riddle. "My magic analysis discussion went overtime and then Trein switched his lecture hall last minute, and I was running because I have no idea where room 2408 is, and if I'm not there in five, I'm gonna be late again! Please, you wouldn't let me be late, right?"

Riddle thinks for a second, then nods. "In that case, it can't be helped. Very well, I'll take you there." Ace is just about to cheer and thank his dorm head for the directions, but then Riddle takes his hand and starts leading him down the hallway, effectively making his brain short-circuit.

Holy shit. Riddle's holding his hand.

The touch sends sparks through his fingers and up his arm, until all Ace can think about is the warmth of Riddle's hand in his and how perfectly their hands fit together and-

...he needs to think about something else. If he keeps going with this, Ace is fairly sure he'll burst into a ball of flames, never mind that fire magic is Riddle's specialty and not his, and so the first-year tears his gaze away from their hands and tries to look at the scenery.

Keyword: tries, because his eyes drift back to Riddle again and again. Eventually, he gives up and looks at Riddle's face instead.

His dorm head is saying something, probably about how he should have better manners than to run in the halls, but none of the words are registering in his brain.

Actually, Ace would be surprised if anything could register in his brain with the way he feels all tingly. Maybe he should just skip lecture at this point-

"-ce. Ace!" The first-year blinks, and suddenly Riddle's waving one hand in front of his face with a look of mild concern. "I said we're here. Didn't you hear me?"

"Oh." Ace glances up, and sure enough, they're standing in front of room 2408. "Th-thanks, dorm head."

Riddle frowns, and fuck, that should not look as cute as it does. "Are you alright? You look rather red."

"Fine. I'm fine, thanks." Ace does his best to give a relaxed smile, and thankfully, Riddle believes it.

"Very well. Just be sure to get proper rest if you think you're coming down with something." The first-year shoots a thumbs-up at him, and Riddle nods. "Right then, I'll be-"

"Wait!" His dorm head startles and turns back to look at him, his head tilted questioningly, and Ace internally curses the tremor in his voice. "I, uh... why did you, y'know... take me here yourself? I thought you would've just given me directions or something because you're such a busy guy."

"Well, there was a chance you might have misinterpreted, and then you really would've been late. I can't have one of my dorm members getting lost or being late, so leading you here myself was the only surefire way. And besides, I'm not so busy that I can't help you personally."

The answer is so honest and overwhelmingly Riddle that it almost hurts. "O-okay! Sure. Thanks a ton, dorm head."

"It was my pleasure." Riddle smiles lightly before he turns to leave. "You should head inside. And be sure to pay attention, or you know what's coming."

The smile tips him over the edge, and Ace hurriedly pushes the lecture hall doors open before plopping down in the first empty seat he sees and burying his face in his palms with a groan.

That beautiful boy is going to be the death of him. And Ace doesn't mind it one bit.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| When Girls Telephone Boys ||

Fratt x female reader

Tags/warnings: E 18+ some phone fun while your two favourite guys are working away. Oral (m rec), Bukkake 😁

When he answers your call, hearing Frank's voice always fills you with a warm contentment.

"Hey sweetheart, everythin' alright?"

You smile widens, forever grateful that he always checks in on you.

"Yeah I'm doing fine, just really missing you both. What're you up to?" You ask, the probing, not-so-innocent curiosity dripping from your tone.

"Ah, nothin' much. At a motel for the night, just out the shower."

It's as if he does it on purpose, you're unable to stop your mind conjuring up the image of Frank wet and naked.

"Are you together?"

Matt's laying on the bed in just sweatpants. His fingers twitch when he hears your question over the receiver.

"Yeah." comes Frank's short reply.

"Good. Put me on speaker?"

Frank snorts out a little laugh. "Sure thing darlin'."

"Hi Matty." You call out to him.

The corners of Matt's lips pull up when he detects the layer of mischief there even within your simple greeting.

"Hi sweetie, what can we do for you?"

You hum with a little sense of satisfaction, knowing this was heading in exactly the direction you had hoped. "Just wanted to help you and Frankie relax after your hard night. That's all."

"Mm I see. Well yeah, that would be nice. We miss you honey, wish you were here."

"Oh I know." You pause for a few seconds.

Matt reaches out from the edge of the bed hooking his fingers in the rolled edge of the towel that Frank has wrapped low around his hips and pulls him in between his spread legs, the towel loosening and falling down to puddle on the floor. The taut skin of his stomach is still glistening with droplets of water that gather on Matt's fingers as he trails them down.

"So is he naked?"

You hum, considering the almost endless possibilities.

"Yep."

"On your knees for me Matty."

"Of course."

Frank's eyebrow quirks up and a slow smile spreads across his lips as Matt quickly gets up, switches places with him and sinks down to the floor like he was just waiting for the excuse. Frank places the phone down on the edge of the bed.

His hand cups Matt's jaw and he nuzzles into it. "He always looks so good on his knees, don't he, baby?" Frank notes. His cock bobs before him, the evidence of anticipation there in a perfect clear bead of precum leaking from his slit.

"Go on Matt, I want to hear him make all those pretty noises I like."

Matt wets his lips.

Frank groans in response and closes his eyes as Matt's tongue languidly laps over him, tasting him as he takes him into the soft, wet warmth of his talented mouth.

"Mhnh, shit…"

"You doing okay there, Frank?" You ask, a smile in your voice.

Matt kisses at his shaft, runs his tongue all the way along the prominent vein on the underside, swirling his tongue around his head as he curls his fingers around the base of him and starts jerking him off.

Frank responds with a chuckle that turns into a long, low groan as Matt takes one of his balls into his mouth and sucks.

"Fuck me devil-boy, you know every god damn thing I like, don't ya?"

Matt gives him a quick grin as he pulls off, before sealing his lips back around the swollen head of Frank's thick cock again and sucking him with fervour. He can hear the thumping beat of Frank's pulse loud in his ears and it goads him on.

Frank knows he's not gonna last long if Matt keeps this shit up, he feels too good, looks too fuckin' good. You can hear the strain in his voice as he tells you he's close and asks what you want him to do.

"Paint me a pretty picture, Frankie."

Frank groans, quickly pulling his dick out of Matt's mouth and wrapping his own fist around it, jacking himself off.

"Close your eyes sweetheart," he says, and Matt obeys, tilting his face up towards him and shutting his eyelids just in time.

"Hnngh- oh fuck, fuck!" Frank gasps as he comes, striping thick white lines of his release over Matt's face. It's dripping down the side of his nose, over his parted lips, and down his chin onto his chest which rises and falls with his own clipped breathy moans as he spills over his own fist.

Frank laughs breathlessly as he comes down. "Stay there." He tells Matt, and you hear the rustling as he picks the phone up from the bed, then the electronic 'click' of the camera app.

"Alright, there ya go."

A few moments later your own phone dings with a notification, and you open the picture Frank had sent you. Matt looks gorgeous. A completely fucked out mess, but so pleased with himself. His hair's thoroughly disheveled, some strands hanging over his forehead, cheeks flushed and red, and tongue caught mid-swipe licking over his lips as Frank had snapped him.

"Oh you boys, now I'm never gonna be able to sleep tonight! Thank you for that."

Frank squeezes the last few drops of come from the end of his cock, flicking them right on Matt's waiting tongue.

"Mmm. You're welcome sweetie," Matt calls, "can't wait till we're back home."

Tags (please let me know if you want added or removed, I will probably make a fratt taglist!): @peterman-spideyparker @pastafossa @mattmurdocksscars @mattmurdockspainkink @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass @briefcasejuice @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @imperfxctly-me @murnsondock @stupidthoughtsinwriting @m0nster-fvcker @creatingjana @echos-muses @lazyxsquirrel

@divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @chvoswxtch

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @marvelswh0re @feelmyskinonyourskin @honeyedheartss @evilbubu @nkeiiin @anna-hawk @frankcastlescumslut @reborn-rekall @chellestrash

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 13a

*Warning Adult Content*

Possession - Part 1

I'm going to kiss you now.

Everett isn't that far off from begging for it.

The dark look swirling in Knox's eyes burns brightly, the heat so intense that Everett swears he's beginning to melt from the inside out.

He's more excited about kissing this man than he had been about losing his virginity all those years ago.

That night, which later turned out to be a disappointment, doesn't compare in the slightest to what's happening right now, the scorching result of an attraction that has taken its sweet, sweet time to grow.

Everett told himself again and again that he needed to behave while living at the clubhouse and especially when around Knox.

His body, however, had rejected that ludicrous request every single time.

Why be good when it feels so much better being bad?

Having Knox's hands on him isn't enough.

Everett wants more, so much more.

His chest continues to rise and fall as he breathes heavier, faster, lust having put him in a violent chokehold.

The realization that this isn't a dream, that this is finally happening after weeks of teasing each other, has him scared he'll spontaneously combust before Knox can seal the deal.

The man doesn't look nervous at all, at least not on the outside, so what the fuck is taking him so long to wrap up what he started?

"Do it," Everett whispers, barely able to recognize his own needy voice. "Kiss me, damn it."

His quivering hands grip Knox's waist and slowly travel up his muscular back as if he's scared the man will poof and disappear in the next ten seconds.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Was giving you one last chance to back out," Knox says. "You sure you don't want to take it?"

"No, I'm not going anywhere."

What Everett does take is matters into his own hands.

He tilts his head back, pushes his mouth forward and closes his eyes when he feels their lips touch.

Holy shit.

Occasionally, Everett can be a bit of a dreamer.

But never did he think he'd ever get to experience a moment like this, one he had only seen in movies.

He feels it happen the second after they kiss.

He feels the world shift beneath their feet, pleasure dancing beneath his skin as Knox's tongue wastes little time tasting the inside of his mouth.

Everett, wholly and happily, succumbs to Knox's possession.

He feasts on it.

Drowns in it.

Becomes one with it entirely.

Fuck, does he feel what I'm feeling?

He has to feel it, too.

He has to know.

The kiss begins and ends all too soon as the sound of footsteps slows to a stop beside them.

It's like a bucket of cold water gets poured over Everett when Knox pulls away from him with a deep growl to check out the sudden intrusion.

The man's irritation gradually morphs into anger as he guides Everett behind him before turning around to face one of his brothers.

"Can I help you with something, Mason?" Knox scowls, widening his stance despite there not being a threat. "Because I'm pretty fucking busy here."

"I'll be quick. So I finally have an update on the..." Mason pauses when he catches Everett peeking from behind Knox.

He flashes the boy a friendly smile that Knox immediately disrupts with a low grunt, urging him to keep talking.

"You know what... Uh, just forget it. You two were obviously in the middle of something. I'm sorry for ruining it."

"It's okay..." Everett starts.

"It's not," Knox interrupts, still glaring at Mason.

"Oh my God, can you please chill?" Everett slaps Knox on the arm, then smiles at Mason. "Really. It's okay. We were just, um, talking about what we wanted for dinner tonight."

Mason nods, playing along with the blatant lie.

"Yeah, of course."

Out of all the members that Everett has met up to this point, Mason is the only one who doesn't look like he belongs here.

He's tall and skinny with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes.

His slender body contains not a single piercing or tattoo.

Everett wouldn't stop and walk in the opposite direction if he saw Mason coming his way on the street.

The guy's vibe is more of a surfer boy than member of a dangerous motorcycle club.

Then again, looks can be deceiving.

Everett knows better than to judge a book by its cover.

Mason has clearly put in the work, whatever that consists of, to become a patched member, so he can't be as innocent as he looks.

Everyone living at the clubhouse probably has blood on their hands. Some more than others.

"Hey, listen. I don't want to cause any problems, so..."

Everett steps from behind Knox, trying his best to appear calm and collected despite getting caught red-handed locking lips with, allegedly, the deadliest member of The Fallen Angels.

"I can just leave and give you two a moment alone if it's something important that needs to be discussed in private."

"No."

Knox doesn't give Everett the chance to sneak off.

He grabs him by the hand and tugs him right back to his side.

"We've got other places to be, so Mason will have to wait."

Arching a brow and tilting his head slightly, Knox dares Mason to object.

"Isn't that right?"

"Yeah, man. Whatever you say."

Mason gives them an apologetic look before slowly backing away.

"Just, uh, try to come find me whenever you become available again. I'm going to try to hunt down Pres and tell him what I discovered."

He smirks at Knox once he's a safe enough distance away.

"You two lovebirds have fun and play safely."

"Better watch it, you little shit..." Knox snarls.

Mason sprints off, laughing up a storm before Knox can snatch him up and force his words back down his throat.

"I can't believe this has happened again. Another interruption. I swear we can't get a fucking break around here. It's like they exist to keep us from..." Knox exhales a deep breath, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"Another time, I guess."

Everett giggles and pushes up on his toes to kiss Knox on the cheek.

So not what he had in mind for them minutes ago.

"We should get cleaned up. I feel gross and sticky... but like, not in the good way."

Knox laughs.

"You and your filthy mouth."

"Shut up. I know you like it," Everett smirks.

"Very much," Knox says.

"Let's get out of here before we get another fucking visitor."

[zarnzarn]

"STOLAS!" Blitz skids down next to him, eyes wide with horror. "Are you fucking alright?"

"Ow," Stolas replies dazedly. His leg is twisted under him painfully and his head is throbbing from his truly spectacular fall down the stairs but also he can't really focus on that over- "Dress."

Blitz screws up his face in confusion, then glances down at the black piece he currently has on, hugging his curves beautifully, sewn-on metal pieces clinking slightly as he moves. He's stolen Stolas' starspun cloth again, the constellations embedded within it swirling across the black and shining under the lights of the lamps and chandeliers and the effect is. Overwhelming, to say the least. "What?"

"Dress," Stolas repeats, sounding a little bit like an idiot, probably. "Wow."

Blitz's eyebrows furrow for a moment before going deadpan as he looks back at Stolas. "Stolas. Please tell me you did not just fall down the fucking stairs because of my fucking dress."

"Well."

"Stolas."

"It's a beautiful piece!" He protests. He's quite content staying at this angle, honestly. It's a wonderful view, his boyfriend's growing murderous expression and twitching eye notwithstanding. There's black paint curling over his skin in delicate patterns from the heart tattoo, golden eyes framed by blood-red eyeshadow and dark eyelashes. "I love the-"

His voice cuts off into a mangled squawk as his eyes travel down and land on the belt and it's very familiar centerpiece. "Oh. Is that- Is that my seal?"

Blitz sputters wildly, flagrant crimson spreading across his cheeks. "It- You- Shut up, bitch, we're going to miss our reservation to get inside the club, are you getting up or not?"

"Forget the club," Stolas says feverently, hands over his eyes. He might be having a breakdown. "Please forget the club. Let's go to the bedroom instead."

Blitz barks out a laugh and stands up, the chains hanging from his horns tinkling as he does. Stolas' eyes gravitate towards them and widen as he sees the silver pendants hanging from them- stars and thorn-filled roses. He wonders if there are emotions in life still worth bothering with. "Yeah, not a chance, birdbrain. We've been trying to get in here for fucking months now, I'm not missing it for shit. Come on, don't you want to try something new? Aren't you bored of the same seven hundred toys we use in rotation?"

"Oh, we don't need to have sex," Stolas replies, completely genuine. He's trapped his hands behind his cape so Blitz doesn't see the possessive magic sparking at his talons, very unethical emotions powering it. He very much would like to throw Blitz into his bed and never let him out ever again. "I can just stare at you in that outfit all night."

"Unbelievable," Blitz mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He moves to stand over him, knife-tip stilettos on either side of Stolas' neck, grabbing his face and tilting it from side to side. "Look, are you hurt? Cause if not, we really don't have time for this, we need to start moving. Stols. Stolas. Stolas!"

Stolas is not listening. He is currently staring up his boyfriend's skirt, beak wide open.

"Are you-" his voice cracks midway, "-wearing a garter belt?"

"Wha-" Blitz snatches his dress away, backing away with bright red cheeks and a scandalized glare. "You fucking pervert! Did no one ever fucking tell your spoiled ass that peeping upskirt is bad fucking manners?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Stolas agrees. "Can you take it off?"

"For the love of fuck," Blitz growls, turning around and stomping to the door, like Stolas can't see his tail curled up and the smile he's trying to supress. "I'm leaving!"

"No, I'm coming, coming, wait!" Stolas says, scrambling up and stumbling forward as Blitz yanks open the door. The imp turns to look at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as he almost loses his balance on his sprained ankle and catches himself on the entryway curtains.

Stolas grins sheepishly and Blitz exhales in response, shaking his head with a smile he can't supress. Stolas leans forward for a kiss, playfully running his tongue over black lipstick and giggling as he receives a swat to the arm for it.

"Mess up my makeup before we get there and you've had it," Blitz threatens lovingly. "Now come on, move, we're late."

Blitz turns to open the door further for him, van parked beyond and ready to go. Unfortunately, this also gives him a view of the low, low back of the dress and Stolas promptly walks into said open door at full speed.

"STOLAS!"

They don't make it to the club.

[amaya-writes]

kuroo from haikyuu nsfw prompt “U”

Ask 14 for the Game: Chemical Tension (Masterlist)

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Notes: When you decide to be a nuisance at the lab because of relationship problems Kuroo can't help but make his move. (also why does everyone say Kuroo likes chemistry? anyways I thought it was canon or sm so I went with it.)

Warnings: college au where you both took chemistry, not actually NSFW but kinda? it's like almost smut. reader's ex cheated.

Characters involved: Kuroo Tetsurou

Female reader, you/yours

Kuroo couldn't understand you for the life of him.

Until yesterday you had been perfectly nice to him, in fact, you had been more than happy to casually flirt and throw in your usual pick-up lines, just like you had every other day for the past two years, but today was different.

This wasn't just a bad day or an argument with family, after all, you would be more prone to hiding your emotions in those scenarios.

No, this was different. And Kuroo didn't like different, because whatever it was, it meant you were going to be a standoffish prick for the rest of your project, and he, obviously, wasn't having that.

"I said Hydrocholic acid, not hydrogen chloride."

"Well, why don't you get it yourself then?"

You didn't even bother looking up from your phone as you replied, making him finally bust his final fuse and walk across the table to snatch the device from your hands.

"Hey-"

Kuroo didn't even bother acknowledging the annoyed insults you threw his way, too busy focusing on the chain of text messages you had been staring at for the past hour.

Or rather, the last message you had sent before blocking the number.

I know you cheated on me you dick. We're done.

Oh.

A small scoff slipped from Kuroo's lips as he set down your phone on the table beside you.

"Really? That's it?"

You refused to meet his gaze as he spoke, making Kuroo lean forward and grab onto your chin, tilting it upwards until you were looking at him.

"You're being a bitch because you finally found out that idiot was a sleazy piece of shit?"

Your face morphed through a flurry of emotions before finally settling on one that only made Kuroo's smirk widen.

Anger.

"You little-"

You shoved away as you spoke, making Kuroo's lower back hit the table, yet even as he felt the slight sting of pain he couldn't help but continue feeling amused.

"-you knew?"

Kuroo raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at your question, even going as far as to tilt his head to put on a show of farce innocence.

"That he was fucking that pink girl from Literature?"

Your frown only deepened at his question, but even he could see the way you seemed to calm down the second one of his hands settled on your waist.

"I found out last night too."

"Oh."

You remained silent after that, focusing more on moving your hands off of him than actually speaking.

"You know, it's a good thing he cheated."

His words made you almost automatically look back up at him, making Kuroo almost scoff at how hot-and-cold you were being.

"What?"

He took his time replying, with his hand on your waist pulling you in closer until your knees were almost knocking against the table with his leg in between yours.

"Now I can keep you all to myself."

His lips brushed against yours as he spoke, you were so close he could easily pull you in and kiss you, making you his and sealing your fate with one breathtaking kiss.

It was finally his chance. His turn to make you forget about your idiot boyfriends and show you what you were really worth.

If Kuroo had it his way, he would probably worship you on the very table you leaned against until the chemistry lab, heck that entire wing of the college, was filled with your moans and screams of his name.

If Kuroo had it his way, you would already be on his arm and your meaningless tears and petty little pouts would be replaced with that adorable smile he loved so much.

But even as he felt his dick twitch and heart clench at the thought of treating you as his little princess, Kuroo knew it wasn't the right time yet.

After all, he didn't just want to be some rebound for you.

Kuroo would wait until you were as in love with him as he was with you, and then he would finally give you what you wanted.

After all, if he waited for two years, what was a couple of weeks more?

[usercelestial]

Heyy I don't know if you take prompts still but could you write something about Mickey loving on Ian a whole bunch <3 Thanks

This wasn’t the plan. Not in the slightest.

When Tami asked Mickey to go out and get drinks with her, he wasn’t expecting to get this shit-faced.

Nevertheless, here he is, swaying back and forth in a bar he doesn’t recognize, knocking back beer after beer, only thinking about one particular red-head.

“Mickey!” Tami shouted over the loud music, drunk herself, “Mickey! I hav’ta go to the bathroom, ‘k? Watch my shit,” she stumbles away to the bathroom in her three inch heels while Mickey watches her carefully, making sure no men are creeping on her.

Then he notices a guy staring at him. His immediate inebriated reaction is to sneer, assuming the man wants to fight. Then that little Ian that lives on his shoulder tells him to turn away. And he’s about to do so when he sees a glint in the man’s eyes.

The man walks over to him, sliding into the seat beside him. Mickey slaps his palm over Tami’s drink and pulls it towards him.

“Hey, I’m Michael,” the man juts out a hand.

Mickey eyes him but eventually takes it, “Mickey!” He shouts though he realizes that the music got significantly quieter when the man winces.

“That short for something?” Michael leans onto the table.

“Uh-huh,” Mickey doesn’t elaborate, he just sips his beer while keeping his palm over Tami's cup.

“So, what brings you here?”

Mickey isn’t sure how to answer that, “Well, my friend had a baby, and her boyfriend-partner? They call themselves partners. Anyway, her baby daddy doesn’t drink but Tami-my friend's name is Tami, she’s gorgeous, you probably saw her. She’s super tall but she’s wearing heels so it makes her even taller, it’s insane. She went to the bathroom so I’m watching her stuff so no one like you,” Mickey points his finger at him, almost touching his nose, “does anything creepy.”

Michael stares, “Right, so you’re out with friends-”

“How’d you know that?” Mickey tilts his head, it feels heavy.

“Doesn’t matter. Your friend isn’t my type-”

“No way!”

“You on the other hand, check all my boxes,”

Mickey gasps, he’s not sure what he means but something far away tells him to say, “I’m gay, too!” He laughs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

“Really?” Michael says like he’s discovered something new.

“Ian told me I’d meet other gay guys here. He’s been here before!” He vaguely remembers Ian telling him about it. He told them both to be safe, pecking Mickey on the cheek and taking Freddie from Tami’s arms to babysit him for the night. He also remembers thinking about how cute Ian looked holding little baby Freddie close to his chest like he was the most precious thing in the world-

“Is Ian your friend as well?” Mickey’s not very happy that his thoughts were interrupted but he giggles.

“My very, very best friend. Even better than Tami but shh, don’t tell her that,” he puts his finger to his lips and looks around for Tami again, “Or Ian for that matter. Issa secret.”

Michael chuckles, “My lips are sealed. Have you come here before?”

Mickey shook his head vigorously, “Ian has though, he’s been to a lot of places but that makes him sad so he doesn’t like to talk about it. I don’t like it when he’s sad,” Mickey suddenly feels very sullen, his lips pouting, “I hope he’s not sad right now.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. What about you? Are you having fun?”

Mickey nodded but started to pull out his phone, “I should check in with Ian. He told me to check in with him when we got here. How long have we been here?” He asks Michael, who shrugs.

“You’re not very useful,” Mickey bites his lip and sends a quick text to Ian.

“I can be,” Michael slides closer to him, Mickey thinks his breath stinks. He also thinks back to Ian, cooking dinner right before Tami picked him up. He’s so good at cooking, he’s been getting better at it ever since he started his own garden. He’s good at that too. He’s good at a lot of things.

“Ian’s great at cooking!” He shouts again, Michael’s face scrunches up. Mickey takes it to mean he doesn’t believe him, “It’s true! You should fucking taste his cooking, he’s amazing at it. He grows tomatoes and basil and shit in our garden. He has the greenest thumb on the South-err, shit, Westside. He can cook anything, I mean it!” Mickey nods, sure of himself.

“That’s nice. Uh, so-”

“He’s so good at so many things! He used to be an EMT, did you know that?”

Michael shakes his head, “I did not,” his face falls, like he’s disappointed. It reminds Mickey of something else.

“He’s good at making people smile, too. Not just laugh, like a real smile. It’s like-like,” he burps, “A gift. He’s like sunshine! Or a puppy, or cake. Oh! He used to be an EMT, real official and shit, he used to save people! I didn’t get to see it, but when he talks about it, his face lights up and gets so happy, you know?”

Michael nods, “So what do you do for work?”

Mickey shakes his head, “He’s trying to get his job back. I mean, he doesn’t want to tell me that, but I know, you know? I’ve known the fucker for eleven years, of course I know when he’s sad. I don’t like it when he’s sad.”

“So, you’ve said.”

“And-and I want him to get the job back but-we work together, by the way-I don’t wanna stop working with him. But you should see him-he’s so happy. Do you wanna see my favorite picture of him?”

Before Michael can decline, Mickey’s pulling up a picture on his phone. It depicts Ian, topless, laying out by the pool underneath the sun. He’s scrunching his nose up and peering at the camera, smiling,“I love this one. Oh, I have other good ones, too, but those are just for me.”

Michael nods, “That’s great-”

“Hey!” A loud, familiar voice rings through the air. Mickey turns to see Tami, throwing an arm over Mickey’s shoulder, “Are you ready? I’m ready,” Tami pulls on her coat.

Michael shrugs his shoulders and perks up, “Hey, do you think I could get your number?” Maybe we could hook up sometime?”

“Gross!” Mickey screams, looking around to Tami, who snickers.

“Sorry,” she says, also obnoxiously loud, “This one’ssss taken.”

“Uh huh, by my stupid redhead,” Mickey closes his eyes and leans on Tami for support, “He’s so stupid, and petty,” he giggles again, “And smart and charming. And strong, did you know he can fucking pick me up?” Tami shakes her head in disgust, “Ahh, he can and it’s so hot. Bet Lip couldn’t do that.”

“Call Ian to pick us up, I don’t think I can walk,” Tami pulls back and tugs Mickey with him.

“Bye,” Mickey waves back at Michael who sits slumped over and frowning.

Mickey dials Ian, who picks up immediately, “You picked up!” Mickey says fondly into the phone.

“Course I did, you sound drunk, are you okay?” Ian’s voice, while hushed, raises slightly, “I’m at Lip’s right now, dropping off Freddie. Do you need me to pick you up?”

Mickey nods and when Ian doesn’t answer, Tami says, “You need to speak into the phone, idiot. He can’t hear you nodding.”

“Fuck off, asshole. He can, like, read my mind, can’t you, Ian? Cause you’re better than Tami’s stupid life partner or whatever the fuck.”

Tami punches his shoulder and he punches right back. They continue play-fighting until Ian speaks again, “Stay where you are. I’ll come pick you guys up, alright?”

Mickey nods again and Tami rolls her eyes.

They wait almost ten minutes until Ian drives up to the side of the street, “Need a lift?” Ian walks over and helps them both in the car. Mickey gushes over how sweet Ian is for picking them up while Tami asks about Freddie.

“You’re so pretty, did you know that?” Mickey asks, tracing Ian’s jawline as they drop Tami off.

“Gross,” Tami says as she gets out of the car.

“You’re just jealous cause your boyfriend looks like a frog,” Mickey says, a bit rudely even in his own opinion.

“God, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Ian sighs.

“Am not!” Mickey crosses his arms, “Fine, whatever, you’re ugly, too,” they wait a few beats in silence, “No, wait, I’m sorry, don’t be mad.”

“‘M not mad, baby,” Ian says gently.

“Mhm, love that about you,” Mickey closes his eyes and reaches over clumsily, grabbing at Ian’s hand and playing with his fingertips, “You’re so sweet, too sweet sometimes but that’s okay. I like it, it suits you, like you were made to be nice and shit,” he’s not sure what he’s talking about but he doesn’t want to stop, “You were made to be an paramedic or whatever the fuck. You were made to help people, and be kind to them, and be happy ‘cause, like, you make me happy, you know that?” Mickey looks up to Ian, he’s tearful and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Why are you crying?” Mickey hugs Ian’s hand to his chest, “I don’t like it when you’re sad, please don’t be sad.”

Ian laughs breathlessly, “I’m not sad, honey, I just- I love you, Mickey.”

Mickey smiles, squeezing Ian’s arms tighter, “‘Love you, too, Gallagher. Love everything about you.”

[nessaxc]

___________________________________

Romance Me || Gojo Satoru

You break up with Gojo because he isn't giving you what you need in the relationship. And when you get a rebound, Gojo isn't too happy about that.

~ Words: 3.7k

~ NSFW 18+

___________________________________

You broke up with Gojo months ago simply because you weren't getting what you needed from the relationship. It was lacking heavily in the romance department, like was it so much to ask for him to be romantic once in a while? Maybe a candle lit dinner? For him to send you flowers and chocolates? Though, you shouldn't have been surprised, this was Satoru Gojo we were talking about, romance wasn't in his vocabulary.

At first your relationship with him was fun and exciting, and the sex was amazing and he was so adventurous in the bedroom, there was literally nothing he wasn't willing to try, which was one of the many things you adored about him. You just felt like the relationship wasn't going anywhere, and sure fighting curses in the city was exhilarating and having sex in his car was thrilling but you wanted more than just being destructive with one another. Maybe a relationship with Gojo was doomed to fail from the start, but you still hoped that maybe he would have a change of heart and start treating you the way you deserved to be treated.

He didn't take the breakup very well, you knew he wouldn't, and he was quick to flip the situation around and act like he was the one that broke it off when that clearly wasn't what happened. When you explained why you were choosing to break up with him, he didn't understand, he believed because you were a Jujutsu Sorcerer, a word like romance wasn't in your vocabulary either, but there was a lot more to you than being a fellow sorcerer.

Because you wanted to show Gojo what he was missing, you found yourself a rebound and started flaunting him off to the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, making sure to hold hands with him and kiss one another while Gojo was in the same room, just to provoke him. The sorcerer welcomed your new boyfriend with open arms, allowing you to invite him over whenever you wanted as long as he followed orders of course, which got under Gojo’s skin even more, because not only did he have to hear you talk about him all day, but he had to see you two together being all lovey-dovey with one another. Gojo knew that you couldn't care less about this new rebound of yours, that you were just keeping him around merely to make him jealous, and he found that he loathed seeing another man touch you and be in the same proximity as you. You were supposed to be his, and only his, and the thought of someone else in your bed made him feel sick, it made Gojo want to tear this guy limb from limb, and he would do just that after he got you back.

One night after you and your new boyfriend were spending some heated alone time together (and you two were sure to make a ton of noise so Gojo could hear everything) you went downstairs with him to open the door for him and to exchange sappy goodbyes before he left the building. You closed the door with a loud bang before you made your way back upstairs to your room. When you returned to your room, you saw Gojo sitting comfortably on your bed, sitting cross legged, humming away a tune as he waited for you to come back.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" you asked with narrowed eyes, annoyance evident in your tone. "You know me and my boyfriend just had sex on that bed, right?" you added with a snort.

"So you replace me for that piece of shit?" he rasped, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"I guess so, he's so much more romantic and sweet, and he knows exactly how to make me happy," you said as you dreamily sighed, taking a seat on a chair across the bed as you looked at him.

"Tell me you didn't let him come inside you," he replied gruffly, his tone threatening and dripping with venom as the mental image crossed his mind.

"You have no business knowing that, so I don't need to answer any of your invasive questions," you told him before you added with a wide smile, "but what I can tell you is that he has a bigger dick than you, and he's way better in bed than you, he's got more experience," you lied, shrugging your shoulders, relishing in the fact how overwrought he was with jealousy.

He merely laughed at your response, knowing that you weren't being honest with him or yourself, "Oh Y/N, don't lie to me and yourself, I bet he can't even make you come," he said with a forced smile stretched across his face in attempt to hide some of his anger. "C'mon, we both know you're just using him because you're not with me anymore, it's so obvious it's pathetic, and there's no way in hell that shithead can really make you happy."

"Oh of course he does, like I said he has a ton of experience and he knows exactly how I like it," you lied again with a smug smile stuck on your face. "Someone sounds jealous," you taunted in a sing-song tone.

"Oh yeah? Sure he does," he spat as he sneered, and in one quick motion he removed himself from his position on the bed and you stood up from the chair as well when he stepped towards you, standing face to face with you. "What makes you think I'm jealous anyway? I don't give a shit if he fucked you," he continued in a harsh tone, each word laced with acrimony.

"Really now? Sure sounds like it," you mocked with a curl of your lip, "I didn't think you were the jealous type."

"That's cause I'm not, your little boy toy just fucking vexes me," he snarled as he took another step towards you, so close now that his hot breath was fanning over your mouth, sending a tingle down your spine as your gaze remained unwavering upon his. You could see every twitch of his features, he was sick with envy, that much was clear. His hands were at his sides, clenching and unclenching in frustration as you continued to look at him with that self-satisfied smile.

"Tell me then, why does he vex you?" you asked, playing dumb, tilting your head to the side as you waited for his answer. You expected him to start cursing you out but instead he grabbed a fistful of your hair until you were both looking each other directly in the eye, barely a distance between you two. He crashed his lips into yours, devouring you in the ruthless kiss you had come to know so well. When you felt his tongue retract to plunge further, you bit down hard on his lower lip. You heard him intake a sharp breath, a low, guttural growl vibrating deep as you crushed your lips upon his, without a care if you hurt him or not, teeth knocking and noses bumping from the rush of the kiss. His hands groped around your hips, his fingers digging hard under your skirt and into your pantyhose, tearing the fabric as he lifted you by your ass, slamming you back against the wall, forcing your legs apart and hooking them around his waist.

"I fucking hate it when people touch what's mine," he breathed heavily against your mouth, "you're mine, Y/N, you don't belong to anyone else," his tone was raspy and threatening as he growled possessively.

"Now that sounded romantic," you hummed, and he smirked against your lips as he continued to press his pair insistently upon yours.

Your nails started to scratch and dig into his back, leaving streaks of pale, pink lines, making him groan into your mouth. You bit his lower lip hard and held him close to you as you ground against him feverishly. He panted hard against your mouth before turning his attention to your neck, biting and sucking hard, making you yelp out from the stinging sensations that spread across your whole body. It wasn't long until you got your revenge and started to bite and pull on his jaw, lips and chin, continuing the assault on his neck and shoulder.

You could feel his member hardening as he pinned you with his body. He was suffocating you, and every time you attempted to come up for air, he denied you. You were tasting blood, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your own.

Finally managing to grab a fistful of his hair, you pulled him back as you both gasped for air. Fresh blood was smeared across his mouth, it was blended with your lip-gloss like a stain. It was rough and perfect, just the way you liked it. He knew exactly how to suck you right back in. You both remained this way for what might have been mere minutes, but it felt like an eternity. His bright blue eyes were burning and intense, a wry grin playing in between each breath.

His tongue languidly licked the blood from his lower lip before he leaned in just beneath your jaw, biting hard into the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth piercing it. You emitted a loud moan, bucking and grinding down into his hips as you felt him sucking and pulling you tighter to him, crushing your breasts against him. You were convinced he was trying to tear your flesh from your bone, until he finally released his seal with a loud pop.

"If I have to keep branding you until you remember who you belong to," he started, his voice gravelly against the bruise already forming and blending into your neck as you felt his hand drawing down your thigh, tearing the skirt off along the way. "I will."

"That's more like it," you purred. You were both tearing off the other's clothes in a frenzy, tossing aside the articles of clothing across the room in your haste. When you were both completely bare, he hoisted you up by your ass, and you clung to him before he dropped you down on the bed. He was quick to crawl atop you, and he pushed your legs aside with a hand, seeking out the scorching heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched as his thumb dipped between your dripping folds, parting you as he spread the wetness gathered there, your hips jutting out impatiently against his touch for more contact, "so wet for me, and only for me, you're not allowed to be like this for anyone else," he cursed hoarsely, his voice raw with his need for you. His fingers danced against your sex, palm pressing into your engorged clit, earning him a mewl of pleasure.

You threw your head back against the bed, your body arching into his touch to give him better access to the place you needed him most. You released a sharp intake of breath when he sunk two of his long fingers into your tight wet heat, his palm brushing against your clit as his lips dropped to your heaving bosom while his fingers worked over you at a maddening pace, turning you into a whimpering wanton mess beneath him.

You were putty in his hands, your body molding itself to his talented fingers with a drawn out moan. Gojo groaned at the feeling of your slick walls wrapping so deliciously against his digits, and his hard member was throbbing as he thought about how all he wanted was to take you the way he used to. You rocked your hips against his probing fingers, your eyes squeezing shut with pleasure, body begging him to pick up his pace within you. He was quick to comply, his fingers meeting your thrusts before curving them inside of you, making you cry out as you called his name in unadulterated praise.

His fingers surged into you as he rolled his wrist repeatedly against your clit, bringing his forehead to your own, his nose brushing upon your own, lips inches from yours as he groaned, "Come for me, baby, I want you to come for me, just like you used to."

He sucked your swollen lip into his mouth, leading with his chin as he listened to your strangled plea for mercy, making him chuckle in amusement.

"Come on, come for me, Y/N," he drawled out, scissoring his fingers inside of you as you moaned shamelessly, your toes curling in anticipation for the release you so desperately craved. "Come for me," he repeated, his gaze flitting to your closed lids as he watched you fall apart from his ministrations. With one more rapid and harsh thrust of his skilled fingers, you moaned his name out as you came, completely soaking them with your juices.

He smirked proudly, slipping his fingers from your quivering walls which instantly made you whimper in protest. He lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking his drenched fingers between his lips to taste your sweet essence. Your body heaved against the mattress, watching intently as he tasted you, licking your lips as you heard his moan of approval, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"Mmm, it's just like I remembered it," he purred.

He released his fingers after he was sure he got every last drop, there was a wicked gleam in his eye before he lowered his lips to your nipple, taking it greedily within his hot mouth. He tortured the flesh with his tongue and mouth, alternating between nipping and sucking as his hand worked at the other, pinching and twisting. He smirked against your bud as you moaned encouragingly, spurring him on. He released you, his hand and mouth switching places, sucking upon one and thumbing the other, making you emit moan after moan.

"Only I get to touch you now, no other fucker touches what's mine, you hear me?" he rasped, growling deep from his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core as he once again wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sinking his teeth into it and making your whole body tremble with the harsh treatment.

You rocked your hips desperately against him which made him let out a strangled sound around your nipple. "Satoru," you whispered breathlessly, your head thrashing about against the sheets, his mouth and fingers completely relentless. "Please fuck me, already, stop wasting time, fuck I need you."

"That's the spirit baby," he cooed before he asked in a taunting tone, "and where do you need me exactly?"

His eyes were dark and hooded as he looked upon your flushed face, red coloring your cheeks, his warm breath hitting your tender, wet flesh, making you whimper and keen. "You miss me, don't you? You miss me filling you up, fucking you senseless into this mattress like I used to, huh? Tell me Y/N, you need to tell me," he demanded as he bumped his hips against yours, teasing you mercilessly.

"Yes, yes I miss you, I miss us, I just want to feel you inside me again," you admitted through a ragged breath. His lips curled into a smug, amused smirk, his eyes shining with dark intent. You couldn't wait any longer, you just wanted to feel him inside of you again like before.

"Of course you miss me, I knew that shithead was doing a shit job pleasing you," he taunted, "now get on your hands and knees for me," he ordered huskily.

You were quick to comply, positioning yourself on your hands and knees before him, his mouth watering at the sight. He dipped his head down beside yours, his lips pressing against your ear as he whispered, "That's a good girl, fuck, I missed seeing you like this," he told you, moving to take his position behind you. His length was digging deliciously against the curve of your backside, and you curved your spine, wiggling your ass impatiently in his direction, bracing yourself on your forearms and elbows.

"Just like that, you're fucking beautiful," he purred, expressing his approval, his voice dripping with sin. He worked his hand over his rigid shaft in a few jerky movements with his fist, swiping the head of his member against your dripping sex.

"Satoru, oh fuck," you whimpered as your fingers clawed at the sheets beneath you, grabbing and pulling at them in your desperation. He bit back a groan as he felt your wetness come in contact with his head. His hand wrapped around your hip with a bruising grip as he finally thrust into you, sheathing himself into your wet heat with a grunt.

You gasped loudly, eyes shutting instantly and your walls closing in on him the second he slipped inside of you. You buried your head into the sheets as he stretched your inner walls in a way the man you were with never could. "Fuck," he groaned as he started rocking his hips against yours, slamming into you with a brutal, relentless force that had you bucking back up into him.

He gripped your hips tighter as he withdrew, then slowly plunged his member back in, pumping himself in and out at a frantic pace as you writhed and squirmed underneath him.

"So beautiful, who has the bigger dick? That little shithead, or me? And don't lie this time," he taunted through a drawl.

"Satoru! Yours is the biggest," you replied in a moan, mouth open wide as another cry emitted from your lips after a particularly harsh thrust, his way of expressing how much those words pleased him. "You make me feel so good, I can't get enough of your big cock," you whined as you matched the rhythm he set, though you were having trouble keeping up with him, and your hips were stuttering against his as you continued to squeeze his member greedily between your silken walls.

"That's right, and you're mine, all mine, no one's going to take you from me," he whispered as he rammed himself into your quivering, soaked entrance, the slapping of skin ringing in both of your ears. He sighed in relief when he pulled out only to surge right back in, his nails digging harshly into your hips as he yanked them closer, making sure that your whole body would be sore and aching tomorrow and that you wouldn't ever forget how he made you feel.

You moaned into the mattress as he continued to fill you, pounding you into the bed and his balls clapping against your flushed cheeks as you writhed about, fisting the sheets in your hands as tight as you possibly could. You were trembling with each heavy, rapid thrust, and you felt like you were going to combust from the heat that spread across your whole taut body. You breathed heavily as your head tilted to press your cheek against the bed, "Oh, I can't-"

Your words were swallowed by a soft cry, and you felt your walls clamp around his length, your climax threatening to burst within you.

"That's it, I want you to come for me again, come on," he urged, picking his pace up to push you over the edge. He drove himself into you over and over again, his thrusts sloppy and hips stuttering, knowing that his own release wasn't far behind. He was hitting that sweet spot with every single deep plunge, and it had you yelping out his name breathlessly as you trailed your quivering hand down until you found the spot right above where you two were joined to stimulate your engorged clit.

"That's it, touch yourself for me, baby, oh, just like that," he encouraged through a groan.

You rolled your clit around feverishly with shaking fingers as you sought release, pressing into it relentlessly and never ceasing in your movements, flicking and rubbing until you couldn't take it anymore.

With one final harsh thrust, you came with a shout, his name pouring out of your lips as your walls clenched all around his member. You bucked your hips wildly against him, and your release sparked his. He shot his thick seed up within you, filling you up with his warmth, just like he used to, his head falling against your backside as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you fell boneless against the mattress, your arms giving out on you.

He allowed himself to remain sheathed inside of you until he softened, pulling out very slowly, making you hiss between gritted teeth at the sensation. He was quick to roll you around so that you were on your back now as he joined your side, both of you panting heavily and sucking in air desperately after the intensity of your orgasms. You two laid there on the disheveled sheets, silence thick in the air, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat as you stared up at the ceiling.

All of a sudden, Gojo whipped out a dark red rose, twirling the stem between his fingers before he handed it to you with a smile on his lips.

"Thought you would like it," he told you, his voice hoarse. You smiled as you took it, a warm and fuzzy feeling swelling in your chest at the romantic gesture. Perhaps there was more to Gojo than you originally thought. You took a whiff of its aroma before you turned to him and gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, I will give it some water," you replied with a chortle before you placed it on your bedside table.

"You're mine. And I'm yours. Understand?" he told you breathlessly. He reached his hand out to grab yours, entwining his fingers through it as he held it up to his mouth, placing a quick peck on it before he pulled away.

You sighed dreamily as you nuzzled your head underneath the crook of his neck, curling up into his body before you replied, soft laughs spilling through small pants, "You so love me, it's official."

He merely laughed in response as he held you close to the warmth of his body, snuggling up to you as you hummed appreciatively. He didn't need to say it for you to know it.

___________________________________

[hoaqins-funk-house]

Springtrap

Yandere

Male Reader

You can read part 1 here 

You can read part 2 here

Part 3; Finale

Spinning your keys around your finger, you go to slip them into the backdoor's lock, finding that turning it was difficult. 

Far too difficult.

"Did someone break in?" You mutter, pulling the key out and beginning the walk around to the other entrance. "Well, if they did I doubt they'd stay long, not with William there."

Entering through the front, you look around the dark establishment, trying to spot if anything had been stolen or otherwise interacted with violently. With a sigh of relief at the sight of everything being normal, you fully step in, making your way through the building and wondering with a disgusted expression how William was able to walk through this place barefoot.

Turning the corner that allowed you to look into the window of your office, you see your golden-green companion looking at the door with his head tilted, an unrecognizable expression on his face.

"Yeah, the lock's broken for whatever reason." You say, his gaze shifting before his face does.

"Mhm." He walks towards you, stopping a few meters away. "Say, have you thought about me very much?"

Caught off guard by the question, you tilt your head. "Huh?"

"My existence. How I came to be trapped in a suit." He elaborates.

"Not really, to be honest… why?"

He looks into the office window, eyeing that tablet. "The suit, being an original model, incorporated these little devices known as springlocks."

Your brows furrow. You only knew of Springbonnie and Fredbear from random things online, so the inner workings of them was completely unknown to you. 

"The reason why they're called suits; the springlocks pushed back all the little bits of animatronic things that filled them, thus allowing them to be worn by employees. I, as you can tell, was one of them." His gaze shifts back to you. "However, I wasn't when I was subjected to my slow death."

He takes one small step towards you. "It was in a room known as the saferoom- ironic, isn't it- which was invisible to both cameras and the animatronics that walked around."

His lips twitch up. "I hid in there, waiting for them to come near me. When they did, I broke them. They all came, and all of their shells were destroyed."

Shells? Destroying the animatronics?

You watch as he takes another step forward, this one larger. 

"But, the ones inside those shells weren't so easily deterred."

Ones inside…? 

"They chased me. Forced me into hiding in the suit. They wanted revenge; wanted me dead."

He takes a few larger steps, now within arms length. You, however, grow uneasy, stepping back. His eyes stay locked with yours, a soft grin on his lips. 

You truly do look like his prey.

"I don't blame them. After all, who wouldn't want their murderer dead?" 

Your eyes widen as your suspicions are proven correct. When he takes a step forward, you do the same in reverse. If you look away for one moment, he'll catch you. You've seen his speed.

His eyes glow in the dim light, lips curling into a nightmarishly wide grin.

"Oh, it seems you've figured out my big secret. Does it change your view of me? Would you still wake up on top of me so calmly?" He laughs. "Would you still let me rest my head on your hand? Would you still so easily approach me?"

You were wrong last night. Dead wrong.

He's terrifyingly monstrous, even as a human.

"Well, I suppose my last question has already been answered." With a small chuckle, he jolts forward, you ducking to the side right before he could reach you and dashing off. He glances your way during his brief pause, expression horrifyingly giddy.

 His steps are loud behind you, and you only manage to reach cam 6 before arms cage you in against the wall, you turning to face the grinning man as you push yourself up against the wall as if trying to force yourself through it.

He lifts his hand, placing it on your chin and using his thumb to brush over your cheek. "You're too adorable. You really are like… my prey."

God, the fear in your eyes…

His grin widens a bit more, and his hand slips to the front of your chin. You clench your eyes shut, hearing a gruff laugh before his chapped lips connect with your own. You tense, feeling his other hand grip your wrist, applying more and more pressure until you let out a pained noise, him taking the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your eyes stay shut until he finally separates, where you reluctantly open them once more, finding a very satisfied-looking William and a small string of saliva temporarily connecting your tongues. "Don't worry. It's not the end of us after just that." He assures.

The hand previously on your chin shifts to your hip, where his fingers press somewhat harshly against the cloth, holding you in place further. Leaning in once more, he grins at the tiny whimper that escapes you. Redirecting himself, he instead aims for a much more sensitive area.

You let out a gasp as you feel his lips against your neck, quietly hissing as he harshly bites down, his sharp canines drawing blood. After he has his fill of that, he follows it up by sucking on the spots he had just bit, you feeling your heartrate pick up even more. 

The sound of your heavy, stuttering breaths in his ear certainly doesn’t discourage the man.

Still, he leans back, enjoying the sight of your reddened face as you reach up, covering your neck with your free hand. This, of course, wouldn’t be the end, but he needs to save the rest for later. 

He steps back.

His grip on your wrist, while looser than before, is still firm as he begins to walk you back to the hall in front of the office. "Now, I have a little game for us to play. We've done it before, so I won't explain the rules. If you make it to 6, I'll let you leave. But if you don't…" He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at your panicked face, which he responds to with a smile. "Well, I'm sure you can guess."

Standing in front of the entrance to the office, he waits for you to hesitantly enter. 

"As usual, I'll start in the back. Don't even try to escape, it's not gonna work. I broke the lock and that door isn't going to be breaking from anything but power tools."

You give a small nod, eyes shifting to the chair.

"Well, good luck. You'll most definitely need it." 

You don't react to his voice, walking towards the chair as he begins his walk back. 

You turn on your phone, checking the time and finding that fifteen minutes have already passed. 

You can't call for help, if anyone came in they'd be killed by him. If he lived through an endoskeleton being shoved into him, he'll live through pretty much anything.

Still, you text your brother quickly.

You put your phone down, not caring about the wave of notifications that came from him spamming trying to get you to respond.

Pulling the camera pad out, you switch to where he normally starts right as he walks in. He sends a chilling smile up at the camera, eyes eerily glowing within the shadows. 

"Let's begin!" He calls. 

Immediately, your eyes widen as he reaches up, ripping the camera right off of the wall.

You feel your breathing pick up again as your heart pounds out of your chest. 

You aren't going to make it. 

When he dashes into the next room, you lead him back. He snarls. Briefly, before cam 10 gets ripped off of the wall, you see him glance at the vent.

Thankfully, he ignores it, running into the next room before you hit him with the sound again, rebooting audio and cameras tight as they go out. 

"Fuck that guy for making this shit so 'authentic' it breaks down every two seconds!" You mumble to yourself. 

William tears cam 8 down, running out once more. When you manage to catch him, he's in cam 4, and you lead him back with more audio. 

"You won't keep this up, you know! You'll run out of cameras!" He laughs, the sound echoing in the building.

You frown as cam 5 goes out. You lead him back further, hearing the thumping of the vents and quickly switching your cameras to them, sealing off a vent thankfully just in time. His grin drops.

You check the time. 

It's 2. 

5 of 10 cameras have already been torn down, and you are unable to play audio from them.

He gets out of the vent surprisingly quickly, continuing his race to you. 

When he reaches another vent, you block it off before he reaches the end. He rips off a camera that you haven't even used yet upon getting out. As soon as he sees cam 3, he rips it off as well.

You see the first sparks.

You lead him back again, he charges again. 

The cameras start it.

You lead him back again, he charges again.

Soon enough the back half of the building is in flames, swallowing everything and coming for you faster than William could.

You have nowhere to lead him to but right outside your door, and he disappears. 

Completely. 

Not in any cameras, not in any vents, and not in your vision.

The smoke began to pile into your room, so you rip off a sleeve of an old jacket that was left and tie it around your nose and mouth, getting out of your chair to stay lower to the ground.

Frantically, you switch through everything again, continuing to look for him, but turning your head to the sound of a grate both thrown aside. 

He went through the break room.

There, you meet eyes with William, who seems to be doing just fine in the intense heat that fills the attraction.

You quietly gasp, grabbing your throat as smoke fills it even with the makeshift cover. You wince, ripping the cloth off, finding William about three meters from your office. Frantically, you reach towards the vent close button, but when you press it, you hear the sound of failing machinery.

It was broken. 

He broke it the first night, and now you would die because of it.

Blindly grasping for your phone, you send another message to your brother.

'Get fire help' is all you could type out before William pins you to the ground, you barely managing to send it. 

Grabbing your phone out of your hand, William carelessly throws it into the wall, you wincing at the crunching noise. 

"You know, back when I was alive, I did much research on souls. Every soul contains this little thing known as 'Remnant.' Now, Remnant is the only reason I'm alive. There's no way to destroy it, except for fire."

Your eyes widen. 

"This building won't get hot enough to completely destroy our Remnant, so don't worry about that. Still, think of it like a metal. When it gets hot enough, it melts. It can meld into other people's Remnant."

You clench your teeth.

"Of course, there's no way I am going to destroy you. So, instead, I think I'll go with another option." He smirks. 

You can feel your vision get hazy.

"Within this fire I will preserve your warmth, and we will be welded together."

Your lids droop as you feel your breaths become raspy. 

You're going to die to the smoke, not to the fire that roared outside of your office, slowly inching its way in. 

You let out a few more wheezes, feeling lips against your own before your vision goes black.

-

He gets the news less than an hour after he calls the fire department.

His brother, the only immediate family he had left, had died in the fire. 

It doesn't take much thinking to figure out who did it. 

William. 

That man, that murderer, is going to pay.

However long it takes.

-----

i did not plan this out right this part is a lot shorter than it should be but ehh whatever

whoop whoop it is done… I mean I have a sequel planned but either way, this part of the story is done

See ya later :)

[getitinbusan]

I've Got a Coupon (18+)

Part 1

The Valentine Plan:

Yoongi spun his chair. Stretching out his muscles, he let out a huge yawn. 

"What's with the arts and crafts?" 

Multiple shades of red, pink and white craft paper littered the  studio coffee table where you sat. Picking up one of the cut out hearts he smiled fondly. 

"I'm making naughty coupons for Valentine's Day." 

"They must be really dirty considering what you let me do to you regularly. I can't wait to redeem them." 

"It's awfully bold of you to assume they're all for you. If you give them a count I think you'll find there's seven." 

"You do know you're my girl right?" 

"Yes, you remind me of it every couple of days for about 20 minutes." 

"Ouch," he clutched his chest feigning hurt. 

You stood up to let him wrap you in his arms. "Not everyone's as lucky as us Yoongi, it's Valentine's and the boys are lonely." 

"You're too good to them sweetheart,  they're never going to look for their own girlfriends." 

"Are you going to help me cut these out or just stand around distracting me?" 

"You're asking me to help make coupons for my friends to, and I'm just going to assume here, fuck you in procarious ways?"

"Yep, I gave you what you wanted for your birthday now you can give me what I want for Valentine's." 

"How romantic, I can't wait until your mom asks what I gave you."

He sat down at your makeshift workstation. "Fine, pass me the damn scissors." 

February 13th. 

After sending out the group text you stood in the kitchen waiting for everyone to arrive. With dishes of Ramen placed around the huge island, feeding them would be the only way to keep them quiet long enough to explain your plan. 

Clearing your throat you set the large paper filled bowl in front of them. 

"As you all know, tomorrow is Valentine's day." 

There were more than a few sneers and eyerolls before they went back to slurping their noodles. 

"Hey, idiots! If you care to pay attention I'm trying to let you fuck me." 

Jin dropped his chopsticks, Namjoon choked on his water and Yoongi just sat back, arms crossed chuckling at their reaction. 

"So now that I have your attention here's what's going to happen."

Holding up the bowl you tilted it so they could see. 

"Inside each envelope there's a special coupon."

Jungkook reached out to grab one but you swatted his hand away.

"You will all pick one envelope. Inside that envelope is your coupon and your place number. Tomorrow you will each have a 2 hour designated time slot to live out whatever the words on the card mean to you. Any questions?" 

The sweet boys were dumbfounded, jaws slack and eyes wide, while exactly as expected, your dirty boys had mischievous smirks and full blown pupils.

"Can I pick first Noona?"

The others sighed, Jungkook, always eager, reached in to pick before you could answer.

Sliding his finger under the envelope's adhesive he broke the seal. All eyes were on him while he pulled the card out gently. 

"Erotic Movie Night." He read it slowly out loud. "#6 / 7:30" 

"You can watch him beat off, sounds like a good time."

They all laughed at Jin, not necessarily for his quip, but for the way he cracked himself up afterwards."  

"Well, Jungkook can take a break from making me cum everyday if that's what he wants to do."

Leaning over the table you gave his smirking lips a small kiss. 

"Wha?" Taehyung let out in surprise. "This is a thing that happens regularly?" He looked around at the other men to see if they were as surprised as he was. "Just with Jungkook?" 

Yoongi's jaw clicked in aggravation. "Believe it or not I still fit in there somewhere." 

Sensing the tension shift Hobi reached for the bowl, "Well I certainly want a piece of this." 

Tearing it aggressively he yanked it out. "Lap Dance, #2 / 9am!" He raised his brows and smiled. 

"Shit." You swore under your breath, "of course the choreo teacher gets the dance card."

"For the record, I think this is a great idea." Jimin took his. 

"Voyeur, Look but don't touch, number # 3/ 11:30 am."

His face looked disappointed. "I retract my statement. Can I trade? I don't think it's fair that I don't get to touch you." 

"No, no trading. You have until tomorrow so use your imagination to make the best of it and stop whining Jimin." 

Yoongi smiled, enjoying Jimin's disappointment.

"You should be glad she's doing anything for you at all. Why don't you pick mine babe." 

Mixing the remaining envelopes you handed him one. 

"Anywhere you like, #7 / 10 pm. Does that mean a room, or does that mean your mouth?" 

"It means what you want it to mean Yoon, you're creative, figure it out." 

He seemed satisfied. Folding his in half he tucked it into his pocket like he already had a plan.

"Jin why don't you go next." 

You knew Jin was excited but he'd never let it show.

"Naked Chef, # 4/ 2 pm. Do I at least get an apron?" 

Taehyung reached in and took the last envelope. Reading before he shared, he grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

"Trip to the sex shop, #5/ 4:30 pm" 

"Nice, you high fived him. AND you get an extra half hour for travel and shopping time."

"That's so not fair," Jimin pouted. 

Namjoon laughed, "You think it's not fair? I don't even have an envelope." 

He was always the most apprehensive to follow along with these games. You thought he maybe even seemed relieved. 

"That's odd, what number is missing?" 

They all showed each other their cards and counted quietly. 

"One is missing." they quickly sumized in unison. 

"Well then Namjoon I guess you're up first." 

Picking up your bowl you walked away from the kitchen.

"See you all tomorrow."

Series Masterlist

Catch up on the original Studio Sessions here

[author-morgan]

I don't know if you accept requests, if yes, could you write a smut on Ivarr x fem!reader?

maybe the continuation of that work of yours where Ivarr gives flowers to his crush. thank you♥️

here you are! i hope you enjoy it!

Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

TWISTED LAUGHTER FILLS the forest —the morning mist still clinging to the leaves and soil. You press your back against one of the trees, the wide trunk large enough to hide you from your hunter. The air grows still, save for distant birdsong. Branches snap underfoot. Drawing in a slow breath, you dash forward, hiding behind another tree as you listen for footfalls, crunching leaves, and snapping twigs. 

The underbrush rustles behind you, and this time you are not quick enough. An arm wraps around your waist, and you turn to face your hunter. His eyes are a bright blue —the same shade as when bloodlust sets in— and his lips kinked into a wicked smile. Ivarr the Boneless has you ensnared. Anyone else would shit themselves if caught by Ivarr, but not you —no, this was only a game. You lay a hand on his chest, fingertips pressing into his left breast through the thin linen of his tunic. “What are you doing, little bird?” He croons, but his answer is only a taunting smirk as you push away from him, darting back into the mist. 

You watch for his shadowed figure and dance from tree to tree, laughing as he draws nearer. Leaning your head back against a sapling, you smile upward at the heavens —blue sky breaking through the clouds. Ivarr’s footfalls are close. Taking a deep breath, you make a run for it, not quite ready for this game of yours to end so quickly. Ivarr springs into the opening, both his arms snaking around your waist. There will be no escape this time. You twist in his hold, meeting his manic gaze and grin. 

Thinking to distract him, you push yourself close, rising onto the balls of your feet —lips ghosting across his. Ivarr dips his head down, but you pull away. The back-and-forth teasing lasts only a few more seconds before he gives a soft groan, lips firmly meeting yours. His kiss is merciless and demanding. Rough hands trail down your bare arms, around to your back, and down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth when he hoists you up, legs wrapping around his waist —lips never parting until your back hits the nearest tree. 

“Nowhere to run now,” Ivarr whispers at your ear, pinning you to the trunk with his hips, one hand braced on the rough bark next to your head. He tilts your head to the side, a finger trailing across your jaw and down your neck, following the neckline of your dress. The shivers creeping down your spine and turning your skin to gooseflesh sends a thrill through Ivarr. His lips take the same path —nipping and suckling, all of Mercia will know of you and Ivarr given the marks he leaves. 

You press a finger to his lips, keeping him from kissing you again. He can read the look in your lust-darkened eyes. Not here. A hard lesson learned from a previous romp in the woods where you both spent the following days scratching at rashes from stinging nettle. “Ivarr!” You cry as he hoists you over his shoulder, giving your bottom a light slap —laughing as he takes the forest path back to Repton. 

“A glorious hunt,” Ivarr announces as he strides past his brother with you still strung across his shoulder. It is not a new sight to those settled in Repton. Since the last harvest festival, you and Ivarr had not shied away from affection —often playing these games, returning with cornflowers and twigs clinging to your clothes and hair. “Now I go enjoy my spoils.” Ubba Ragnarsson shakes his head, returning his attention to the fading map of Mercia laid out before him. 

Ivarr places you amid the furs and rough-sewn pillows of his canvas bower and quickly sinks to his knees, pushing the skirt of your dress up around your waist like a giddy boy unwrapping a present. Lifting your arms, he rids you of the plain woolen dress and the bindings around your chest. His hands float along your curves until he comes to your breasts, flattening his hands against them. Ivarr groans, palming the mounds of flesh and tweaking your nipples into taut little peaks as his lips drag across your jaw. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, moving your hips against his, gasping at the feeling of him pressing against you through his britches. When his hands slip back to your hips and backside, you lean forward, stroking the patchy scruff on his jaw and scattering short kisses across his neck and scarred chest. “This is payback, isn’t it?” You ask, arching into Ivarr’s touch. He laughs, lips kinked into a smile —you have your answer. 

His hand moves to the sensitive spot between your legs, making sure you can feel every movement he makes. “Ivarr,” you breathe in a heady tone, causing him to grin. He pulls away from your breast and stares up at you, at the building ecstasy in your eyes. Ivarr drags his tongue down your torso, his mouth clamping over your clit, kissing it furiously. Your eyes roll back; you are caught in his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Whimpering, you scratch your hands into his tunic, pulling the fabric upwards. “Ivarr!” you cry, panting. “Oh, please–” But he pulls away again, and you let out a whine. The smirk unfolding across Ivarr’s face is unbearable —his lips glistening with your essence. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Ivarr pulls his tunic off and wiggles out of his britches. He wraps his hands around your ankles —gentle shackles— tugging you closer to the edge of the pallet bed. “Tell me what you want, little bird.” He says, eyes darting across you splayed out beneath him —nipples hard and pink, lovebites blossoming at your shoulder and neck. 

“I want you, Ivarr,” you breathe, tracing one of the runes tattooed on his abdomen until your hand slips further down. Reaching between your bodies, you wrap your fingers around his cock. When he hisses through clenched teeth, you smile. Lips against his as you begin stroking him. It takes a moment before he returns to his senses, and when he does, he pins your hands at the sides of your head. His length is heavy, pressed against your core, and slowly you roll your hips up into his. The look he gives you is meant to scold the action, but you only continue.

He frees one of his hands and slides it lightly between your breasts and down further, lining himself up with you and pushing in slowly. His lips seal over yours and capture your groan of desperation and pleasure as he stretches you. You moan and squirm beneath him, but he has you exactly where he wants you. Ivarr can’t help but swear softly at the feeling of your body around him. 

As he begins to roll his hips, sliding out and then back inside you, he groans at your ear and shifts his weight upwards again, hands pressing yours into a wolf pelt. You’re lost then, lost in the pleasure of his movements, the thrill of the weight of his body on yours as he sets your body and senses alight. His hands are at your breasts, your hips, then one hand is at your clit while the other pulls lightly at your hair. Your hands dig into his shoulders and scratch down his back —the brief jolt of pain spurs Ivarr on. 

It’s only as his fingers are working on your clit and coaxing you towards release that you realize he is moaning your name. It’s soft at first, but his mouth is at your ear, and you can hear it. Ivarr is coming apart inside you, and your name is the one on his lips. You smile and turn your head, catching him off guard in a kiss, legs parting wider and drawing up his sides.

Your toes curl, and what you might have thought was downright impossible became a reality as your orgasm begins to build, coming to a frantic, heated peak quickly that he keeps you at for the entire time he possesses you, holding your thighs tightly so you cannot escape from him. “Ivarr,” your voice sounds foreign to your ears. He wraps an arm around the curve of your waist and brings the both of you to lie on your side, his cock still sliding in and out of you —scarred face twisting as he chases his end with wild abandon. 

His hands are on your back while one of yours rests on his powerful thigh and the other on his cheek. Your mouth falls open as a primitive noise comes from both you and Ivarr, though he stifles the obscene sounds by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. Hips stuttering, he pauses —panting as his cock twitches deep in your heat, but then he gives several more, lazy thrusts before stilling completely and pulling you a little closer. “You,” Ivarr pants through breathy laughter, “have ruined me, woman.” All of Mercia must have known by now Ivarr Ragnarsson had gone soft for a baker and farmer. 

It is not often Ivarr speaks of a defeat so lightly. “Ah–” you smile, running your fingertips along the edge of the tattoo wrapping around his bicep “–so I’ve defeated the great Ivarr the Boneless?” You ask, teasing. Grinning, you careen forward, giving his scarred cheek a quick kiss. 

Ivarr’s blue eyes darken and narrow. He is not one to accept defeat. “I demand a rematch then,” he says, rough hand running up your spine and twisting into your hair. 

You’ve no doubt another round would put him on top in this back-and-forth game, but after running through the woods and being fucked properly, nothing sounds better than curling up with Ivarr for a nap. “What say I bake an apple tart, and we call it even?” You offer, knowing between honey cakes and apple tarts, you could almost always get your way with Ivarr. 

He groans, thinking of the sweet taste of apples and spices baked in a flaky dough —there is still a store of apples from last autumn tucked away below the Repton cathedral. Ivarr’s lips twitch into a smile. The only thing sweeter than your apple tarts was you. “You drive a hard bargain,” he remarks. 

“I’ll let you think it over,” you tell him with a soft laugh and quick kiss before settling your head on his chest. Ivarr glances up at the sunlight streaming in through the seams of his tent and sighs, tracing runes and constellations on your back and shoulder. After a few moments, he glances down at you —fast sleep— and begins to wonder if Ubba’s new dream in England is really so bad after all. 

[taglist: @kvitravn @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam ]

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[swaps55]

Fluffy writing prompt for Sam/Kaidan because I know you're going to need one sooner probably rather than later: HOT CHOCOLATE. With whipped cream? Marshmallows? Who makes it better? Straight or doctored? Do they even like chocolate??? (some people don't - I won't claim to even get that!) Is this an easier battle than coffee??? (ok, so not much of a prompt per se but hopefully something that inspires fluffy writing!)

I am combining this with your winter prompt for whipped cream on the nose. :)

Winter Asks

If y’all don’t use this as an excuse to argue your hot chocolate preferences I have failed as a person. 

~

It’s dark when Shepard comes in from the barn, and the wind is stiff enough to yank the door right out of his hands. Kaidan looks up from his spot sprawled lengthwise across the couch, hiding a smile at the insulted expression on Sam’s face as the door slams shut with a whoosh of frigid air.

“Get outflanked by the wind?”

Shepard mutters under his breath as he shucks off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket. Underneath, much to Kaidan’s delight, is the charcoal sweater he’d picked up a week ago. It looks exactly as good as Kaidan hoped it would, in spite of the piece of straw stuck to Sam’s head and the production he makes out of clearing his nose.

“Why the hell do we live in a place where the air hurts my face?” Shepard demands.

Kaidan raises an eyebrow and tucks the fleece blanket draped over him a little tighter to seal out the cold. “Because I don’t think Echo would do well on a frigate.”

Shepard’s mouth curves in a grin, which only completes the sweater look. Hell, if he ever thinks he’s going to talk Kaidan into living somewhere that doesn’t require winter wear he’s sorely mistaken.

Kaidan doesn’t bother concealing his appreciation as Shepard makes his way over to the couch and kneels down to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, you,” Kaidan says, plucking the piece of straw from his head.

Shepard smiles a tender smile, which dissolves into a fiendish grin when he presses the backs of his knuckles to Kaidan’s cheek. Kaidan yelps in dismay and jerks away.

“How are your hands so cold?”

The grin gets bigger and more shit-eating. “Now you know how it feels, Mr. Necromancy hands.”

Kaidan makes a grab for him, but Shepard’s too quick, chuckling as he gets back to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere. Gonna go make something warm. Be right back.”

“Don’t set the kitchen on fire,” Kaidan calls after him.  

“Fuck you,” Shepard replies affectionately over his shoulder.

“Warm your hands up first.”

Shepard snorts. Kaidan sets his datapad aside and settles back against the arm of the couch, content to listen to Shepard putter in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, shoving something in the microwave. Partly because he sometimes still can’t believe they have this kind of life now, but also because he really can’t put it past Shepard to do structural damage when heating up liquid.

Something does in fact hit the floor with a loud clang, followed by a swift and emphatic, “No fatalities, sitrep normal,” before he continues whatever he’s doing.

Kaidan smiles. So the love of his life can burn water. There had to be a flaw somewhere.

When he returns to the living room, Shepard carries two mugs in his hands and a can of whipped cream tucked under his arm.

“What’s this?” Kaidan asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m going native,” Shepard replies. “Aren’t you proud?” He hands Kaidan one of the mugs. Steam wafts from the rim, carrying the scent of something vaguely chocolate. A dollop of whipped cream floats in the center.  

“You made hot chocolate?” Kaidan asks with genuine surprise.

“Nothing exploded, either.”

He sniffs it suspiciously. “What did you put in it?”

“Coffee grounds and pepper,” Shepard replies, waiting for Kaidan to rearrange himself to make room for company before sitting down beside him. “What do you think I put in it?”

“I’m just impressed you successfully boiled milk.”

Shepard wrinkles his nose. “Like hell. I just used water.”

Kaidan conceals a look of utter dismay before taking a hesitant sip. God, he probably found an instant pack somewhere instead of cocoa powder, too.

“It’s great,” he lies.

Shepard gives him a bemused look. “Uh huh.”

“Really great.”

“Is that so.”

Kaidan takes another tentative sip. “Mmhmm.”

“That’s not what your face says.”

“Oh really?” Kaidan asks with an arched eyebrow. “What does my face say, then?”

Shepard tilts his head. “It says ‘You did this completely wrong and I’m trying very hard not to show you how much I hate it because I love you and don’t want to hurt your feelings because I know you tried and I don’t want to ruin the moment.’”

Kaidan glares at him. “How do you do that.”

“What?” Shepard asks with a grin. “Was I right?”

“How do you do that?”

Kaidan’s nerves hum as Shepard’s corona kindles faintly. “Space magic,” he replies, before kissing Kaidan on the temple and getting to his feet. He offers his hand, static shock nipping Kaidan’s fingers when he takes it. “Come on then. Show me the right way.”

“I’m not that transparent, you know.”

Shepard chuckles, not releasing his hand. “Maybe not to other people.”

Kaidan smiles, wondering if Shepard senses it without looking. Knowing him, he probably does.  

When they reach the kitchen Shepard gestures with one hand before folding his arms across his chest.  

“All right. Impress me with your hot chocolate skills.”

Kaidan rocks on his heels, still feeling a little guilt for not just being able to enjoy the gesture for what it was, so Sam opens the fridge and hands him a container of milk.

“You said something about boiled milk? Which sounds disgusting, but I trust you.”

Kaidan takes it from him with a smirk, then digs out a saucepan. “Not quite boiled, but heated, yeah.”

“What else?”

“Cocoa powder.”

Shepard picks up a packet of instant mix that’s still out on the counter and waves it.

Kaidan shakes his head, chuckling. “No. Real cocoa powder. I have a stash in the pantry. I also need chocolate chips, sugar, and vanilla extract.”

“It’s hot chocolate. Why would you put vanilla in it?”

“It balances the chocolate.”

“This is already too complicated.”

Kaidan kisses him on the cheek on his way to the sugar canister. “Some things are worth a little patience.”

Shepard raises an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating something?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh.”

As Kaidan starts heating milk on the stove Shepard comes up behind him, arms circling his waist. A slow smile spreads across Kaidan’s face as Shepard plants soft kisses against up and down his throat. Kaidan tips his chin to give him better access.

“Something other than hot chocolate catch your eye?” he asks.

“So I like watching you cook. Or…brew. Or whatever. What do you want from me?”

Kaidan leans back into his chest. “More of exactly what you’re doing sounds nice.”

Shepard’s voice rumbles appreciatively in his ear, sending goosebumps down Kaidan’s arm.  

The milk boils over. Kaidan swears under his breath as Shepard laughs and gets a rag. Kaidan dumps the remnants in the sink and starts again, though Shepard does his damndest to derail his efforts a second time. It’s only determination and spite that keeps his concentration on the pot this time, and he adds the cocoa powder, sugar and a dash of vanilla like someone who knows what they’re doing.

“Smells good,” Shepard mumbles, still working on Kaidan’s neck.

“Just wait until I add the peppermint.”

The kissing stops.

“The what now?” Shepard asks, tone guarded.

“Peppermint,” Kaidan repeats, sidestepping to the cabinet where they stash the spices. Kaidan keeps telling himself he’s going to organize them so he can actually find what he’s looking for, but never does. There’s a bottle of peppermint extract in there somewhere. He makes a sound of triumph when he finds it, only to turn around and find Shepard staring at him with narrowed eyes and arms folded across his chest.

“Why the hell would you ruin perfectly good chocolate with peppermint?”

“Why the hell would you pass on an opportunity to put peppermint in chocolate?” Kaidan counters.

“It’s chocolate,” Shepard protests. “Leave it alone.”

Kaidan chuckles. “Since when does the person who would eat plain white rice for the rest of his life have opinions on flavors?”

“Since you tried to put peppermint in my hot chocolate.”  

“My mom likes it with cinnamon and cayenne,” Kaidan says, retrieving a clean set of mugs.

Shepard blinks. “Cayenne…pepper?”

“Yep.”

“I married into the weirdest fucking family.”

Kaidan waggles an eyebrow and prepares to pour into two mugs. “Okay, so you’re a chocolate purist. Fine. I can respect that. But I’m putting peppermint in mine. Where it belongs.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Bite me.”

“If that’s what you want, but doesn’t change the fact you’re wrong.”

Kaidan laughs, which makes Shepard grin. Warmth shoots through Kaidan right to his toes. That fucking grin, with that fucking sweater. Okay, so maybe he has bad taste in hot chocolate, but Kaidan’s still not sure how he ever got this lucky.  

“Important question,” Shepard says, expression turning solemn. “Your stance on whipped cream.”

“That shit in a can?” Kaidan asks, wrinkling his nose. “No. Actual fresh whipped cream? Yes.”

“Well, unless you milked a cow this morning all we have is shit in a can, and if you take whipped cream off the table you might as well just kill me and get it over with.”

“Compromise, then,” Kaidan says, handing him a mug. “We can do shit in a can, but I get to drink my peppermint in peace.”

Shepard takes the mug. “I accept your terms.”

Kaidan stirs the peppermint extract into his own mug, then follows Shepard back into the living room. Before settling in on the couch, he flips on the fireplace. All they need is a little snow and they’ll have a proper winter evening.

Shepard snags the whipped cream can and adds an oversize dollop to his mug while Kaidan shakes his head.

“You are such a snob,” Shepard says.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

In response, Shepard squirts a dab on Kaidan’s nose. Kaidan swipes it off with a finger and rubs it on Sam’s cheek. All-out war nearly ensues until Kaidan wipes it away with a napkin. Eventually he raises an arm up so Sam can duck underneath and nestle against his chest. When they’re settled, Kaidan tugs a blanket across them. Between the flicker and pop of the fire, the damned good cup of hot chocolate – if he does say so himself – and Shepard’s warm body against him, there’s no place Kaidan would rather be.

Kaidan sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes Shepard’s and does the same. Before he can protest, Kaidan turns his head and kisses him, soft, slow and tender.

“Oh, gross,” Shepard mumbles into his mouth, before pulling away with a look of distaste.

“Gross?” Kaidan exclaims. “Did you just kiss me and say gross?”

“You taste like peppermint,” he complains.

Kaidan narrows his eyes, then lunges at him, mashing their lips together and shoving his tongue as far he can into Shepard’s mouth. Shepard sputters, frees himself, and emphatically wipes his mouth, before glaring at Kaidan.

“You are the worst, do you know that?”

“I can’t believe you called kissing me gross. I’m a damned good kisser.”

“You are,” Shepard assures.

“You are lucky it’s me you get to make out with day in and day out.”

“Very.”

They stare at each other.

“Peppermint is gross,” Shepard informs him.

Kaidan’s eyes flick towards the whipped cream can on the coffee table. Shepard intuits his grab for it too late to stop him and Kaidan lands three strikes before Shepard finally deflects. An errant stream of whipped cream arcs through the air and onto the floor to go along with the dollop on Shepard’s nose, in his ear and on his forehead. As the can clatters to the floor Shepard pins Kaidan to the couch by both wrists, hovering over him with a smirk that would have flipped Kaidan’s stomach, had it not been for the cream stuck to his eyelashes.

“You have something on your face,” Kaidan says.

Shepard leans in and kisses him, sloppy and wet, doing his due diligence to share.

“Is that better?” he asks when they part.

Kaidan wipes at the whipped cream now smeared on his own forehead. “Little bit, yeah.”

Shepard grins and kisses a blob off Kaidan’s nose. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“Apparently enough to put up with peppermint.”

“That’s a lot of love, Kaidan.” Shepard tugs them both back upright and readjusts the blanket until they’re comfortably snuggled underneath, then hands Kaidan his hot chocolate before taking his own.  

“This is why we live where the air hurts your face,” Kaidan says, leaning his head against Shepard’s.

Shepard takes another sip and draws Kaidan a little closer. “Peppermint is gross.”

Kaidan smiles. “I love you, too.”