#i think i’ll put it up on ao3 tonight or tomorrow

[romanceyourdemons]

3500 words later. i can finally rest

[moody-alcoholic]

Chapter 1 - The Job.

I just don't know when to stop, if I don't have like 20 projects going at once I get bored. I waited until I had a name though, no longer will I be titling everything 'untitled XYZ fic. It was actually my fiancée who came up with the name.

Work summary: 141 retired and decided to open a delivery company. Only it's not a delivery company, it's a cover for less legal practices. Need a creepy stalker out your life? Someone owes you money? You need to disappear to a new life? Special Delivery Service has got you covered, for a reasonable fee.

Chapter Summary: 5.5k words, Simon x reader, female reader, name used: Dani (this is just personal preference, I don't like using Y/N.) You accept a job offer to work as an office admin for a commercial delivery company. Only the job is not quite as it seems and you come to learn neither are the people you work for.

CW: mentions of abusive ex, alcohol, language, flashbacks of domestic abuse.

masterlist - next

AO3 link

Enjoy <3

You see the job listing towards the bottom of the page: 

Office admin wanted! To start immediately. MUST have a background in logistics.  Send CV to: Price@SDS.co.uk Competitive salary. 

It was short, sweet, to the point and the most promising job posting you had seen all day. You had a background in logistics, you’d just spent the last 3 years working as a supply chain manager. Mainly it was just organising warehouse deliveries but it was experience none the less. You copy the e-mail and send the CV, with a job posting like this you didn’t expect to hear a response back for a few days.

It was already 8pm you’d been applying for jobs all day. You decided to give up for tonight, the sofa and the TV were calling you. You head into the kitchen rummaging through the fridge to see what sad meal you would cook up tonight. You pull out a box of Chinese leftovers, they still smell good. You tip them on a plate throwing it in the microwave as you pour yourself a glass of wine. Turning the TV on channel surfing when your phone starts ringing, you go to pick it up. It’s not a number you know but you swallow your nerves accepting it in case it’s about a job. 

“Hello?” You say.

“Hello is this Dani” A male voice comes through the other end.

“Yeah,” You reply feeling nervous all of a sudden, you sip the wine. 

“You applied for the office admin job?” The voice says back. You have to think for a second, he can’t mean the job you literally applied for less then 10 minutes ago. You look back over at the laptop screen the e-mail still open.

“Hello?” the voice says.

“Yes, sorry yeah, wow I didn’t expect to hear back so quickly.”

“Yeah, we need someone to start immediately, can you come down for an interview tomorrow?” 

“Sure what time?” You ask, you need this job, you need to get back on your feet. 

“I’ll message you the time, and the address.” He says, you hear noise in the background sounds like a door slamming.

“Thank you,” you say as you hear the microwave beep. 

“No problem, see you tomorrow.” He says and hangs up the phone. You take your food out the microwave and flop down on the sofa tuning into whatever soap was playing on the TV. You’re halfway through your food when you get a text with the address and a time. 10am. You copy the address and put it into google, now is a better time then ever to find out about this company. Special Delivery Service, SDS, you don’t know why that makes you chuckle, it makes you think of DFS, the sofa company. The address is close by only a few streets actually, you could walk there in about 20 minutes, that’s convenient at least. From the looks of the website it’s a commercial delivery company. ‘Discretion is our specialty’ it says as you continue reading, there is not much info just how to contact them for a quote. The pictures are mainly stock images bar the logo.

You’d never heard of them before but it’s not exactly like you’re in the market for commercial deliveries, it has good ratings though, that means something. You throw the phone to the side turning back to the TV. This was good, this is a good start it’s what you need to move on, maybe even a fresh start. It feels like the right time, newly out of toxic relationship, made redundant, all in less then a month.

Maybe you could use a nice change of pace, or maybe you would go to the interview tomorrow and it will be a complete waste of time. Either way it’s a step in the right direction and at least your mum will be happy you’ve found a job, you’re pretty sure she was dreading the thought of having to financially support you until you were back on your feet. Now you were definitely hoping the interview would will go well, the thought of having to rely on your mother to support you was the worst. You would rather ask your ex, Lord knows he owes you one. You finish the food and lounge around watching TV until you start to dose off. You peal yourself off the couch heading into bed, a good nights rest will do you good, besides you want to make a good impression tomorrow. 

—————————— 

You get to the building early, it’s sunny weather for once and you can see the large doors to the building flung open. You peak in and see delivery vans, the whole place looks like it was an ex-mechanic shop. A figure catches the corner of your eye, he’s talking to another man walking across the floor, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the shorter man seems enthusiastic about something. Before you can get a better look they disappear out of your line of sight. You look over to what you assume is the customer entrance, and walk in. There is a man sat behind the counter, he seems distracted by something angrily typing on a computer. He sighs as you reach the desk, his eyes flicking up to you, he scoots back in the chair.

“How can I help?” He asks, his demeanour changing, he’s got a nice smile. 

“I’m here for an interview,” You say suddenly feeling nervous. He nods getting up.

“Yeah of course, come through.” He says opening a hidden door in the counter and you walk though. He leads you through to the main room it still smells of fuel, this place definitely used to be a mechanic shop, you can see the covered up pits on the floor where they would access under the cars.

Your attention is drawn to the sound of laughing and you see the two men from earlier stood round a coffee machine. The taller man has his back turned to you while the shorter man is chuckling, hitting the taller man on the back. His eyes move to you, he’s fit, well built, tanned skin, he runs his hand through his slick mohawk, you could have swore he just winked at you. You turn your attention back to the man leading you as you reach a metal staircase.

The second floor-if you can even call it that-is furnished with sofa’s and a kitchenette, you can see a dart board and what looks like a pool table. Looks like a cool place to hangout. You feel bad for not asking the man his name as he leads you an office door. He knocks and you both wait. 

“Come in!” a voice calls, you think you recognise it, its the same person you spoke to on the phone yesterday. The door opens and you walk in. You look at the man sat behind the desk, he looks older then the other people you’ve seen, his beard makes him look older then you suspect for some reason, you can see the bags under his eyes like he could do with long nap.

“Thanks Kyle,” He says as you walk in. Okay, his name was Kyle you’d have to remember that. He nods leaving the room closing the door behind you. The man behind the desk gets up as you walk over to him. He comes round putting his hand out for you to shake it.

“John Price,” he says as he nods at you smiling. You nod back.

“Sit please, coffee? Tea?” He gestures to the chair and walks back round the desk. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” You look up at him smiling as you sit down. His office walls are massive windows looking down on the room below you can see people moving around now opening the back of the vans. You look back up at him as he takes a paper in his hand. 

“3 years as a supply chain manager, studied business in college, pretty impressive.” He says putting the paper back down. 

“Thank you,” you say, not that it’s really that impressive the only reason you did a business course was to make your parents happy. You had no idea what you wanted to do when you finished secondary school. 

“So do you have any experience in warehouse management?” He asks leaning forward on the desk. 

“Well at my last job towards the end, there was a lot of inventory organisation and I was pretty much left in charge of clearing the whole place out before the business went under.” You say, you’re not sure if that’s what he’s expecting, to be honest with the little research you managed to do and the vague job posting you were not sure what to expect. 

“The jobs pretty simple. There are three main aspects, the first is the most important; the clients send us a list of good they need transporting, it’ll be your job to assign it to a driver then create the invoices, paperwork, the system is already pretty automatic. A lot of it is just data entry if I’m being honest.” You smile at him as he continues, so far it seems like a pretty easy job. 

“The second part is when a client sends a special request, the system is not set up to handle them yet so they can come through as errors, with just an e-mail address attached. If you can assign them to someone great if not forward them on to me. The system will let you know if a driver has available delivery slots.” You nod as he finishes, you could handle this, data entry, assigning jobs to people, easy. 

“Sounds good so far.” You reply. He nods. 

“The last part is just your general office admin work, you’ll man the front desk, answer the phone, the boys will tell you if they need supplies ordering that kind of stuff. The hours are standard 9 to 5, 5 days a week, we’re closed Saturday Sunday.” He says spinning round in his chair and taking some paper from the printer. 

“I live close by actually it’s really convenient.” You say. 

“That’s nice, if you want the job I have a contract ready, you can start tomorrow then you’ll have the weekend off.” He says spinning back round straightening the paper out. That’s sudden, the job did say start immediately though, and you really need this job. 

“Of course, that’s great.” You say smiling, hoping he can’t see your hesitation. He pushes the stack of papers towards you, you flick through the first few pages of standard workers rights. 

“You’ll get 2 weeks paid vacation a year, sick leave and maternity leave should you need it kick in after a month of probation.” He explains, pretty standard. You flick through it to the end page with the salary break down. Holy shit! 

“The job requires a certain level of…Discretion.” He explains. “You’re compensated for the inconvenience.” 

“What like I can’t tell people were I work?” You ask confused. He looks at you like he’s trying to think of what to say. 

“We have clients who expect their information to be handled, appropriately. On top of that some of your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.” He says eventually, you frown. That’s strange and he didn’t answer your question. You nod like you understand though, regardless you’ll take the 'hush money.' Especially since you’ll be making more then you’ve never made for what is basically a data entry job, and maybe having to answer the phone a few times. It almost seems to good to be true. You skim over the rest of the legal jargon and company rules. 

“Any questions?” He asks as you pick up a pen, you shake your head and sign both pieces of the paper, then hand it to him. He smiles signing it too and ripping off one of the pages handing it back to you. 

“One last thing.” He says hesitating for a second. “Do you have a criminal record?” 

“No,” you shake your head. He stands nodding and you get up too, as he walks round the desk, heading for the door to his office and you follow him. 

“I’ll get one of the boys to show you round before you leave.” He says opening the door.

“MacTavish!” He calls as you follow him out the room. You watch as a man appears at the bottom of the steps, it’s the guy from earlier who was laughing. He’s defiantly good looking there’s no denying it. 

“Come show our new recruit around.” He nods coming up the stairs. 

“If you have any questions let me know and I’ll e-mail you a full copy of your contract.” John says as he puts his hand out and you shake it. 

“I will thank you,” you smile and he heads back into his office. 

“John MacTavish!” The man says extending his hand out to you, he’s got an accent for a second you look at him confused.

“Another John?” You ask as you shake his hand. 

“Aye, most people call me Johnny though.” He winks. Now you’re sure he winked at you earlier. He walks round you over to the sofa’s and the pool table. 

“This is where we chill out between deliveries, or just in general. Do you play?” He asks pointing at the pool table. 

“Once or twice, at the pub.” You say. You’re still trying to pin his accent, Welsh or Scottish? You’re too embarrassed to ask. He comes back over to you and you see he’s walking with a limp, it’s especially obvious as you follow him down the steps and he has to grip the banister for support. 

“This is were we load the vans up with anything we need, toilets over there and next to them is the store room.” He says pointing to the rooms directly under the upstairs office. There are metal shelves filled with all different kinds of things from basic office supplies to what looks like medical equipment and machinery. The store room door is the only door you’ve seen with a key-code lock on it, makes sense. There is a long table surrounded by chairs and a projector against a far wall. You look over to see another man sat at the table typing on a laptop. 

“This is Simon, Simon Riley.” Johnny says as he takes you over. He’s wearing a hoodie pulled over his head and a black surgical mask. Maybe he’s a clean freak? Or maybe this was what John meant by ‘Your colleagues like to keep their work and home life separate.’ You extend your hand out too him as you approach. 

“Nice to meet you.” You say, he looks up at you for a second. His eyes are beautiful, a dark caramel, thick eyebrows and you can see strands of blonde hair peaking out from under his hood. He shakes your hand, his grip is firm, you swallow hard. He’s giving off a different vibe then the rest of the people you’ve met so far, you almost want to run away from him. 

“Don’t worry about him he’s always grumpy in the morning.” Johnny says leaning into your ear. Simon rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to typing on the laptop. John, Johnny, Simon and Kyle, you repeat the names in your head so they’re burned into your memory. Johnny continues his tour showing you round the main floor, you were right as he explained the building used to be a mechanics until they took it over. Before that it was an abandoned munitions processing plant from the second world war. The building did look old, stylish red brick, huge arched windows that let in a lot of natural light. The doors were even old on rollers, thick and wooden. The more you looked around the more it reminded you of the old workhouses you’d seen in history books. Johnny leads you through to the lobby, the only part of the building that seems to have been renovated in the last 10 years. 

“This is Kyle Garrick, we call him Gaz.” Johnny says as Kyle stands up and you shake his hand. He’s fit too, dark skinned, short hair and he’s got a lovely smile, London accent you can tell he’s local too. 

“This will be where you work.” Johnny says pulling the chair out. 

“I’m sure Price will give you the rundown tomorrow on how the system works, we’re still working on getting it up and running properly.” Johnny says enthusiastically. You nod looking round at the desk, there is a large printer/photocopier in the corner and a plant that looks like it’s seen better days. At least the computer is up to date and honestly you can work with this. 

“So nervous for your first day?” Johnny asks as Kyle sits back down. 

“Not really.” You say smiling. 

“Good lass, that’s what we like to hear!” Johnny says patting you on the shoulder. Scottish, definitely Scottish. Kyle chuckles as he goes back to typing on the computer. You feel like now is the best time to take your leave. You thank Johnny and tell them both you’ll see them tomorrow. 

“Wait a second lass, here.” Johnny reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card.

“Any questions drop me a message.” He smiles. You nod pocketing the card and heading out. You look back at the building as you leave seeing Johnny wave, you wave back awkwardly. Why would anyone care about keeping there home and work life separate when you work for a simple delivery company? You think back to Simon with the mask, maybe he’s just hygienic? Regardless it was a good job, close to home and good pay. You wouldn’t have to rely on your mum or your ex to get you through the month. At least that was a weight off your shoulders.  

—————————— 

Later that evening your mother calls.

“Hey mum.” You say as you reluctantly pick up the call, not really feeling in the mood for her energetic energy, especially after Johnny’s enthusiastic tour.   

“Hey sweetie! I was just thinking about you today and I thought I would call to tell you, Anne from church has a job opening at her son’s restaurant. You know Chris? He works at that nice Italian place, well I said you were looking for a job and Anne said she would put in a good word.” You sigh as you let your mother talk. 

“It’s okay mum I got a job today actually. I went for an interview and they offered me the job on the spot.” You say.

“Oh sweetie that’s amazing where is it?” She asks, you pause, maybe telling your over sharing mother about a job you were warned required discretion was not the best idea. 

“It’s just a small firm in the city centre, they were looking for a logistical analyst.” You say lying through your teeth. 

“Oh well that sounds fancy, I hope it pays well if you’ll have to be trudging into the centre of London everyday.” You hear her chuckle.

“It does mum don’t worry, I start tomorrow actually.” 

“That’s fantastic, I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

“Thanks mum.” You say smiling. There’s a pause on the line.

“Have you spoken to Joe?” She asks, you sigh. 

“No mother I have not spoken to him since we broke up.” You reply bitterly wanting to end the conversation now.  

“He’s been asking about you, you blocked him or ignored him or something but sweetie I think you should talk to him he misses you.” You sigh, of course he’s turned on your mum, your sweet mother who couldn’t hurt a fly and always sees the best in people. Even toxic abusers. 

“I’ll think about it mum, look I have to go I have an early start tomorrow.” You say.

“Okay well get a good rest and good luck for tomorrow I love you.” She says.

“I love you too,” you reply and hang up.

That night you dream of your ex. You’re still with him trapped in the cycle of wake, make him happy, work, make him happy, sleep, repeat. The verbal abuse, the physical abuse, the days he would lock you in the bathroom for hours on end.

You took the lock off the door when he moved out. You’re not sure why it just felt like the right thing to do. You bought a deadbolt for the front door and no longer sleep with the windows open, fearing he could scale the apartment building to get to you. That’s what he does in your dreams, he gets around all the precautions you put in place. You dream of him being in your space, questioning everything you do, insisting on checking your phone and e-mails, even your work ones. Anytime a male’s name came up he would grill you about it for hours, no matter what you said it always felt like he never believed you. But then he would make you feel good, take you to the bedroom and treat you like a princess and it was like he was a different person. 

‘He’s just protective sweetie’ your mother says. ‘He loves you.’ The bruises on your arm would say otherwise, wearing turtle necks in summer became your fashion statement for at least a year. ‘He probably doesn’t mean it have you tried talking to him?’ Your brother was no better, to busy with uni to care, too much of a mans man to understand. He’s gone now though and that’s what you have to remember, it’s easier said then done. 

 —————————— 

The next morning you show up early. Your body feels heavy after the restless night. You walk in seeing John bent over Kyle’s shoulder as their looking at something on the computer behind the counter. 

“Hey, maybe you can figure this out, we’ve been trying to get these documents to copy over and it’s just not working.” Price says as he steps back you walk round watching Kyle trying to drag and drop a file into a folder. An administrative error pops up. 

“Mind if I?” You gesture for Kyle to move he holds his hands up rolling away on the chair as you try again. You’re not the most competent with computers but you could probably figure it out. You try compressing the file first then moving it and it works. 

“What did you do?” Kyle asks.

“I think the file was too big so I compressed it, do you need it sent in an e-mail?” You ask looking at John.

“Yes please if you don’t mind.” You nod. 

“Coffee?” Kyle asks as he gets up out the seat heading into the main building. 

“Yes please.” You say turning to smile at him and pulling the chair over so you can sit down. Price explains how everything works as you get situated. He shows you the documents on the computer for how to answer the phone, and deal with walk in requests. The ‘system’ they have set up for assigning deliveries is basically just a glorified spreadsheet which is good, you can work with that it’s not too far out of your comfort zone. 

“If you have any questions just call, there is a direct line to my office if you press 1 on the phone.” You nod trying to take it all in as Kyle comes back with a cup of coffee. 

“I didn’t know how you took it so I just did milk.” He says. 

“That’s fine thank you.” You reply, as he places it next to you. Then heads back. John tells you again to ask if you need anything then also leaves you too it. You’re looking through the computer making sure you defiantly understand everything when Simon and Johnny walk in. 

“Morning,” you say to them smiling.

“Morning lass, guess we didn’t scare you away yesterday!” Johnny beams, he seems to have too much energy especially compered to Simon who is still sporting his hoodie and mask combo. His eyes lock onto you as he walks through the lobby, his glare sending shivers down your spine. In a strange way, you’re not scared of him, more intrigued. He walks through the counter to the main floor without saying anything. 

“Sorry, he’s a rude bastard when he hasn’t had a coffee yet.” Johnny says.

“It’s okay,” you shake your head. You look through the window into the main floor watching Gaz open the large garage doors out to the street. 

“Hey, if we’re both around at 12 want to get lunch together? I know this great sandwich place down the road my treat!” Johnny says. You nod, he really has a way of putting you at ease with his palpable bubbly energy. 

“Right, I’ll see ya then lass,” he says and he heads through. 

The morning goes quick or maybe it’s because everything feels so new and foreign that it takes you a lot of concentration to make sure you’re doing it right. Before you even try to do anything you’re already calling John in his office about the names, instead of it being Johnny, Simon and Kyle, it’s Gaz, Soap and Ghost. Gaz you remember but the other two it’s a 50/50. John laughs and tells you Soap is Johnny and Ghost is Simon.

Each time you give them a job they stick their heads round the door to pick up the invoice, you try to make it a habit of printing it out as soon as you assign the job, so it’s ready when they come in. You purposely give Simon a job over lunch so Johnny is free, it’s a little cheeky for your first day but you wouldn’t mind spending more time with Johnny. 

When lunch comes around Johnny shows you how to set the phone to go to Price’s office and you both leave. The shop is right round the corner but by this time of the day it’s packed with people on their lunch break, you order your sandwiches to go and head back to work to eat them there. You’re both sat upstairs in on the sofa’s, it is nice up here and you can see down to the floor below you gives you something to watch while you eat. 

“How’s your first day been so far then?” Johnny asks.

“Fine, it’s just getting used to the system that might take a while.” You confess.

“Yeah, you’re doing great though, my jobs have been smooth and easy all day.” He says. You nod. 

“So how did you all meet?” You ask.

“Now that’s a story!” He says sitting up in his chair. 

“We were all military together, SAS.” He says. That explains the company name Special Delivery Service, you chuckle it’s cute, funny now you get it.

“Why’d you quit?” You ask. 

“Our time was up we chose not to re-enlist, it was Simon’s idea to start a delivery company, something easy we could do in retirement.” He says smiling at your interest. 

“Did you ever kill anyone?” You ask, but then immediately regret it, you don’t know if that’s an appropriate question to ask. Johnny just laughs.

“Someone's got to deal with the bad guys.” He says winking. 

“Don’t mean they didn’t fight back. Got a nice fucked up knee to show for it.” Johnny says slapping his left leg. That explains the limp he always has when hes walking. 

“Has John always been your boss?” You ask moving it away from killing people and being shot.

“Price, yeah he was our captain, it just felt right letting him continue to tell us what to do.” Johnny explains, chuckling. You nod listening to him talk about their life in the military, he’s careful not to go too into specifics, but enough for you to understand it seemed like it was quite a dangerous job. Johnny mentioned something about bombs at one point, that’s scary. 

“I bet you travelled a lot though?” You ask finishing your sandwich. 

“Oh yeah! That was one of the perks I guess, been all over the place, met some great people.” Johnny says naming a bunch of countries off. You watch as Simon comes back reversing the van into the bay. He jumps out and heads straight into the store room. That reminded you you needed to ask for the code. Johnny gets up checking his watch and throwing his trash in the bin. 

“Got a delivery to make, I’ll see you later.” He says heading to the stairs. You nod smiling. When you’re done you knock on John’s door before you head downstairs. 

“Come in!” He calls. You go in, for some reason you get this feeling like you’re back at school walking into a teachers office about to ask them for the key to the storage room to get more paper. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks smiling, it almost immediately puts you at ease. 

“Good, I was just wondering, the store room, Johnny showed me yesterday but he didn’t give me the code.” You explain. Price nods his head. 

“You don’t need the code, it’s for the drivers only, it’s where we keep, sensitive equipment.” He explains. You nod feeling heat rush to your cheeks, maybe you should have asked Johnny instead saved yourself the embarrassment of this conversation. 

“Got it, thank you.” You nod leaving the room and closing the door behind you. What kind of sensitive equipment? You hadn’t seen anyone moving anything in or out of there, and you’re pretty sure you saw Simon go in empty handed just now. You’re just more curious then ever. You look down the steps at Simon making his way up with a mug of tea in his hand. You wait until he has reached the top of the stairs before heading down. You smile at him, you can’t tell if he’s smiling back with the mask but you’re assuming he’s not. You make your way back down as he walks into John’s office without knocking. 

The rest of the day seems to go by slower, your mind obsessing over the store room for some reason. It’s like an itch you need to scratch, you find yourself looking over to check it now and again. You get a few of those ‘special request’s’ John warned you about, you try to assign them but it doesn’t work. Clearly the system does not like it so you send them off to John. It’s almost like they’re encrypted, maybe you could figure out how to fix it and stop the system from freezing up every time it happens, a task for next week you think.

Jobs stop coming through around 3 and you spend the last few hours of your shift catching up on the other part of your admin job, then you find yourself cleaning the coffee machine. Johnny and Gaz leave early, apparently this is normal for Friday, you wish them a good weekend as they leave going out the vehicle entrance closing the garage doors behind them. You head to use the bathroom next, as you’re washing your hands you hear the door of the store room beep open and the sound of feet running in and out. You hear it open but you don’t hear it close.

You hold your breath, could it be? It’s open. You’re excited for some reason. You quickly slip out cracking the door. Sure enough the door didn’t fully close it’s stuck on the latch. Your curiosity gets the better of you, you can’t help it. You look round quickly, you don’t see anyone, you don’t hear anyone. You push the door open, it’s dark you can’t see inside. You take a step in and an automatic light flicks on. You gasp as you look around the room. It’s way bigger then you expected, so big there is enough room for a table in the middle. Each part of the wall is covered in weapons, knifes, somethings you don’t even know what they would be but they look scary.

The hairs are standing up on the back of your neck, it’s almost like your fight or flight has kicked in as your eyes widen. There are crates everywhere some open with what look like boxes of ammo. You let out a breath feeling fear rise in you, maybe it was airsoft? You move to look in one of the crates near the entrance. Nope those are real bullets. You shouldn’t have seen this you feel panic rising. This is bad and very illegal. You start to back out the room, slowly you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Your body hits something, not something someone. You hear a sigh. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” It’s Simon. You slowly turn his head is tilted to the side his brow creased as his gaze burns into you. Fuck.

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[scoops-aboy86]

Realize You’re Living (Secret Admirer pt 5)

Steddie Week 2024, July 5: Reunion / exes to lovers or getting back together / Wasted Years by Iron Maiden

Sorry. Not for the delay in posting, I just think I'm gonna get yelled at for reasons.

wc: 2815 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

There isn’t time to send Steve another letter before Friday. 

There isn’t time, not through the mail, and there’s no way Eddie is risking physically putting something in the Harrington’s mailbox himself. That would mean running the risk of someone finding out, and that still ignites an old fear in the most primal part of his brain that screams at him to run. No matter who it is. 

On the other hand, standing Steve up for their phone date is not an option. The very idea makes his insides freeze over. They’ve both had to reassure each other that they want to continue this epistolary romance, Jesus H. Christ—there’s been too much hot and cold already to pull something like that. 

Eddie rolls over on his bed to lay face down and screams into his pillow. It's like they’re in a relationship, except Steve doesn’t even know who he is. It's absurd. An absolute clown town of his own making.

Okay. Okay, no, he can do this. (Can he?) All he has to do is relax and stay calm until tomorrow night. He’ll call at 10:30 on the dot and play Steve some Iron Maiden or something, maybe a little Dio, a smidge of Black Sabbath, throw in a dash of Judas Priest… Basically play the guy a mix tape, live. 

He whips his head up and all but dives for his side table, looking for the tin where he keeps his weed. It’ll help him chill out enough to come up with a song list. And he needs all the chill he can get. He’s lost his mom to cancer, his dad to addiction and prison, and his childhood home with them—he refuses to lose Steve if he has even half a chance of actually having Steve. Because if this whole secret admirer thing is going where he hardly dares to hope it is, this could be the most important mix tape of his entire goddamn life. 

Steve spends all of Friday so on edge that Robin starts threatening to drop banana peels in the circuit he keeps pacing behind the counter. 

“What is with you today, dingus?”

He stops, tapping his foot restlessly and removing his hat so he can rake a hand through his hair. “Nothing, nothing, I… have an important call tonight, is all. I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, is it a pretty girl?” she teases.

“Maybe,” he mutters with a halfhearted shrug. He really still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t seem likely he’ll find out tonight. “I’m not even sure they’ll call. It’s… kind of a blind date sort of thing.”

“A blind phone date?” Robin looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that, which. Fair. “Is that a thing?”

Steve shrugs again. He goes back to pacing. “It might be. I’ll find out tonight I guess.”

She gives him a minute before butting in again, spraying more Windex on the display case to get the lunch rush’s grubby child fingerprints off the cool glass. “...Is this because of the board?”

Again, Steve stops. “What?”

“The You Rule / You Suck board. Have I accidentally degraded your confidence in yourself so much that you’ve turned to blind dates as an alternative to trying to seduce any and every girl who walks in here?” 

Her tone is flippant, but because they’ve been on better terms recently—especially since Steve started offering her rides (and let her take control of the tape deck after that time she threatened to throw all of his Wham! tapes out the window)—he decides to take it as a genuine question. 

“No. Well—No, it’s more the hat than that. It messes up my best feature, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair again, fluffing it up more, then slumps against the back counter next to the milkshake blenders with a sigh. “It’s kind of a pen pal thing. We’ve been talking for a while but we haven’t met, but… I think it might be going somewhere good.”

Robin stops her bored polishing of the display case, only half of the afternoon rush’s smudges and fingerprints wiped away, to laugh with a slight shake of her head. “Oh wow, King Steve is a romantic. Who knew?”

“Not me before junior year, that’s for sure,” he scoffs honestly. 

She studies him thoughtfully for a moment. “Makes sense. Kind of lines up with something I heard the other day, when—”

But then they’re interrupted by a couple strolling in for some ice cream. Robin rushes through cleaning the rest of the glass so as to get out of their way, and Steve scoops and rings them up while she moves on to wiping down tables, conversation forgotten. 

Eddie’s finished his playlist and his plan is to call early. Not too early, just… a minute, five minutes tops. His uncle leaves for work before 10, so he has plenty of time and he’s buzzing with nervous energy. 

Way too much nervous energy to carry into the Big Call tonight. 

By the time Wayne is out the door, Eddie’s already started on rolling a joint and rereading Steve’s letters from start to current. If he’d been smart he would’ve written out copies of his own for a more complete read, that in depth analysis his English teachers never shut up about… but alas. 

Usually his memory is pretty good, especially when it comes to his own work. He also hadn’t expected this to go on as long as it had; not really. But now he can hardly imagine what it would be like to know Steve only from a distance anymore and that… colors things. Fuck only knows what he’s remembering wrong because of a simple difference in perspective. 

Because Steve has let him in, Eddie acknowledges as he lines the weed up on the paper. He’s written things about his home life, about his old friends, and definitely about his injuries over the past couple years (though oddly enough never much about what actually caused them) that Eddie would bet good money that no one else knows, if only because Steve doesn’t seem to have anyone else to tell. Maybe those kids he babysits (begrudgingly but genuinely dotes on, Eddie’s seen it from a distance). But really, how much can you realistically talk to a thirteen year old? Eddie remembers being thirteen; he hadn’t listened to anyone for shit. It was a miracle Wayne hadn’t just released him into the woods like a wild animal. 

And all Eddie’s been doing is pulling Steve close, while steadfastly keeping him out. God. 

He licks the joint to seal it, lights up, and keeps rereading. 

Steve is standing by the phone in his kitchen watching the second hand on the clock. How it sneaks around the clock face, slow but steady, until it laps the 12 line and it’s 10:31. 

He slumps back against the kitchen island with a groan. That had been an absolutely excruciating minute, and he’s staring down the barrel of another fifty-nine more until he can reasonably give up hope. Because anything under an hour is just running late, right? Something could have come up, something unavoidable like… family coming home unexpectedly, making a private conversation impossible. 

… Okay, maybe that was a stress dream he’d had last night about his parents, but something like it could happen to anyone.

10:32. The second hand barely makes it past fifteen this time before the silence is split by the shriek of ringing in the otherwise silent house. Steve multitasks, jumping out of his skin and lunging to answer the phone at the same time.

“HelloHarringtonresidence, thisisStevehowcanIhelpyou?” he rushes out. 

There’s no response except breathing on the other end of the line, which would be creepy if it weren’t exactly what he was hoping for. 

(Eddie is pressing a hand over his mouth, keeping in an equal parts amused and disbelieving laugh at how Steve had answered the phone, all flustered and cute and overly formal in an automatic sort of way that suggests an ingrained habit. From what he knows about Steve’s parents, he’s not terribly surprised, but it’s still such a delightfully dorky greeting.

And it seems like Steve really was waiting by the phone for his call, which makes Eddie want to fucking dance.)

“Is that you?” After a second, a light bulb goes off in Steve’s head and he adds, “Oh. Uh, tap once for yes, twice for no?”

It takes a few seconds, but then he hears a single tap against the plastic of the other receiver. 

(Smart, Eddie would tell him if he could. If he dared. He sucks hard on the last of his joint before letting the smoke billow from his nose like a dragon and putting it out in the ashtray by his bed. Maybe he mashes it in a little harder than necessary, blaming it for being late even though that’s really just another one of his bad habits at this point.)

Relief breaks over Steve like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re the, um, my secret admirer?”

Tap. 

(Yeah sweetheart, it’s me.)

Steve does a little bounce on the balls of his feet and pumps his fist, too giddy to feel stupid about it with no one watching. “Holy shit. I mean, t-thanks for calling. Sorry, my parents make me answer the phone like that.” 

Nothing. 

(Eddie is smiling. Beaming, really. I figured, he imagines saying. At first it makes his heart feel full just thinking about it, but then has to stop that line of thought before his anxiety conjures up all the ways Steve Harrington, until recently Hawkins High’s resident ladies man, might react to the surprise of being on a phone date with a guy. Jesus, how is he high and still so nervous?)

“Right, you can’t answer. I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. This is, this is to see how I like your music.” Steve rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Did you want to play something for me now, or…���

Tap. 

(All the tapes are on standby, spread out in chaotic order around the second-hand player he got last year after Wayne’s old one crapped out on him. Eddie cranks up the volume as high as it’ll go; he’s used to it, the neighbors are resigned to it, and Steve won’t be able to hear it well enough to count through the phone otherwise.)

The first song starts, and Steve twists the phone cord between his fingers as he stands in his kitchen and listens. There’s a heavy beat and a noticeable bass line, even over the phone, nothing like the pop rock he usually listens to. But…

“… I definitely didn’t hate it,” he says once the last notes fade out. 

(Eddie is vibrating as he hits pause and ejects the tape, elated, a few of his worries already soothed. Steve doesn’t hate metal. That doesn’t necessarily mean Steve will like him, but it’s got to make the odds at least a little better, right? He wants to say fuck yeah or I love you or, fucking… shriek wordlessly or something, but presses his hand over his cotton-dry mouth instead, hard enough that his gums ache a little.)

“It kind of reminded me of AC/DC? Like Back in Black, or Hells Bells.”

(They’re not one of Eddie’s favorites, didn’t even make the playlist. But they’re harder rock than he expected Steve to be familiar with, and suddenly he has a wild urge to know what the guy thinks of You Shook Me All Night Long.)

“One time, the radio played Big Balls in the car and my mom literally clutched her pearls and said, ‘I don’t think he’s talking about ballroom dancing, Richard!’” 

(Eddie grins as the funny little falsetto Steve put on for the impression fades into a rich laugh, like he’s so tickled by the memory that he can’t help it. There was probably some appalled, classic white-anglo-saxon-protestant-sucking-on-a-lemon expression on her face that he’s picturing, while Eddie can only imagine. It’s okay, Eddie is too busy wanting to pour Steve’s laugh into a bathtub and soak in it.)

Tap. 

“Yeah, really not,” Steve agrees, his cheeks almost aching from smiling so wide. He feels lighter than air just knowing he’s on the phone with the person who’s been writing to him the past couple months, knowing he’s proving that they’re genuinely at least a little bit compatible. “So, what’s the next song?”

It goes on like that. Steve doesn’t know the artists or albums or track titles, but figures that Secret Admirer will fill him in with the next letter. There are a couple of songs that are more shouting than singing for his taste—“I like songs I can sing along to once I know the words, you know? Really belt out in the car after a long day, or something,” he explains, and gets a yes tap in response. 

(Eddie has to improvise. Instead of another WASP song, he reaches for an Iron Maiden tape he’d put aside as a half-assed backup and scours the track list, trying to decide… Ah, that one. He pops it in and turns the volume down for a second so he can check that he’s fast forwarding to the right spot on the tape.

This one’s for you, sweetheart, he thinks, lighting a second joint—not for nerves this time, but just for fun. He leans back and lets the smoke fill his lungs, fill his mind, send him floating off to whatever time of that big house Steve is curled up in so he can spiritually throw an arm around the other guy’s shoulders.)

Steve likes the instrumentals in the intro of this one. He doesn’t really track the words at first once they start—usually doesn’t, on a first listen-through, with so much new to take in. But he starts catching on to the shape of them by the first of what turns out to be the chorus. 

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind Can't ease this pain so easily When you can't find the words to say, hard to make it through another day And it makes me wanna cry, throw my hands up to the sky

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years, hey!

He listens, slowly untangling himself from the long phone cord and taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. When the song finally fades out and he hears the far-off click of the tape being stopped and taken out, he asks hopefully, “It’s about seizing the day, right?”

Maybe they’re building up to telling him who they are, or at least giving him a little more. 

(Eddie freezes, not expecting Steve—who had told him he didn’t get things on the first try—to venture any insights. Especially on a song that hadn’t been on his list, a last minute change-up that he’d picked with the transformation from King Steve to just normal guy Steve in mind and how Steve seems so hung up on apologizing for the douchebag he used to be. 

Or at least, used to be on the outside. Every day, Eddie gets a little less sure that persona went much further than skin-deep.

A tiny sound curls out of Eddie’s throat, a barely audible, inquisitive hum. Something that says please, keep going. He knows Steve has heard it because of the quick intake of breath over the line.)

Steve clutches the handset so hard that his knuckles go white. It’s the first sound, the first crumb that Secret Admirer has given him that’s really them, not a tap on plastic or other people’s music. Too quiet to make out any distinguishing features, but it’s something. 

It feels like everything. 

“You could, you know,” Steve says softly. “You could… make a stand? If you told me who you are, or just anything more about you, I… I really like you. I know for sure that I want to know you. Maybe that makes me a romantic sap, but it’s true. What if we find out we could have our golden years right now?”

(Eddie is freaking out. The mellow of his high isn’t helping anymore, all the floaty syrupy hopefulness of it stripped away. Oh fuck oh balls oh shit, shit, shit!

He’s hyperventilating, knows Steve can probably hear it, and he’s nothing but a goddamn coward in the end.

He can't do this.)

There’s a single clunk, and then all Steve hears is dial tone.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

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@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Left Behind

ai-less whumptober day 19- left behind/why wasn't I enough fandom- dp x dc TW- abandonment Summary- The Fenton parents leave their kids at the Gotham Public Library

ao3 ailesswhumptober masterlist part 1 of TFR

Barbara was working the closing shift at the library. She was putting some books away when she overheard a conversation.

“Do you know when mom and dad are going to pick us up?” said what sounded like a teenage boy.

“No, I– Oh, wait they just messaged me.” said what Barbara thought was a slightly older teen girl.

Silence.

“Jazz?

“They left.”

“What?”

“Someone posted about a possible sighting in Metropolis. They said they’ll be there for a few days.”

There was more silence. Barbara stayed quiet.

“So, they left us behind.”

“Yeah.”

“Again.”

“...Yeah.”

Barbara closed her eyes, thinking of Tim and how he had been left home alone so much. And these kids… their parents had abandoned them too.

“Well at least we’re not helpless.”

“I hate them.”

“Jazz–”

“No, Danny. I hate them. They’re supposed to be our parents. They’re supposed to take care of us.”

“I know. They always chose something else over us. Why aren’t we enough, Jazz?”

“I don’t know.” she sniffled.

“Jazz, hey, look at me. We’ll be okay.”

“I'm sorry, Danny. I'm just so tired.”

“I am too.”

Barbara was about to speak up when they continued.

“At least i have a credit card this time so it won’t be like the time they forgot is in Bridgton.”

“Yeah, that sucked. We were lucky we were able to sneak onto that semi.”

“Well, tonight we can get a hotel room and then get bus tickets tomorrow.

“I could just... you know. Do my thing.”

“I guess, but we should at least get a hotel for tonight. I don’t want to try traveling while you’re exhausted.”

“That’s fair. But–”

Barbara finally decided she should make her presence known. She cleared her throat as she made her way around the bookshelf.

The two teens startle. They looked like siblings. The girl was a redhead with teal eyes, and the boy had black hair and blue eyes.

“Hello, I’m Barbara. I work here at the library. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” she paused as the siblings glanced at each other, the boy reaching over to grab his sister’s arm. 

“What do you mean?” asked the girl, Jazz, if Barbara was correct.

“You need a place to stay tonight? It’ll be hard to find a good hotel at this hour. I’ve got an extra bedroom at my apartment, and you’re welcome to stay the night. You won’t owe me anything.”

“Why?” asked the boy, Danny.”

Barbara considered for a moment. “I have a friend who went through a similar situation as you guys, so I’m familiar with what it's like to have your parents be too busy. And you wouldn’t be the first kids I've let stay the night. I can help you find bus tickets in the morning. I’m familiar with most of the routes and can let you know which ones are the safest and quickest.”

The girl glanced at her brother, who stared at Barbara. There was a moment where his eyes seemed to glow and Barabar felt as if he were really looking at her. She suppressed a shudder at the intense feeling. 

Then he turned to his sister and nodded.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’m Jazz and this is Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I have to finish locking up so I’ll meet you by the door.”

They nodded and started gathering their stuff.

Barbara went to finish the rest of the closing shift duties. 

She also had a call to make.

[the-californicationist]

he meets you for lunch

Captain Price has been begging to get you alone, and when he finally does, he makes you get yourself off on his thick thigh.

MDNI/18+

Link to AO3

Price had been texting you all morning, and they were all salacious as hell…

Can’t stop thinking about how wet you are.

Gonna make you come all over my cock tonight, love.

Remember that butt plug we bought? You’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with it in one hole and me in the other.

Cock’s so hard for you, pretty girl.

Meet me for lunch. I need to feel that pussy.

You were trying to work, as a shipping manager for his unit no less, and even though you were a civilian, you were still under normal fraternization rules. But, Laswell turned a blind eye, which you were grateful for. However, you tried not to rub her leniency in her face.

Price had been on a tear recently. Ever since you’d stopped taking your birth control, he’d become more and more feral about his affections. You still weren’t trying for a baby, but you had medical issues and needed to work those out. So, it was condoms or, more typically, a belly or ass cheek covered in his come. You had to admit, though, he was turning you on with these messages. You’d worn a dress to work today, being allowed free-reign in your clothing choices, unlike your military colleagues.

You decided to take advantage of your easy-access attire, messaging him back:

Lunch at noon?

He replied almost instantly,

I’m omw

You exhaled a shaky breath through your lips, the excitement of his lustful attention had you hot and bothered. You waited by your phone for him to call.

It wasn’t long until he did. His bearded face popped up on your lock screen as you were walking out of the back door,

“I’m waiting for you, baby. Fucking ready for you.”

“Oh, my God, John. You’re going to get us fired,” you whispered into the mouthpiece.

“Don’t care. Need ya. Need ya right fuckin’ now.”

As he was saying the words, you were watching him say them through his windshield. He was staring right at you, his icy blues piercing through the gap between you, pulling you in like a hypnotist, a snake charmer, a predator stalking his prey.

You opened the heavy door to the truck and heaved yourself up, needing to climb up the step in order to get into the cab. He turned the wheel and sped out of the lot, driving to a nearby park. You’d been there before, but never for sex. Usually, it was just a quiet spot to talk, or to kiss each other without fear of reprimand. But, his aggressive driving was making his intentions quite clear. He slammed the truck into park and reached across the middle console, pulling you over it roughly. It was almost too rough, and you were shocked at his intensity.

“John! Hey,” you caught yourself in his arms, “Baby, slow down.”

He grabbed your arms and shook you once, gently, to get your attention, locking your eyes to his,

“I am on fire. You set me on fire, love. And I need you to put it out.”

“Okay,” you pet his cock through his canvas pants, “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

He groaned, desperate for your relief. You repositioned your leg on the other side of his thick, muscular thigh, straddling him as you unzipped his pants. He looked at you with suspicion and more of that animalistic aggression,

“Your cunt feels warm on my leg. Put it on me,” you did, “Yes, just like that.”

You rubbed yourself on his thigh, trying to only do it once or twice, not wanting to stain his pant leg.

“Don’t stop,” Price moaned again, shoving your hips back down onto his thigh, “Ride me like that while you tug on my cock.”

“I’ll get…” you had to take a breath. The pleasure of feeling your lips being crushed against his hard muscle was coursing through you, making you lose your bearings, “I’ll get you wet. Mess up your pants…”

“Good. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel how wet you are. Play with that dick, baby. Touch me, please.”

You didn’t know how to say no to him. As you rode his leg, you chased your orgasm, and it came easily to you. You used both hands to massage his cock, using your wrists to twist and curl around him, leaning forward near enough to smell the familiar scent of expensive tobacco on his breath. Each time you canted your hips forward and back, you felt your pussy flex and slide across the cotton of your panties and the thick, rugged canvas fabric, spreading your lips apart and exposing your clit. You kept up a feverish pace, half of you striving towards his completion while the other half of you chased down your pleasure like a bandit.

Eventually, like a sharpened knife, the sensations became too keen. You faltered, losing your pattern of back and forth motions; the wet humping you were doing had made you come, and you needed him to help you. You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he moaned with you, grabbing your hips and forcing you down, pressed tighter than you’d ever been, making you fuck his quad roughly, leaving no room for sensitivity.

As he was helping you, moving your body on top of his, he started to come. You shielded it from shooting from the tip with your palm, rubbing it into his swollen head, making him clench his teeth from the overwhelming feeling you created. He kept pushing and pulling you, back and forth until you were nearly crying from the onslaught.

You sat up, and you swung your leg back over the console to survey the damage. There was a huge diamond-shaped stain where you’d ridden him, and he was obsessed with it. He traced it with his finger, rubbing across it, putting his palm over it and pressing it into his skin through the canvas.

“So wet for me,” he smiled up at you, “Call in sick.”

“John, no,” you scolded him, “we can’t just take off work whenever you want to fuck me.”

“Either you call in, or I’ll do it for you. But,” his expression darkened, “Let me be bloody fucking clear. I am going to fuck you today. Right now. One way or another.”

You moaned, smiling, getting excited about his plans,

“Let me get my phone.”

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"That's a very stupid idea." Single Dad Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F! Reader

Summary: On the eve on Jake's first deployment since becoming a father, you and Jake try to act like nothing is different. But can you let him go without telling him the truth? That you've not just fallen in love with Tyler Seresin but also his dad.

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + only, Explicit smut, language, single dad Jake and live in nanny reader, age-gap.

Cross Posted on AO3

You’d grown to love Tyler Seresin like he was your own son. Standing in the doorway to the toddler's room, watching his father kneel on the floor beside him, brushing the sweet blonde curls off his forehead was almost too much. 

His father Jake being in the Navy, needed someone desperately when he gained full custody of a son he never knew existed after his mother passed in a tragic accident. His ad on Facebook caught your eye, and the idea of room and board included was an added bonus, but it became more than a job a long time ago. 

“I love you, buddy,” you hear Jake whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. This was the first deployment since you waltzed into their lives thirteen months ago, and your heart aches at the thought of not seeing him every day. He stands, taking another moment to stare at his son before turning back and pausing seeing you in the doorway.

“He’s really gonna miss you,” you whisper, putting a clenched fist to your chest, “we both are.” 

His eyes soften as he turns one last time to look at the little boy, before nodding out into the hallway and closing the door shut behind him. “Meet me on the couch?” he asks, staring at you with an unknown expression. 

“Yeah,” you tremble, “we got to watch the next episode of Only Murders in the Building.” 

Jake smiles but the light doesn’t reach his eyes when he nods, “it’s probably gonna be awhile till we get the chance again. I’ll go get the snacks and meet you there. Maybe we can finish the season tonight, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” 

“Whatever you want to do,” you nod, “I’m not going anywhere.” You take off down the hall, feeling him close behind you as you walk down the stairs and turn off to the living room. He goes to the kitchen grabbing the snacks and you pull out the big blanket and grab the remote, lighting a few candles before flicking off the lights. 

Jake comes back a few minutes later, hands full with two beers, a bowl of popcorn, and several bags of candy. You smile, thinking of the candy you’ve been hoarding in your closet to mail him in his care packages. “Blanket please,” he grins and you lift the blanket, the couch bouncing when he settles down beside you, pulling it back over you both and taking the bowl from his hands. 

“Now I don’t know about you but I have some theories about our killer,” he takes a handful of popcorn and puts it in his mouth. 

“You always have theories,” you tease, settling yourself against him, his arm coming around your shoulders to pull you in tight, “and they’re always wrong.” 

He gasps, “No they are not!” You giggle, leaning back against his arm and staring up at him, the smile on his face wavering as you both realize how close you are. His voice softens, as he lifts one knuckle to run along your cheek, “I’m really gonna miss you.” 

You take a shaky breath, “I’m really going to miss you too. I’ve had this idea, a recurring thought in my head, that you’re going to find someone else. Come home and not need me anymore.” 

“That’s a very stupid idea,” he leans closer, his nose brushing against yours. “I am always going to need you. I’m always gonna want you.” 

“Jake,” you whisper, your lips brushing his he’s so close, “we shouldn’t. You’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“I know Darlin’,” his accent’s thick, “but if I go away for six months and not at least kiss you, that would be the biggest mistake of my life. Because baby, it would be agony to be alone with nothing but my hand and just the image of you in my head, without having had to taste those lips I dream about, every, fucking, night.” 

“You dream about me?” you sit up pushing off the blanket to the floor and straddling his lap. His cock is hard and straining against his sweatpants and you let out a whimper when it catches your clit as you settle down, arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Baby,” he warns, letting out a moan when you grab his hands and place them on your ass, giving him the permission he needs. He surges forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. It’s like coming home, he pulls you closer, needing to feel every inch of you pressed against him. His tongue comes out to lick your bottom lip, tangling with your own on a groan. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, when he lifts his hips, driving his hard cock against you, your panties drenched and soaking through his sweats. “Jake,” you pull his hair, and he pulls back, his eyes hazy as they watch you pull off the black lace nightgown, dropping it to the floor. If he wasn’t religious before he is now as he worships your breasts, biting and kissing every inch before taking a perky nipple and sucking it into his mouth. 

“Oh, god,” you lean back, his hands squeezing your ass as he lowers you off him and down onto the couch. His mouth works down your body and you bite your lip, eyes rolling back when he mouths at your soaked panties. 

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, and you open your eyes and nod, “I’m gonna need verbal confirmation darlin’.” 

“Yes,” your quick to answer, “Jake, please, please, please,” he groans, quickly pulling off your panties and pulling your legs over his shoulder before diving into your soaked cunt. “Oh,” you groan, “fuck, Jake.” He swirls his tongue back and forth over your clit, your pussy soaked, he pulls back and spits on your pussy before diving back in. He must have been blessed with some pussy eating powers because the way he moves his mouth, up and down, fast and then slow have you shaking before the most powerful orgasm of your life takes over. He holds your legs tight, watching as they tremble and you lean back into the couch, your chest high in the air as you whimper out his name. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, kissing up your chest before finding your lips, “that’s my girl.” He tastes like you, tangy and sweet his chin glistening as he smiles down at you, “Ready for another one?” 

You huff out a laugh, still struggling to catch your breath, “I think I need a minute.” 

“We got all night,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, “I’ll happily go down on you till the sun comes up, baby. That was a fucking sight.” 

“What about you?” you run your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing as he leans further into your touch. “Aren’t you gonna let me have a taste?” 

His eyes slowly open, a vulnerability you’re surprised to see after he just put his mouth on your most sensitive areas. “I don’t have any expectations, I’ll take any piece of you, you’ll give me.” 

“You’re not the only one who dreams, Lieutenant,” his jaw clenches when you use his title and you worry you’ve crossed a line, quickly going to apologize when he cuts you off. 

“Say that again,” his voice has gone deep, and you realize it’s his commanding voice. 

“I’d like to serve you, Lieutenant.” 

He swallows hard, before getting up and standing beside the couch, your naked and he takes a moment to gaze over you before pulling down his sweats and boxers. Your breath catches in your throat and you lick your lips when he pumps his cock, eyes caressing as he watches the rise and fall of your chest, your thighs clenching together. “On your knees,” his voice is strong and confident and you stand quickly dropping to your knees before him. 

“Show me your tongue,” his hand on your jaw is firm but not uncomfortable and you open your mouth presenting your tongue. “That’s a good girl,” he slaps his cock against your tongue, “now serve your Lieutenant.” He takes his hand off your jaw, placing it on your head as he guides his cock into your waiting mouth. He groans when you wrap your lips around him, sucking him deep, “Oh fuck, shit, baby.” 

Swirling your tongue around the tip, he looks down, holding your eyes as you suck him deeper and deeper, the tears seeping out of the corner of your eyes and the sounds are vulgar. Spit dripping down his balls and onto your tits, your pussy throbbing with the control, the power he commands as he drives you back and forth on his cock. “Shit, I’m close,” he moans, “stop,” he gasps, pulling you off, “stop, stop.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” you frown, glancing up at him as he brushes the tear off your cheek. 

“No,” he drops to his knees before you, “no, you did nothing wrong, you hear me?” 

You pout, “then why’d you not let me finish?” 

His face turns serious before he stands holding out a hand and pulling you off the floor and into his arms. “I wanted to let you finish,” he comforts, “believe me, baby. But I want to do something else more if you’ll have me.” 

“Oh Jake,” you run your fingers through his hair, “you’ve had me from the moment we met. There’s never been anyone else, and I don’t think they’ll ever be anyone else.” 

Jake leans down, picking you up bridal style and taking off for the bedroom. He pushes the door open and lays you down gently with a soft kiss before turning back to the door and closing it, sliding the lock into place. He goes to the nightstand, turning on the soft light before reaching for a box of condoms and setting them on top of the dresser. 

He grabs one, and you sit up taking it from his hands and ripping it open. His eyes watch as you slide it onto his cock, before you lay back against the plush pillows. Jake settles between your legs, his hands on either side of your waist as he kisses you so slowly and achingly tender it makes you want to cry. The first press of him inside has you tenseing before he reaches down between you, rubbing your clit slowly as he works in inch by inch. He fills you so completely like he was meant to be here, his cock pressing deep enough inside you, you can feel him hit your cervix. 

“Fuck,” he moans, pressing his forehead to your own, “your pussy is perfect, baby, so tight and warm wrapped around me. I never want to leave.” 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” you whisper, a tear sliding down your cheek, “god, Jake, you were made for me. I-” you hesitate only a second, “I love you.” 

Jake leans back, his eyes wide as he licks his lips, a single tear running down his cheek as he slowly starts to move inside you. You’ve read before about people making love for the first time but never experienced it. But the way Jake moves, his body so in sync with your own, this isn’t fucking, this is making love. 

The pressure builds and you move your hips meeting him with each thrust, his hand moving back between you as he rubs your clit. “That’s it, baby,” he praises, “cum with me, almost there,” his hips move fast and there is a power that knocks the air from your lungs with each thrust before you're crying out as he fills you. He never stops, still thrusting steadily inside you, letting you ride out your orgasm before pulling out. 

You catch your breath feeling vulnerable when he quickly leaves the bed and flicks on the bathroom light. Only for him to return a moment later, the condom disposed of, and a warm washcloth running over your spent pussy. He tosses the cloth into the laundry bin, turns off the light, and folds into bed behind you, pulling you against his chest, his chin slotted on your shoulder. 

Jake presses his lips to your cheek and whispers, “I love you,” into your ear. You turn, glancing up at him with wide eyes and he smiles running his fingertip over your face as he traces every line. “Did you think I didn’t?” you stay silent, watching him and trying to take a mental picture. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I came home to Tyler sitting on the counter in his chair laughing as you danced to Foot Loose.” 

“That was eleven months ago,” you do the math, “why didn’t you say something?” 

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way. I’m older than you by ten years baby, and I’m a single parent. I didn’t want you to feel stuck. You still have so much to do in your life, I didn’t want you to have to wait around for me.” 

“I choose you, Jake,” you press a hand to his cheek, his eyes becoming glassy. “I love you, Jacob Andrew Seresin. I love Tyler like he’s my own son, and there is nothing on this earth that is going to take me away from you. Tomorrow you have to leave for six months and fuck I’m going to miss you every single day but I will be here when you get back. Because that is what you do when you love a man in uniform, Jake.” 

“I love you,” he whispers, your full name coming out like honey on his tongue. “I’m gonna fight like hell to come home to you. To both of you. I’ll call home as much as I can and write when I can’t.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back into his chest, his cock hard against your ass, and you wiggle causing him to groan in your ear. 

“So soon, Lieutenant?” you tease, his hand on your waist dipping lower between your thighs and his teeth leaving hickeys on your neck, soothing with his tongue. 

“Oh baby,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice, “we got all night.” 

[inexplicifics]

Eskel/anyone for cozy prompt #11, unexpected or last minute family gathering?

I hope this helps!

Eskel puts the phone on mute for a moment and turns to his husband. “Right, so, my father’s oven just broke -”

“Oh no,” Coën says, eyes widening.

Eskel nods. “And Geralt’s place is still half-gutted. Lambert’s is -”

“Far too small,” Coën finishes for him, nodding. “Tell your father we can absolutely host tonight. That is what he is asking, right?”

Eskel sighs with relief. “Yes, it is.” He taps the mute button again, lifting the phone back to his ear. “Da? We can host. Bring everything over; we’ll clear the kitchen counters.” Not that there’s much on them; Eskel and Coën are both much tidier than, say, Lambert. Though to be fair to Eskel’s youngest brother, he keeps his lab as clean as a whistle; it’s just his apartment that looks like a small bomb has gone off inside it.

“Tell Coën I owe you both a bottle of really good mead,” Eskel’s father says fervently, and hangs up. Eskel chuckles.

“Right,” he says, glancing around. “We’ll need to rearrange a bit…”

Three hours later, he opens the door to let in the last of his far-flung family. Gweld puts his bags down on the doorstep and flings his arms around Eskel, squeezing hard enough to nearly lift Eskel off his feet, then lets go to give Coën an equally enthusiastic hug. Gweld’s wife snorts in amusement and shakes Eskel’s hand. Eskel grins back at her. They live far enough away that get-togethers like this are special occasions; only Gweld, Eskel thinks, could be this cheerful after a six-hour drive in the rain.

“Geralt’s out back keeping Ciri mostly under control; Lam’s in the den doing something to our TV, not sure what; Da’s in the kitchen,” he informs Gweld, scooping up his brother’s bags. “I’ll get these upstairs; c’mon in and grab yourselves a drink.” He leans in closer so he can murmur to Serrit, “Gaetan brought his terrifying eggnog but we’re hiding it from Jaskier. Back of the fridge, behind the yogurt.”

“Ooh, fuck yes,” Serrit says, grinning toothily, and heads for the kitchen. Gweld claps Eskel on the shoulder and makes his way directly through the house and out the back door; Eskel can hear Ciri’s excited squeal of greeting as if there aren’t any walls in the way.

Coën takes one of the bags and leads the way upstairs to the guest room; they stash the bags at the end of the bed and pause at the hallway window, looking down into the backyard, where Gweld has gotten co-opted into carrying Ciri around piggy-back, chasing a gleeful Jaskier around the yard while Ciri yells encouragement.

Coën leans against Eskel’s shoulder. “Hosting isn’t so bad,” he says softly.

Eskel wraps an arm around his husband’s waist and kisses the side of his head. “Say that again tomorrow morning and I’ll believe you. But - hm. Da is getting on in years. If this goes well…”

“If this goes well,” Coën agrees, and turns his head for a proper kiss before they head downstairs into the chaos.

(Or HERE on AO3!)

[kybercrystals94]

Taking Up the Mantle

Read here on Ao3

Whumptober 2024 - Day 5 - Alternative Prompt: Forgotten

Rated: G | Words: 1939

Omega embraces him the moment Echo steps off his ship, her chin now able to hook over his shoulder without him bending down at all. “Welcome home, brother,” she says warmly. 

“It’s good to be home,” he says, pulling back, but keeping his hand on her arm. “You’ve grown a bit.” 

Omega grins and shrugs. “A bit,” she agrees. 

“Where are the boys?” Echo asks, noticing their absence from the landing platform.

“Supply run,” Omega says, “but they should be back later tonight or tomorrow morning.” 

They start walking toward the house, Omega linking her arm through Echo’s. 

“The supply run was a three man job?” Echo asks with a chuckle. 

Omega bumps against him playfully. “They get stir-crazy once in a while, so they all make an excuse to go. Sometimes I go with them, and sometimes I get the house to myself.” 

Echo laughs at that. “Well, we’ll get some time to catch up then.” 

“About that…” Omega says, the lightness of her voice vanishing. “I found something you need to see.” 

Echo stops walking, pulling Omega to a stop. “What is it?” 

Omega tries to smile reassuringly. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise. I just found something that I think…well, I hope…it will give you some closure.”

The assurance does nothing to ease the tension twisting like a knot in Echo’s chest. In fact, it feels substantially worse somehow. What in the galaxy could Omega know that would give Echo closure. Closure for what? He’d made peace with many tragedies in his life. It had become second nature, to bury and move on. A soldier couldn’t linger in what-ifs, not if they wanted to honor those who had gone before them or save those who would follow. 

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the house,” Omega promises, dark eyes sorrowful and kind. Wise beyond her young years. But she isn’t so young anymore, Echo remembers, and she has lived longer than any of them, really. 

“Alright,” Echo relents and smiles if only to sooth the concern creasing Omega’s brow as she watches him. 

The rest of the walk to the house is Omega updating Echo on the island and its inhabitants they have come to know as good friends. The Batch have adapted well to domesticated life overall, if their domicile, as Tech would have called it, is anything to go by. A raised bed garden carefully tended, island flowers tamed and climbing the lattice. They are proud of their new life, and it shows. They’ve earned it, and Echo is happy his brothers have found peace. They call it his home too, even if he spends most of his time away. The chaotic brothers who took him in so long ago still keep him grounded like an anchor. 

“I’ll make us some tea,” Omega says the moment they are through the front door. Echo can’t help but smile at that, even with the apprehension looming. Omega is more like him in that way, enjoying a mild cup of tea over the pungent boldness of caf. 

“Sounds great,” he says, shedding his outer jacket and putting it on his hook in the entryway. 

He takes his pack to the room he shares with Hunter when he visits, dropping it on his bed and digging through it until he finds the trinket he’d found for Omega. It is a piece of wire twisted to look like a tooka. He wonders now if she’ll think it’s childish; however, on his way back to the main room, he passes by Omega’s open bedroom door and sees Lula perched proudly on her bed, the worn stuffed animal more faded than it was when he first met Wrecker’s beloved toy. 

He hears Omega clattering around in the kitchen, her voice speaking softly to someone. He goes in and finds the droid, AZI, hovering underfoot, Omega moving around him effortlessly. 

“Echo!” AZI cries when he sees him. “Omega has been upgrading my systems.” 

“That so?” Echo asks conversationally, sitting down at the table where Omega has already put his favorite mug full of hot water. He can smell the aroma of his favorite tea steeping inside. 

“Indeed!” crows AZI, whirring over to his side. “She has found several glitches, as well as lapses in my memory banks.” 

“AZI,” Omega cuts the little droid off, her tone a warning, “We’ll get to that in a minute.” 

Echo tries to ignore the knot continuing to tighten in his chest. 

Omega slides into the chair across from Echo. She takes a deep breath and begins, “Months before the end of the Clone Wars, Nala Se was gone for several days. Usually, she’d leave AZI with me, but not this time. She told me that he had been tampered with by a trooper and had to be repaired. When I tried to ask more questions, Nala Se got angry with me and told me to leave the matter alone. It was not for me to worry about.” 

Echo frowns, unsure what any of this had to do with him. It will give you some closure.

“When AZI finally returned to the lab, he had no memory of anything that had happened. His memory banks had been wiped, and at the time, I didn’t know how to retrieve lost data. Although, it was more curiosity that made me try than fear of what happened. After all, I trusted Nala Se. If she said I didn’t need to know, then I didn’t.

“I forgot all about the incident, and in light of everything that happened after the war ended, it seemed unimportant.” Omega picks up a data pad that had been left on the table. “Then, a few days ago, AZI was experiencing glitches in his internal systems. I programmed a software update, and went through his data files to find any broken links in his code. That’s when I found this. The file was so small, and had been removed from his main memory banks, so I decided to translate it.” She slides the data pad across the table. 

Echo picks it up, the screen a series of ones and zeroes. Binary. 

01001001 01001101 01010000 01001111 01010010 01010100 01000001 01001110 01010100 00111010 00100000 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101110 01100001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01000110 01101001 01110110 01100101 01110011 00101110 00100000

His grip on the data pad goes slack and it clatters to the table, nearly landing on his mug. 

Echo can read binary as well as he can read Basic. The Techno Union made sure of that. IMPORTANT: His name is Fives.

Omega flinches. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. 

Echo’s mouth feels dry, his throat tight. He tries to regain his composure, but his voice is thick when he asks, “What does it mean? Why did he have this?” 

It is AZI that answers him. “It was important that I remembered his name. He told me that clones do not use numbers anymore. He was my friend.” 

“How did you know him?” Echo asks. “You were on Kamino…”

“ARC Trooper Fives was brought to Kamino for medical observation,” AZI says. His eyes flicker, and he doesn’t say anymore. 

“I recovered as much of the wiped data from those dates as I could,” Omega says. “It seems AZI was able to hide some memory files in his core programming before the wipe.” 

“That is against protocol,” AZI adds, “But Fives was excellent at not following protocol when it was important to do so. I followed his example.” 

Omega smiles. “I found some footage that AZI recorded. There isn’t much, but I thought you would want to see it.” 

Echo nods. He feels numb. Maybe it’s the shock of realizing he’s been so close to this data all along, the files hidden so deep, but he could have found them if he’d looked. But he never thought to, never tried…Fives was so close all along.

AZI backs away from the table, and a holo projector opens in his chest. A recording begins to project, AZI’s perspective following an obviously agitated Fives around a medical room. 

“...a case like this, it is the logical course of action,” AZI is saying. 

“No,” Fives says, turning to face AZI, anger clear on his face even through the distorted blue lines of the projection, “No. We were not created to be disposed of this way.”

“Perhaps you were,” AZI counters calmly. 

Fives whirls around, slamming his fists down on the hard surface of a medical cot. Echo hears his brother’s breathing shudder. An ache in his heart pangs at the sound. 

AZI’s voice continues, “CT-5385 will be terminated so that others like him could survive.”

Fives turns on the droid. “There aren’t others like him!” he shouts, the audio crackling at the input. “Tup doesn’t have to die. You found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” 

The recording sputters and flickers away to nothing. 

“That was the only visual footage I could recover myself,” Omega says softly, “but I found some transcripts. AZI helped Fives remove his inhibitor chip, and they discovered that all clones had them implanted at gestation. He was going to present the evidence that AZI helped him find. He was trying to save our brothers.” 

“But he was killed instead,” Echo says bitterly, fingers curling into a fist. “Rex told me what happened when he got to Coruscant.” 

Omega reaches across the table and rests a hand over Echo’s. “It is because of Fives that Rex found out about the chips, because of Fives that Rex warned us about the effects.” 

Echo can’t lift his gaze to meet his sister’s. The burning sensation prickling his eyes threatens to spill tears should he see the look of earnest empathy on her face. 

When he doesn’t answer, Omega continues, “You’re finishing what Fives started, Echo. You’re helping our brothers. You helped us. I’m sorry I never met Fives, because he sounds like he would have fit right in with Clone Force 99.” 

Echo swallows. 

“And he would have been so proud of you, Echo.” 

A tear slips through the barrier, and Echo pulls his hand from Omega’s to rub it away, trying to erase its track from his face. 

AZI draws closer again. “I have analyzed the data of my friend, ARC Trooper Fives, and I must agree with Omega.” 

“Thank you,” Echo forces out. “Both of you.”

Omega picks up the data pad and opens a file before handing it back. “These are the transcripts I was able to recover.” 

Echo  takes it, finding that the data has already been translated from binary into Basic. Words jump out at him, words his brother said, words his brother said leading up to his death…

“AZI and I are going to the market to pick up dinner,” Omega says suddenly, standing and putting her mug in the sink. As she walks past him, she clasps his shoulder briefly, a familiar gesture he’s received a thousand times from brothers all his life. “We’ll let you get settled.” 

And Echo realizes that the Batch being away on a supply run isn’t just happenstance. 

He reads through the transcripts slowly, absorbing his brother’s words, his determination to do the right thing no matter the consequences. Fives was the same and grown, and Echo was just months from being able to see him again. 

Omega is right. Fives would have loved the Batch, and he would be proud of Echo too. 

But not nearly as proud as Echo is of him. 

Not by a lightyear. 

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[absurdthirst]

The Cupid Shuffle {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Pope x F!OC}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, bisexual women, mentions of past sexual relationships, little bit of putting on a show for the boys, women making out, mentions of fantasies, oral sex (male and female receiving), partner swapping, unprotected sex, cum eating

Comments: Inviting Pope and his girl over for a low-key Valentine's night movie turns in to something much more.

A/N: Valentine's Day foursome? More likely than you'd think!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Babe. I was talking to Santi and he’s cool with a movie night tonight. Him and his girl are going to go out tomorrow like us because tonight is always crazy busy. So it’s a quiet one in for Valentine’s Day.” Frankie says as he comes up to you to caress your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. “You wanna go get some snacks? You know Santi will eat us out of everything if we don’t buy extra.” He jokes and you turn your head to kiss him, smiling against his lips. “What time are they coming over?” You ask and he murmurs, “seven.”

You grin, happy that this is happening. Santiago Garcia, or ‘Pope’ as Frankie calls him, is dating your friend from college. You had been the one to set them up, absolutely in love with your helicopter pilot boyfriend and Pope had always been a flirty, fun time when he was in town. After he’s moved back permanently, you had set them up and the rest is history. “Perfect. A low key night is just what we all need.” You promise, kissing him again 

and smirking. “And after, I’ll give you your present.”

Frankie smirks, loving how eager you are and he’s excited to get you in bed after the movie ends and Pope and his girl are gone. “Baby, you’re already my present.” He murmurs, nipping your ear as you lean back against him. “Let’s get everything set up and we need blankets for the movie.”

You decide to have groceries delivered instead of going out, allowing you and Frankie to clean up and get ready to have them over. It’s not necessary, but you set out some of the candles Frankie got you for Christmas and light them, enjoying the romantic glow with the soft blankets strewn around for couples to cuddle under. “This is better than battling the craziness of a restaurant and a movie theater.” You decide, smiling at Frankie. You know that he hates crowded places and is constantly on alert for threats, so it’s easy to accommodate him and do a romantic night in on the busiest day for most fine dining restaurants.

Frankie nods, “it looks great, babe. I prefer this than going out and battling the crowds. We got some movies saved on the tv so we have a few options. You gonna make that dip?” He asks, biting his lower lip with a pleading expression. You nod and he groans, his hands caressing your side, “fuck yes. I can’t wait for that.”

You laugh quietly, swearing that dip is what made Frankie fall for you. Eating your dip at a party to the point where he almost made himself sick. “I’ll go make it now, I’ve got everything I need.”

Frankie playfully smacks your ass and you gasp, making him chuckle. His life was so dark before he met you. You brighten his days, make him believe in a hopeful future. You saved him. He’d be lost without you. “I’ll go get the drinks ready.” He says, making his way to the garage to grab the ice bucket and drinks for the movie marathon you have planned. Pope and his girl will be arriving soon.

The other food arrives and you set the store bought wings out on a tray and pop the pizzas into the oven and dump a bag of cheddar popcorn into a bowl. Just as you are setting it and the dip out, the doorbell rings out. “Oh! They are here!” You squeal, excited to see them.

Frankie heads to the door before you, opening it to greet his best friend and your best friend. You’ve been on quite a few couple dates, enjoying each other’s company during game nights. It’s been a perfect combination so far. “Hermano. Todo día más feo.” Pope teases Frankie as he pats him on the back in a hug and Frankie affectionately rolls his eyes as your best friend steps around the men to greet you.

“Hey!!!!” You and Dara throw your arms around each other and squeeze tight. Always happy to see each other and it’s such a joy to see your friend so happy after having so many shit boyfriends before Pope. You had constantly moaned together that it seems like there weren’t any good men anymore, and now you are both with ones that are completely amazing. If Pope had been kind of a playboy before, he had focused all that flirtatious energy into making sure your friend was head over heels for him. “How are you? I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to call!” You apologize and look at her once you break apart. 

She grins at you, “I’ve been so busy with the new job and honestly, going to Pope’s nearly every night. I’m hoping he’s going to ask me to move in soon since I basically live with him by now anyway.” She says, squeezing your hands as she glances over at Pope who is telling Frankie about his latest client in his security business. “We need a brunch to catch up.” Dara giggles and you nod, “yes we do. You want a drink? I got that vodka that you like.” Dara nods and lets you drag her into the kitchen with a smile.

“It going okay with your girl?” Pope asks Frankie who nods, glancing back at the door you disappeared through.

“She’s everything.” He murmurs, a silly smile on his face that Pope understands.

“Sooooooo.” You grin as you pour the vodka and add juice to it for Dara before mixing up one of your own. “Tell me, how is basically living with Pope?” You ask. “You look happy, really happy. And I love that for you.”

Dara grins, her cheeks hurting from how much she’s been smiling, “honestly, he’s so good. In every way.” Her voice lowers slightly, “he flirts like crazy with me and only me. All that attention makes a girl crazy in love.” She confesses and you squeal quietly, the ice cubes in your drink shaking as you bounce a little.

“Love?” You ask and she nods in confirmation.

“Who would’ve thought? Both of us in love? Especially when we were lonely and horny and used to-” Dara is cut off as the boys come into the kitchen to grab their beers, “you ladies ready for an epic movie marathon?” Pope asks, leaning in to kiss Dara on the cheek.

“Let’s do it.” You wink at Frankie and he nods, walking back into the living room to get the movie up on the streaming service. Pope and Dara take a seat on the large sectional, snuggling into each other and Frankie holds his arm out for you to curl into his side.

You fold into his arms easily and pull the cover up over your laps. The snacks are out and you smile over at Dara and Pope as they curl together near you, Dara closest to you. “Let me know when you need another drink.” You murmur to Dara before the movie starts.

The movie is some superhero movie the boys wanted to watch. The next movie is your choice. The explosions are loud and Frankie glances over at Dara and Pope whose eyes are on the screen. His hand slides down from your shoulder until he’s squeezing your breast. Your eyes flick up to his face and he is smirking slightly, knowing you can’t make a noise otherwise the others will know. His hand slides a little lower, brushing past your stomach until he is sliding his hand under the hem of the dress you’re wearing. His fingers trail along your thigh, slow and teasing, and you spread your legs a little for him. Covered by the blanket, his fingers slide higher until they are pressing against your clit through your panties.

Your breath catches and you bite your lip so you don’t moan, not wanting Dara and Pope to know what Frankie is doing to you. You aren’t focusing on the movie, having no clue what is going on as your boyfriend starts to rub tight circles on your clit, teasing you as he touches you. Frankie loves to make you cum and you have no doubt that he will right now, regardless of the other people in the room.

Pope smirks as his hand sneaks under the blanket, teasing his girlfriend as he caresses her through her clothes. She offers him a warning look, knowing that they are in someone else’s home. All thoughts of propriety leave her mind when his finger finds her clit, rubbing through her panties under her shirt. She bites her lip and focuses on the screen, unaware that you are doing the same thing. Frankie can feel how tense you are, trying to control yourself and that urges him on, rubbing your clit a little faster and you put your leg up, acting like you’re getting comfortable when you’re really giving him more access to you.

Pope glances over at the two of you, noting the smug smirk on Frankie’s face and he grins. He knows that look, and with the way you are squirming, you’re doing exactly what he and Dara are doing. He leans in and presses his lips to his girlfriend’s neck. “Dirty girl. Just like your friend.” He whispers playfully, biting her ear.

Dara stiffens slightly until she looks over at you and Frankie, knowing that look on your face. "Looks like you had the same idea as us." She declares and you rip your eyes away from the screen to look at your friend just as she pulls the blanket away from her lap to expose Santi's fingers rubbing her clit under her underwear. 

"Jesus." Frankie hisses, his cock already hard against your side as you lean against him. You smirk and pull your blanket off too, watching as Santi continues to rub Dara's clit. 

"Damn, baby. What a sight." Santi coos and Frankie doesn't stop his movements. The four of you watch each other, the movie forgotten as you moan softly. 

"Wanna have some fun, like old times?" Dara asks, her eyes flicking between you and Frankie.

Frankie’s eyes widen, gaze darting between you and his mouth is hanging open. 

“Baby?” You turn to look at him and lean in to kiss the bare spot on his jaw where his whiskers never grow. “Do you want to see me fool around with Dara?” You ask him, turning to look at Pope with a questioning look. You think it would be sexy, but if your boyfriend or Santi isn’t okay with it, you wouldn’t touch her.

Frankie is a little dumbstruck and he nods, looking over at Santi who grins and says “fuck yeah.”

Frankie leans in to kiss you softly, “yes. I want - want whatever you are comfortable with.” He murmurs, pulling his hand from your underwear to give you the freedom to touch Dara how you want. 

Dara grins, “like those lonely nights back in college.” She teases, leaning in to cup your cheek after Santi pulls his hand away from her and she leans in to press her lips to yours.

You are familiar with her mouth, accepting the kiss eagerly and curling your hand around the back of her head and sliding your tongue into her mouth. There were plenty of nights that you had done this and more, because you were bored, lonely, curious and finally just enjoying yourself. You hear the way the boys groan beside you but you are enjoying the way you know they are staring at both of you.

Santi reaches down to squeeze his cock through his pants, not noticing Frankie do the same as the two men watch their girlfriends kiss. Every guy’s dream honestly. Frankie caresses your back, squeezing your ass as you slide your tongue against Dara’s until she pulls back with a grin. “I wanna - do you want to switch?” She asks breathlessly, glancing behind you to Frankie.

You know that Dara has always been interested in how Frankie is as a lover and despite him being your boyfriend, you aren’t jealous. This woman has been a lover on and off for years and you have no jealousy. “What do you think, baby?” You ask Frankie, reaching down and pulling her tits out of her shirt and sneezing them. “Do you want to touch Dara like this? Show her how good your tongue is, like I’ve bragged about since the first night we’ve fucked?”

Frankie is torn, wondering for a second if this is a test, but your eyes are dark with lust and he glances at Pope to make sure he’s on the same page. His best friend nods, “as long as I get to see what these blowjobs you rave about are like.” He teases and Frankie smirks, “just you wait, hermano.” 

Dara giggles, leaning in to kiss you again. “Any of us have an issue, we say it.” She says, setting the rules as she shuffles around you towards Frankie, reaching down to squeeze his cock through his pants. “You weren’t lying when you said how thick he is.” She says and Frankie blushes slightly.

“I would never lie about that.” You coo as you crawl towards Santiago. “My baby is packing, and he knows how to fuck a girl until her legs are jelly.” You bite your lip as you straddle your friend’s boyfriend. “Just like I’m curious to find out how Santiago fucks you so hard you pass out.” You caress his cheek and lean in, the movie forgotten in the background. “Can I kiss you, handsome?”

Santi nods, his hands immediately finding your waist and he groans when you grind down onto him, leaning in to meet your lips in a kiss. Frankie inhales sharply when Dara reaches down to undo his pants, reaching in to pull his hard cock out. 

“Fuck, she wasn’t lying. You are packing. And uncut like Santi. Love that.” She murmurs and grips him, leaning down to take him in her mouth as her eyes focus on his while he watches her.

You look over as Frankie’s head drops back to the couch cushion and he moans loudly. You love the sounds he makes when you are blowing him and now you get to see him from another view. “You want to have a little competition, Dara?” You coo. “See who can get the guy to the brink of cumming the fastest?”

She pulls off of Frankie’s cock, a smirk on her lips as she looks over at you. “You’re on, baby. Let’s blow their minds.” She grins and you peck Santi’s lips as you slide down his body until you are working his pants open. Dara pumps Frankie in her hand and his eyes watch you as you take Pope’s cock out. Jesus, he feels his cock twitch in Dara’s fingers as your eyes meet his.

“Fuck, you weren’t lying when you said he has a beautiful cock.” You hum, pulling the foreskin back and looking at the bead of precum that has built up at the tip. “I can’t wait to hear him moan.”

Santi watches you as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, “mierda.” He curses and looks over at Dara who has taken Frankie back into her mouth with a moan. The men’s eyes flick between their partner and the woman sucking their cock. Groaning as Santi caresses your head and Dara chokes as she tries to take Frankie deeper.

You know Dara knows how to give head so you put everything you’ve got into sucking Santiago’s cock. Wrapping your fingers around the base and pumping while you work him deeper, making sure that you make him wet and keep your palette soft.

“Fuckkkk.” Santi pants as you take him deeper and Jesus, your mouth feels so good. He hisses and Frankie nods, “damn good. So fucking good.” He pants as his hand comes up to grip the back of the sofa, trying to keep himself from thrusting up into Dara’s mouth.

You moan around Santiago’s cock, enjoying the way he throbs and pulses in your mouth when you swallow around him. Reaching down and gently cradling his balls when you let go of his shaft and completely engulf him in your mouth until your nose is pressed against the short hairs at the base of his cock.

“Holllly fuckin’ shitttt.” Pope hisses, his fingers curling in the edge of the sofa cushion and his toes curl as you take him deep. “Fuckkkk.” He exhales shakily, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you blow his mind.

Dara chuckles around Frankie’s cock, knowing how good you are, and she ups her game, bobbing her head a little faster so Frankie hisses at the pace. "Holy shit."

You have to let up, needing to watch Frankie’s eyes roll back in pleasure. You hum around Pope’s cock and reach for his hand, pulling it to the back of your head. Encouraging him to thrust up into your mouth or push your head down. Wanting him to completely lose control.

Pope groans, keeping you still as he thrusts up into you, his cock twitching as he pushes down your throat. Fuck, no wonder Frankie looks dazed whenever he comes back from his lunch break. “She’s good, hermano?” He asks and Pope nods, panting slightly.

You don’t know if Pope plans on cumming down your throat but you don’t let up. Bobbing your head and swallowing around him, keeping the suction tight around his cock as he throbs on your tongue.

He doesn’t want to cum down your throat. He lets out a strangled choke and grabs the back of your neck, dragging you off of his cock and he watches you stay connected to his length with a line of spit. “Holy fuck.” He gasps, trying to calm himself down and he looks over at Dara who is taking Frankie down her throat.

“One day, you need to cum down my throat.” You gasp as you try to catch your breath, grinning up at him before you look over where Dara is still sucking Frankie’s cock. “Fuck they look so sexy, don’t they?” You moan, sinking a hand between your thighs and inside your panties. “I don’t know which one is sexier right now. And I’ve fucked them both.”

Frankie pants, turned on by your statement. He knows your history with Dara, you’ve talked about your sex life and Frankie must admit that he’s jerked off thinking about you and Dara messing around. He hisses when Dara pulls off of his cock, knowing he won’t want to cum, and Pope moves fast to drag you up his body. “Whose cock do you want to sit on?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Weelllllll, I think I want to sit on your cock, baby.” You lean in and press your lips to Santi’s. “I want to hear Dara squeal Frankie’s name while I moan yours.” You are dripping at the idea and reach over to grab your friend’s face and pull her close for another kiss. “Do you want to lick your boyfriend’s cum out of my pussy, baby?” You ask her breathlessly.

She nods, a whimper escaping her lips and she grabs her shirt to pull it over her head. You follow suit with your dress, leaving you both in panties that are soon shoved onto the floor. You straddle Pope, caressing his chest through his t-shirt, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. “Goddamn. You’re gorgeous. Fish is a lucky fucker.” He compliments you, his hands finding your ass to squeeze your cheeks until he slaps them.

“You’re lucky too, hermano.” Frankie groans, stroking his hands up and down Dara’s back before cupping her tits. “Your girlfriend is fucking breathtaking. Too good for your ugly ass.” He jokes, leaning in and biting her shoulder.

Dara whimpers and reaches down to grip Frankie’s cock. You know she has an IUD and is clean. She knows you are the same. She trusts everyone here and she’s excited to have a good time. She’s dripping wet so notching Frankie at her entrance isn’t hard work. He slips into her as she sinks down onto him with a low moan.

Both you and Santi watch, eyes blown with lust as your boyfriend and his girlfriend start to fuck. “Fuck,” you pant as you look back at Pope. “I need you inside me.” You beg, reaching down and gripping his cock. “Will you fuck me, Pope?”

Santi nods, his hands sliding down your back until he’s squeezing your ass again. “Take what you want, bebita.” He orders and you shuffle closer, swiping his cock through your folds a couple of times before you start to sink down onto him.

Frankie groans as he watches you take his friend’s cock. The way your jaw drops and he twitches inside of Dara. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She murmurs to him, her eyes watching her boyfriend and her best friend.

“Fucking amazing.” Frankie groans, unable to believe this is happening. “You are so tight, hermosa.” He praises, rocking his hips up and slapping her thigh gently. “Never thought I would get to do this.” He huffs, groaning again when she squeezes him hard enough to make him twitch.

You watch Frankie and Dara, clenching around Pope’s cock hard enough that he hisses. “You like watching them, baby? You like watching them fuck each other?” He coos into your ear, biting down on your earlobe. “You’re so fucking wet around me. Always wondered what you’d be like. Frankie said he’d give me a chance with you.”

You moan softly, wishing you had known about those conversations before now. “He has.” You hum, clenching down around him. “How do you like being inside your best friend’s girl?”

“Fucking love it.” Santi groans, smacking your ass with both hands. He hisses your name and rocks you a little faster on top of him. “You enjoying it?” He asks you, leaning in to nip your jaw.

“Yesssssss.” You whimper, closing your eyes and tangling your fingers into Santiago’s hair while you start to bounce on his cock. “Always wondered what it would be like to fuck you. Imagined you and Frankie both railing me. Now I want that and to see you both rail Dara.”

Santi groans at the same time as Frankie, imagining that dirty thought. They have shared women before during time stateside but he loves the idea of sharing you with his friend and his girlfriend more often, watching you all like his own private porno. “Goddamn.” Frankie hisses, cupping Dara’s tits and pinching her nipples to make her gasp.

You giggle quietly and look over at your boyfriend. “You like that idea, baby? Fucking me and Dara with Santi? Being complete sluts for the two of you? I know you would want to have Dara sit on your cock while I sit on your face.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching inside of Dara, “and Pope can fuck her ass.” He smirks, knowing his friend has a big thing for anal.

Dara chuckles, “double? Fuck yes.” She groans, “then I can play with that gorgeous pair of tits and kiss your girl. Keep her satisfied while you suck on her clit like I used to.” Dara smirks until her jaw drops when Frankie thrusts up into her.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Santiago hisses and his hands tighten on your hips. “You never told me that.” He huffs. “I’d have had you telling me all about it while I was making you scream.” He has had quite a few ideas of fucking you and Dara, but to know that you used to eat each other out? It’s sexy as fuck. “I’ll want to see that while I recover enough to fuck her.”

“We can show our boys how to eat pussy, can’t we baby?” Dara winks at you and moans when Frankie thrusts up into her again. “Oh do that again.” She begs, knowing he has found the right angle and Frankie obliges her, keeping her still while he fucks up into her like it’s the last thing he will do.

“He’s so good, isn’t he?” That’s not to say Santi isn’t a good lover and he steals your attention back to him with the next thrust. Making you moan and turn back to crush your lips to his while you start to ride him again in earnest.

Dara watches you kiss Santi and it sends her over the edge, she cries out against Frankie’s shoulder as he thrusts up into her with vigor, grunts escaping his lips as he jackhammers up into her until she is squealing. Shaking against your boyfriend as she cums, soaking him and her nails digging into his shoulders.

Santiago actually stops thrusting into you, although his cock is pulsing harshly, twitching inside you as he watches his girlfriend cum all over Frankie. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses, so turned on by the sight he almost cums himself. “Now it’s your turn.” He promises, kissing you passionately and starting to move when Dara collapses against Frankie’s chest.

Frankie stops thrusting once Dara is worked through her orgasm, wanting to watch you cum on Santi’s cock. He doesn’t want to cum too soon so he strokes Dara’s back as they both watch Santi start to thrust up into you. “That’s it, Bonita. Want you to cum for me.” Santi coos, his hands squeezing your ass to help rock you on top of him.

Your boyfriend encouraging to cum throws you over the edge. Tossing your head back, you cry out in pleasure. “Santi!” Your walls clamp down around his cock and you soak him as your body shakes.

He groans as you clamp down on him, squeezing him tight. 

“Holy shit, Fish. Like a goddamn vice.” Pope hisses and works you through it by rocking you on top of him. His cock is throbbing inside of you. “Wanna - don’t wanna cum yet.” He admits and Frankie nods. 

“Get on your hands and knees. Both of you.” Frankie orders, smacking Dara’s ass.

It takes a moment for you to move, but when you are on your hands and knees by Dara, you lean in and kiss your friend. “Fuck.” You giggle against her lips. “Isn’t this the fucking dream?” You ask breathlessly, looking over your shoulder at the two men and smirking. “They are both so fucking hot and want to fuck us.”

Dara smirks back, “a girl’s fucking dream, baby. Remember when we used to talk about something like this happening?” She asks and you nod, leaning in to kiss her again, sliding your tongue against yours. The two men groan, slowly jerking their cocks before they shuffle forward, notching themselves at the dripping wet cunts and pushing back in.

You don’t know exactly who is inside you for a moment while you are kissing Dara. Eyes closed and trying to guess because your cunt is already a little abused from the fucking. Until his hands grip your hips and he drills forward hard enough to make you gasp into your friend’s mouth. “Frankie!”

Your boyfriend chuckles as you gasp out his name and he slaps your ass. "Want you to cum for me, hermosa." He demands, knowing he can pull you apart easily. He hisses when you teasingly clench around him. 

"That's it baby." Pope groans when Dara grinds back onto him and he thrusts into her, making her moan into your mouth before she sucks on your tongue.

Dara nods, knowing it won't take much. She hisses as she rocks back onto Pope, his fingers rubbing her clit, but when you lean in to kiss her, your fingers pinching your nipple, she's sent over the edge. "Fuck!" She squeals into your mouth as she cums, clamping down on Santi's cock.

Both men groan at the sight of the two of you locked into a kiss when Dara cums. Santiago grips her hips tights to continue fucking her and Frankie moans as his own pace quickens. You know they are loving the sight and you swallow her sounds as she comes apart.

Frankie wants you to follow, his hand squeezing your tit as he rocks into you. “Fuck baby. Want you to cum for me.” He demands, pinching your nipple as Dara pants against your chin.

His cock is shredding against something wonderful inside you and you know you won't last long. You never do when he's hammering into you like it's the last thing he will do. Your body starting to stiffen with each thrust until you let out a loud cry, unable to stop yourself from tumbling over the edge and drawing out your pleasure.

“Fuckkkk.” Frankie groans when you squeeze his cock like a goddamn vice. “That’s it, hermosa. Jesús Christ.” He hisses, trying to hold off from filling you up. He pants your name and caresses your stomach, enjoying the way you soak him.

Dara groans and pushes back against Pope's cock. "Need you to cum, baby." She begs softly. "Both of you. Want to see cum dripping out of both of our cunts."

Pope grunts, jaw clenched as he pounds into your best friend, his nostrils flared as he seeks his orgasm.

Frankie groans, smacking your ass when you clench him, egging him on. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He hisses, pushing deep as he fills your walls with his hot seed in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.

“Fraannnnnnnkie.” You whine his name, rolling your eyes back in pleasure as he paints your walls with his cum, hearing Pope hiss out Dara’s name beside you as he is the last one to cum, his hips stuttering and his entire body jerking in pleasure as he fills her. “Oh god.” You pant, collapsing down onto your cheek and look over your friend and her boyfriend as he slumps over her back and kisses along her spine. “That was amazing.” 

Frankie leans over you to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours and you kiss him back as hungrily. Dara chuckles breathlessly, “now I wanna taste your cum from her pussy.” Dara smirks at you, “wanna sit on my face like we used to?” She asks, biting her lip.

“Fuck yes.” You moan, clenching around Frankie and the thought of her tongue against your cunt. Frankie is amazing at eating your pussy, but Dara was just as good, if not slightly better. “I want to taste Pope’s cum too.”

The two men shuffle from behind you, pulling out slowly, and move to sit on the other side of the sofa, eyes eager. Dara shifts to lay down and she smirks at you, tapping her cheek and you shift to straddle her face, stretching your body over hers so you can push her legs apart, finding her creamy cunt. Dara doesn’t hesitate to lean in, sliding her tongue through your folds with a groan.

It takes a good bit of tilting her hips, but your own tongue quickly follows suit while both men groan around you. Watching as you two sample their cum from their girlfriend’s cunt with an eagerness that borders on feral. You love the saltiness of Santiago mixed with the sweet tang of Dara, licking the mixture from her swollen folds and holding her legs apart when your tongue swipes over her sensitive clit. 

“Fuck me.” Frankie murmurs, watching you both writhe and lick and suck. It’s primal and his spent cock rests against his thigh but his stomach twists with arousal at the erotic display.

“Mierda.” Pope murmurs, watching just as intensely.

You love the fact that they are watching, but this is honestly for you and Dara. They have cum and it will be a little while before they can fuck again. You clench around nothing when you hear Frankie groan, and suck a little harder on your friend’s clit. 

Dara squeezes your ass, loving the way you rock back onto her tongue. Her hips tilted so you can lick deeper into her pussy. It’s intoxicating and everyone is feeling the intensity of this moment. “That’s it baby. Lick her clit. She likes that.” Frankie coaches you, seeing Dara’s reactions.

You hum, grinning into her folds as you obey Frankie. It’s no hardship, especially since that’s exactly what she likes. You suck her clit into your mouth and give it a series of kitten licks that makes her moan into your cunt.

Dara’s tongue gets faster, anxious to make you cum like you used to. She laps at you, sucking on your clit and swirling her tongue around it while the boys continue to watch with rapture. “Look so good, bebita. Wish I could take a a fucking photo.” Pope groans, watching with dark eyes.

She pulls her lips away from your clit for a moment, making you whine. “Do it.” She moans before she dives back into your cunt. You moan your own agreement and nod. You trust the boys not to share that, and you would love to see how sexy this looks from their perspective.

Pope scrambles to find his pants on the floor, getting his phone and he looks over at Frankie who nods enthusiastically. “Do it, hermano.” He insists and Pope smirks as he takes a photo of you and Dara. “So fucking hot.” He groans softly, taking a couple more.

You whimper when Dara sucks on your clit again, so close to cumming as you rock your hips back. Pushing down onto her tongue. Your hand slides up and you push two fingers inside her, knowing how much she loves to cum around something.

“Fuck.” She cries out against your folds, her lips slick with cum and your arousal, and the boys watch in awe as her thighs start to shake around your head. “Cum for her baby.” Santo orders, his cock twitching in interest.

It only takes another few moments of sucking on her clit and pumping your fingers into her cunt before she is crying out. Her walls clenching down around your fingers and soaking them with her cum.

The boys hiss, watching Dara cum, and Frankie leans forward on his elbows, planting them on his knees as he watches Dara ride her orgasm on your fingers. “Your turn, hermosa.” Frankie rasps and Dara nods, her tongue pushing back inside of you, her chin against your clit as she tries to push you over the edge.

You whine, eyes fluttering closed and your mouth drops open when she flicks her tongue inside you, sending you over the edge. Your entire body bucks and you squeal in pleasure as the waves of bliss crash over you, making you gasp out as you grind back onto her face.

The guys groan, their cocks half hard at the sight in front of them. Pope smirks, biting his lip as he watches you cum. “Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.” He coos to both women. 

“Goddamn.” Frankie murmurs, watching Dara work you through it before she shifts to pull her mouth back.

You sit up and shift off of her, smirking at Dara and pulling her in for one last kiss before looking at the boys. “Happy Valentine’s Day, boys.” You hum playfully, making Dara giggle as she clings to you and it might be the best Valentine’s Day that you’ve ever had. Definitely one to repeat.

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

tags for this ch: alcohol use, throwing up, semi-permanent lipstick, accidentally embarrassing carmy in front of all his coworkers

Chapter 2: alcohol, garlic, and lipstick (8k)

He doesn’t get to see them for a couple days after that night on the couch.

This is more the rhythm he’s used to—early mornings and late nights, out of the house so long he never sees them. The next several days blur together into what feels like one very, very long day. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. It often feels as if he didn’t sleep at all. 

Their past exchange haunts him. He catches himself slipping, lost in thoughts as he watches the pot simmer. They’ve never had any sort of conversation like that before. Sure, they didn’t really talk about anything, but…

But in that same vein, Carmy can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if they’re thinking about it, too. The thought feels like a tangled ball of yarn in the pit of his stomach, writhing and messy. He shouldn’t be thinking about it—they’re just roommates, after all. 

He’s restlessly worried about that moment on the couch, and yet, he can’t even muster up the words as to why. 

Because if you finally say it, it’ll all be real, he thinks vaguely, somewhat hysterically to himself, and that’s where it always ends. 

Wednesday evening, he comes in from home exhausted as ever. Nothing new. He feels the strain in his wrist when he shoves his shitty front door open—obviously overdid it in the kitchen. After shoving his sneakers off, he flicks the lights on in the kitchen, and he spots a bright pink sticky note on the counter. 

Now that’s new.

He walks up to it, squinting at the pink that’s almost neon under the fluorescents. It’s a note from his roommate. 

hey carmy, it reads, scribbled on in pen. im going out with friends tonight, so I won’t be back until later + leftovers in the fridge if you want any :)

Carmy makes a small noise of acknowledgement to himself. Picks up the note, puts it back down. 

Running a hand through sweaty hair, he opens the fridge. It’s full of ingredients, perhaps far too many for a guy who barely cooks for himself. Ironically enough, it’s the one who doesn’t cook for a living who keeps the fridge stocked. There's a lot of miscellaneous sauces, near empty coffee creamers, and mysterious tupperwares.

He spots a new tupperware that has another pink sticky note on it, so he grabs that one out of the fridge. 

He pops it open. There’s condensation on the inside of the lid, and it drips onto the floor. Inside sits pasta, potatoes, chicken, onions, and peppers, all cooked into a cheap, yet harmonious meal. It’s a familiar instant pot recipe. 

It tastes familiar, too. The ingredients together taste like home. He’s not sure if it even tastes like his home, although surely his mom cooked something like this. As he stews over the flavors in his mouth, Italian seasoning, garlic, and black pepper, he wonders if maybe this apartment is starting to feel like home. 

The thought is so ridiculous he shakes his head to himself, but…

It feels warm coming home to someone. He can’t deny that he likes that feeling. Maybe he’s settling into this place more than he thought. Maybe he’s…getting more used to having a roommate than he expected.

Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow, he thinks as he stares at his dark bedroom ceiling. He’s so sleepy he can’t even help himself from thinking about them. The lethargy always goes full blast as soon as his back hits the mattress.

Graciously, he doesn’t dream when he sleeps. Unfortunately, he wakes back up again in only a matter of hours. 

When he reluctantly wakes up and squints at his phone, he sighs. 1:14 am. Slapping his phone back down on his side table, he stubbornly shuts his eyes in an attempt to go back to bed. It would’ve been too nice if his body let him sleep throughout the night. 

Then, there’s the sound of the door opening.

He listens to the familiar sound of their footsteps against their old hardwood floor. It’s admittedly a little strange—it’s usually the other way around, with Carmy coming back home so late they’re already asleep. Except for this time. 

They’re in the kitchen, he deduces, carefully listening. It’s easy to hear everything, especially in the quiet of night. As he closes his eyes again, listening, he imagines them. 

The sound of the fridge opening. No, the freezer—it always squeaks when it opens. It shuts. Yes, now that’s the fridge door. He imagines them looking into the fridge just like he was a couple of hours ago, tilting their head thoughtfully to the side. He’s not sure if they know that they do that. 

By all means, it should be disruptive, the way they’re opening and shutting cabinets in the kitchen. And yet, as he lays there, snuggled drowsily into his sheets, it starts to sound like a lullaby. He listens to them, thinking of them cooking, and he begins to drift to sleep.

“Fuck—fuck! Shit shit shit—”

There’s a sharp yelp, and Carmy’s jumping out of bed. 

If he’s being honest, he probably wasn’t actually going to fall back asleep so easily anyway. He rarely ever does. 

He stumbles into the brightly lit kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. The lights are so bright that he’s squinting, struggling to adjust. 

“Sorry if I woke you up, there was a roach,” they explain meekly before he can think of what to say. They’re standing there, bottle of roach killer in their hand. 

Carmy looks down. As expected, there’s a big dead roach, sitting in a pale pool of roach killer. 

“I…see.” He yawns, a big one that makes the corners of his eyes tear up. “You didn’t wake me up, I was already awake. You just got back?”

“Mhm,” they reply, reaching for some paper towels, and that’s when Carmy really notices their outfit. Black, flashy, clearly meant for a night out at a bar. Dark colors always looked good on them. Their makeup matches, dark and smudged around their eyes. Seeing them dressed up like this makes it nearly impossible to deny how much he likes looking at them. 

He in particular likes the plunging neckline on their thin shirt, dipping right down their chest.

Stop stop stop, he thinks suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He’s lucky they’re not looking at him, instead preoccupied with throwing away the roach corpse on the floor. He looks around almost a little frantically to find something, anything else to talk about.

“What’s this?” Carmy asks, peering into the pan on the stovetop. 

“I, like, really want garlic bread right now.” They lean onto the counter, looking at the pan with him. “So I was making garlic bread. But then that fucking roach came and killed my vibe.” 

This is when Carmy notices that they’re rather drunk.

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t this, uh, just a piece of bread?”

“Oh.” They pause, lifting the bread gingerly with one finger. “Um, this is so totally a piece of bread. No butter. No nothing.” They start laughing then, leaning harder onto the counter and covering their face. “Fuck, that is so  dumb.”

“You were getting there,” he comments, unable to resist an amused smile. 

“I couldn’t find the garlic powder,” they admit, face turning into a frown. “Or, like, anything else. But I need garlic bread, Carmy. I need this.”

“We have garlic cloves,” he points out.

“You cannot expect me to mince a fuckin’ garlic right now,” they retort, motioning at him with their arms so aggressively they stumble towards him. Instinctively, he puts his hands on their shoulders, and tries not to think too hard about it. 

They’re warm, and they smell like perfume, weed, and alcohol. 

“I think you should sit.” Carmy suggests, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t think he’s seen them this drunk before.

“Hm. Yeah. Imma do that.” They trudge over to one of their bar stools at the kitchen island, slumping onto it. Their shirt droops, revealing more skin, and Carmy pointedly looks away. There’s the sound of their forehead smacking against the counter, and then a groan. 

“Uh, you ok?” 

“I’m drunk and I want garlic bread,” they whine, flopping their arms across the counter. “But I can’t find the garlic—the garlic powder, and…I’m too stupid to make it right now,” they end in a miserable mumble. 

“I could make you some,” Carmy hears himself saying.

“...Really?” They tilt their head up to look at him, eyes big and full of wonder. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s just garlic bread,” he tries, instantly stricken with embarrassment. He hopes he’s hiding it well enough.

“But you’re making it!” They make a contented noise. “Imagine getting the best chef in the world to make you garlic bread.”

“I can do a lot better than garlic bread. Just so you know,” he says, entirely in an attempt to hide the way their praise makes him feel giddy. 

“I know.” His attempt backfires—their response is so genuine it makes him feel worse. “You could definitely do a million times better than garlic bread.”

“Maybe not quite a million, but somewhere around there,” he says, and then he starts working. 

He starts with a clove of garlic, mincing it quickly on their small wooden cutting board. He stands at the kitchen island with them, eyes flickering between the garlic and their watchful gaze. They’re still strewn across the counter, cheek pressed against the surface. 

“You literally mince garlic so good,” they mumble, eyes glued to his knife. “I wanna do it like you.” 

“I could teach you.” The garlic is chopped thin, and then scraped against the edge of his knife. “Just takes a lot of practice, really.”

“Teacher Carmy,” they say, almost like a song. They’ve got this big, dopey smile on their face that makes Carmy’s heart hurt. “Mr. Berzattooo,” they add, their smile growing more mischievous.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he admits, words tinged with amusement, and they laugh. “I think we should just stick to chef.”

“Yes, chef!” They salute unnecessarily, and he chuckles. 

He takes out the butter—their nice butter, not the spread stuff. Heats it over their pan, scrapes the minced garlic into the hot butter, creating a delicious sizzle.

“You, uh, go out to a bar?” He asks, because he’s curious. It’s easier talking to them with his back turned to them, forced to face the pan. 

“Yeah, just went with a couple of friends. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, so I thought a little fun would be nice. But I must say, bars are not exciting on Wednesday nights.”

“Seems like you got to have a good time anyway.” 

“Mhm, yeah. They had cheap drinks. I got so many.” They laugh. “They honestly didn’t taste that good.” 

“And you kept getting them?”

“It’s just ‘cause they were strong. Sometimes you just wanna get fucked up, y’know? Oh my god, it smells so fuckin’ good right now. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s just butter and garlic,” he answers honestly. 

“This is the best thing ever. You are literally so nice.” The sincerity in their words is so palpable that Carmy feels his stomach twist. “Anyone would be so lucky to be with you.”

Fuck, Carmy thinks distantly. He adamantly refuses to acknowledge how this comment makes him feel.

“I dunno about that,” he replies, a safe neutral even though he can’t help the embarrassment. 

“Really?” They blow a raspberry at him. “Well, I like having you as my roommate. That’s something, right?”

Carmy’s glad he’s not facing them. He’s not sure what his expression looks like right now. 

“Well. Lucky for me, I guess.” He pauses, listening to the sizzle of the garlic. for a moment. “You’re a good roommate, too. I…didn’t know if I would like having one at all.”

“Oh yeah? You never had one before?”

“Not since culinary school, and they weren’t good.” He sighs at the memory. “But this…I like this.”

“I like it too,” they agree, almost a bit dreamily. “It’s nice not having to be by yourself all the time.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It is.”

He turns around then, garlic bread plated and in his hand, and they gasp, hands over their mouth. 

“Carmy,” they whisper. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, smiling in endearment.

“Um, yeah. And you just made me garlic bread. To a drunk person, garlic bread is the next coming of Christ.” They slide the plate towards them, staring at it with big eyes. “And you put cheese on it!” 

“Should I not have?”

“Of course you should have!” They exclaim. “You could’ve put some shit on this I’ve never heard of and I would still eat it. You’re a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Well.” He laughs. Shakes his head. “I’m flattered?”

“You should be,” they whisper. They take a huge bite of it, resounding with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck.” They shake their head from side to side as they eat. “This is so fuckin’ yummy.”

“Good, good.” He nods, pleased. He props his elbows up on the counter, gauging their reaction.

“You are so talented,” they gush, continuing to eat urgently. “And so nice.”

Carmy knows he can’t hide the way his ears go pink. 

“Well.” He gives them a shrug he knows looks as half-hearted as it feels. “I do nice things for nice people,” he says finally, mostly because he can't just take the damned compliment.

“I'm nice people?” They repeat, so genuinely earnest that Carmy almost laughs. “That's a relief. I’m, like, so glad you think that, because I can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes.”

“Annoying?” The self deprecation surprises him. They don’t usually talk like this. “I don’t—I don’t think you’re annoying. Have I ever, uh, seemed like I—?”

“Nonono, it has nothing to do with you,” they interrupt with a hiccup, waving their hands. “I just, like, have issues.” They laugh, although Carmy’s positive there’s nothing funny about this. “And I really like you as a, as a roommate,” they stutter clumsily. “So I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I, I don’t think you would fuck it up.” There’s something a little unsettling about all this, something that’s putting Carmy on edge. 

“I always find a way! I just do, because, I’m—I’m not good at being a person,” they blurt out, and then there’s tears spilling all over their cheeks, streaked with black mascara. 

Shit, Carmy thinks. 

“Hey,” Carmy says softly, gentle and careful. He looks up at them, concerned eyes searching their watery ones. He wishes he had the words, but they're talking again. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” they sob, bottom lip wobbling. He’s also not sure if he’s ever seen them crying so hard. Their face is scrunched in pain, skin drenched in tears. “I, I, I can't even fucking make garlic bread!”

“You're drunk,” he reminds them, carefully. “Very drunk.”

“I'm drunk, too,” they wail, and Carmy wonders if he said the wrong thing. “I'm a drunk fuck-up! I, I'm too damaged…”

“Damaged?” He echoes. Their own brutality towards themself takes his words away, and all he can do is repeat their cruelty in disbelief.

“My whole life, I've just,” they whisper, and something about it nestles into his chest and stays there. The feeling of it is familiar. “My—my whole life, I—oh, god—” 

They stop with a sharp inhale, slapping their hand on their mouth. It’s a movement that Carmy would recognize just about anywhere.

“Shit,” he curses, and he rushes them to the bathroom. 

They’re still crying as they throw up into the toilet, apologizing profusely. Carmy tries not to look, just focusing on holding up their hair. 

“I’m sorry,” they apologize again before shoving their face back into the toilet. 

“It’s okay. It happens.”  He absentmindedly notices that he’s never touched their hair before. It’s soft—must be well taken care of. “You’re doing great right now, okay?” 

“Thank you,” they sob, tilting their head to the side to rest their cheek on the toilet seat. He lets their hair fall behind them, instead just keeping one hand on their back. “I’m really s-sorry,” they say again, eyes watery and red. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, because it's all he can say. They seem grateful enough.

I haven’t thrown up like this since college,” they tell him miserably. “I don’t like it.” 

“Nobody likes throwing up,” he reasons, and they make a weak noise of agreement. 

“Last time, I threw up in my roommate’s bathroom—” they pause, as if fighting a wave of nausea, but it seems to pass. “And I barely missed the toilet,” they whisper, like it’s some sort of dark secret. 

“Damn.” Carmy’s not sure if he should be smiling, but he is, just a little bit. “Sounds like you were shitfaced.”

“So shitfaced,” they echo. At least they’re smiling back at him. That’s a good sign. “It was such a mess. I felt so bad.” 

“Were they mad?”

“No, they weren’t. They even cleaned it up for me.” They groan. “I felt soooo bad, Carmy. So bad. I was worried they would forever hate me for that.” 

“Well, if they weren’t mad at you, I’m sure they wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“I just really didn’t want them to hate me,” they say, and they’re looking so intently into Carmy eyes that it feels like he’s bearing his soul to them. “Are you gonna hate me?”

“I'm not gonna hate you because you're throwing up.” Their hair’s falling into their face, and he moves to tuck it behind their ear before he can think about it. Their cheeks are hot to the touch.  “Would I be doing this for someone I hate?”

“Good point,” they mumble. Carmy’s hand lingers behind their ear before moving back to the middle of their back, rubbing little circles. The touch is guiltily electric on his end. “Sometimes I just…think people are waiting for a chance to hate me.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to find an excuse to dislike you,” Carmy says. “But…I get it.”

“...You do?” 

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not sure what else to say. They’re still looking at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. “I’m not used to anyone caring much about me.”

“I care about you,” they whisper. “I care about you a lot.”

Silence settles between them as any words Carmy had disappear on the tip of his tongue. They just keep looking at him, their eyes gentle and searching, and he can’t tear his gaze away. He can’t tear his hand off their back, either. 

“You shouldn't,” he whispers, strangely honest. “I'm not worth it.”

“Too bad.” He can't look away from their gaze, their eyes that are infinitely knowledgeable. “If I can't care about you, you have to stop being nice to me.”

Carmy opens his mouth to protest, but he can't. They seem to know it, too, with the way a knowing smile creeps up their face.

“I don't wanna do that,” he replies finally. 

“Thought so.” Their face glows brilliantly with a smile, and it should be infuriating, but it's not. “So deal with it. Me caring about you.”

He laughs at that, because it's so stupid. 

“Stupid,” he laughs, and they laugh back, their giggles echoing into the ring of the toilet. “Y'know, I fucked up today at work.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“I was cutting onions. I've done it a million times, but for some reason, I fucked it all up. Onions got all over the floor, and I had to redo it all. Well, my sous had to redo ‘em.”

He's not sure why he's mentioning this to them, or why he's even mentioning it for a second time, but he is. 

“I haven't fucked up like that in forever,” he continues, reliving the memory in the back of his brain. The knife hitting the floor, metal against linoleum. “It was stupid. I hadn't done something so fucking, stupid like that in—god knows how long.” 

That can't be the point, he thinks to himself. He can't just bring up him messing up onions just to complain about messing up onions. That's not worth anything, to him or to them. They're drunk, anyhow. Why is he bringing up his issues like this, right now?

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” they say with surprisingly clarity. Their words carry a measured gentleness that doesn't seem possible from a drunk. “It would be crazy if you never messed up, y'know. Like, ever.”

“But it's been years,” he protests. There's a pressure building. “Years since I messed up like that. And someone had to clean up after my shit. They shouldn't have had to do that.”

“Hm…” They make a thoughtful noise. “It's not like you did it on purpose, right?”

“Of course not.”

“That's what friends are for,” they murmur. “And coworkers. Sometimes. It's ok that you messed up.”

“...” A part of Carmy wants to continue protesting, but it feels futile. “I shouldn't have brought it up, you're still drunk anyway,” he says, mostly to himself, but also because he can't stand to acknowledge it anymore.

“I don't care,” they whisper. “I like it when people talk to me about things.” Carmy feels something twist in his stomach, palpable and physical. 

“I’m probably being annoying,” he mutters, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he wants to bash his head in for saying something so childish. 

“No. You’re not.” They respond before he has a chance to take it back. “I want to know you, Carmy.”

“You already know me.”

“Not as much as I would like,” they mutter, eyes fluttering shut, and Carmy has no choice but to swallow the heavy truth. 

“You shouldn't fall asleep here. If you're feeling better, we need to get you into your bed.” He knows it's unfair, changing the subject like this. But he can't bear to look at it anymore than he already has. 

Luckily for him, they relent without any protest. They lean up against him as he helps them to their room. It's a bit difficult to wade through the piles of clothes on the floor, but Carmy's no better. 

“I really didn't mean to get this fucked up,” they mumble once they're laid back in bed. 

“No one does.”

“Maybe not no one,” they mutter, mostly to themself. No comment. They sigh. “What time is it?”

“Uh…2:35,” he says after a beat, searching eyes landing on their bedside analog clock.

“Motherfucker. I'm sorry. Don't you have work tomorrow?”

“I do. But…it's fine.” It's very much not fine, he has to wake up in a couple hours, and yet. Here he is, at the end of it. 

“You're sweet. You really are.” 

“I'm…not sweet,” is all he can get out, voice quiet. 

“Well, I think you're sweet to me. Taking care of me like this.” They outstretch their arms all of a sudden. “Come here? Please?”

He knows what they're asking. They've never hugged before. He’s only a hugger when it comes to family. He's seen them hug friends before, maybe, but him? Never. 

He shouldn't get closer, he really shouldn't. But he ends up doing it anyway, because he tells himself he likes the way they say please.

“Can I hug you?” They ask.

“Um,” he says. He nods.

They smile again, as brilliant as ever, and bring him into a tight hug. They smell like the mint mouthwash they insisted Carmy retrieve for them, along with their perfume.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” they say. He’s never heard their voice in his ear like this before. They wrap their arms around his neck then, and Carmy’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. 

“No problem,” he gets out, feeling a bit breathless. 

Before he can even form the next thought, they’re pressing a sleepy kiss on their cheek before flipping back down on their bed. 

Carmy feels like throwing up, but…not in a bad way.

“Good night,” they mumble, so sweet. “And thank you.”

Something in his brain shuts off after that. He walks to his room like a zombie, and he falls asleep nearly instantly. 

It turns out that going to bed at 2:30 am the night before work is not so fine at all. 

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t sleep,” Carmy says groggily when he comes in, and everyone’s eyes are on him. They’re staring so intently like there’s something on his face. “What?”

“It’s, uh,” Sydney starts, but Richie swiftly cuts her off.

“Must’ve been a long night, eh?” Richie says with such a shit eating grin that makes Carmy pinch his eyebrows. 

“Fuck’s your deal?” Carmy bites back, gesturing at him. The length of his fuse matches the amount of sleep he got—slim to none.

“Nothing, cousin,” Richie replies, even though he’s still grinning like a mad man. “You better be telling me about it later though, got it?”

“Whatever,” Carmy mutters. It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this shit. “Just catch me up on what I missed.”

The day starts off rough, but he gets through it because he has to. Throughout the day, though, he can’t help but get the feeling that people keep looking at him when he’s not looking. Maybe it’s just his typical paranoia, but… 

“These look good,” Carmy praises. “Really good,” he reiterates, turning the delicate dessert around on its circular plate. Marcus beams, clearly pleased. It’s a small matcha cake with carefully placed layers of ganache and fruit. Carmy takes a bit of it with a fork, rolling the earthy and tangy flavors around on his tongue. 

“How is it?” Marcus asks, eyes firm on him.

“A little crumbly,” Carmy answers honestly. “Did you take my advice from last time?”

“I did,” he replies, frustration evident in his voice. “Think it’s the oven?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Carmy takes another bite. “Try a lower temp. Other than that, though, it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, chef,” Marcus says. “Means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” He claps Marcus on the back, short and quick. “You’ve been working hard. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” He pauses then, staring at Carmy. Just like how everyone has been all damn day. “Uh, Chef?”

“What?” He feels the impatience bubbling up in him, frustrated and confused. “People have been staring at my goddamn face all day like I got some shit on it.”

“You do,” Marcus says. “It’s not shit, though. Looks like…lipstick,” he says after a beat. 

“Lipstick?” A rock drops in his stomach. Carmy raises his hand to his face, searching. 

“On your left,” he clarifies. “By your ear.”

He rubs aggressively there, but he pulls his fingers back without any color on it.

“Did I get it?”

“Well, I thought you did.” Marcus makes a noise, thoughtful. “Guess it’s one of those permanent ones.”

“Permanent?” Carmy repeats, a little hysterical. 

“Semi permanent,” Marcus clarifies. He seems amused.

Carmy rushes into their small, shitty bathroom, getting close to the streaked mirror. He angles his head to find the stain. Sure enough, it’s right here on his cheek. It’s a dark, reddish color, in the smeared but recognizable shape of a kiss mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His head feels hot. It must’ve happened last night, when they kissed him right before falling asleep. 

Semi-permanent, he hears Marcus say in the back of his head. Of course it is.

With a wet paper towel, he scrubs at the mark so hard it hurts. Even so, it remains, still clear on his pale, reddened skin. He wishes his hair was long enough to hide it.

“It’s not coming off,” he says, stressed upon returning to Marcus’ station. He hopes he doesn’t sound as hysterical as he feels. Sydney’s there too, chewing on the matcha pastry Carmy had earlier. “Why the fuck isn’t it coming off?”

“You’ll probably need a makeup wipe. I think I have some in my bag if you want one,” Sydney offers. Carmy swears she has a halo around her head. “Just a warning, though, they’re old as fuck. I haven’t worn makeup in a long time.”

“It’s fine. Can I take one?” Carmy runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Can’t believe no one fuckin’ told me. I—I fucking greeted customers like this!”

“It’s cool, Carm. At least it wasn’t a hickey,” Marcus reasons, and Carmy thinks his ears go hot. 

“Thank god,” he replies, sarcastic, and they have the nerve to laugh at him. “Shut up,” he tries, but there’s no real heat behind it. Sydney leaves and comes back with a semi-dried up makeup a minute later. 

“Don’t get mad if it doesn’t work,” Sydney states, a cautionary disclaimer. “It might be one of those that has a specific remover.”

“Are you serious?” The sigh that comes out is full of disdain. “Fuck me.”

“Day’s already almost done, if it makes it any better,” Marcus notes with a cheeky smile, and Carmy just shakes his head.

The makeup wipe doesn’t work. Carmy tries not to get mad, but maybe he does. Maybe just a little bit.

“It’ll come off with enough washes,” Sydney reassures him. Tina’s standing with her now, too, eyeing him like a spectacle. Everyone seems to be enjoying his misery. 

“Just ask your girl to get rid of it for you,” Tina says, an eyebrow raised. She raises a thumb to his cheek, rubs at the mark like a mom. “Damn. Shit’s on there.”

“They’re not—it’s not like that,” he sputters. He’s been trying to get through the day without anyone asking about it, but now that there’s some down time, there’s no stopping anyone. 

“A one night stand?” Tina guesses, eyes widening. She laughs and smacks him on the arm. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy!”

“It’s not that, either,” Carmy stresses. He knows he’s getting overly flustered about it, but he can’t help it. His eyes flicker towards the clock. They’re closing soon. “Just forget it, okay? Please.”

He can tell from their expressions that neither of them want to forget about it, but by some stroke of luck, they’re considering letting it go. Just for now. That’s enough of a victory for now, so he’ll take it.

At least, it would’ve been a victory if Richie didn’t take that very opportunity to step into the kitchen. 

“Been trying to find you all day, bastard!” Richie hollers, slinging an arm over Carmy’s hunched shoulder. Carmy sighs, expressive in his annoyance. “Looks like this baby’s finally growing up, huh?”

“I’m 30, asshole,” Carmy says, tiredly, but that never works. Richie’s still talking, anyhow. 

“So? Do I know the chick?” Richie’s grin makes Carmy want to punch him.

“No,” he replies, flatly. He’s so tired. “And it’s not what you think. It was just, they’re, uh…”

“Oh shit, cousin!” Richie’s laughing, obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Didn’t think you were capable of—“

“It’s not a one night stand. Already guessed that,” Tina interrupts him. 

“What?” He sounds annoyed, like he has the right to be more irritated than Carmy himself. “Then what’s the secret third option? Or are you lying to my face?”

“They’re my roommate,” Carmy explains, finally.

There’s a beat of silence. And then, uproarious noise.

“You have a roommate?” Is Richie’s first question. The second: “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Is, like, dating a roommate a good idea? No offense,” Sydney says, hands raised in defense. “Just wondering.”

“It’s not,” Tina answers for her, sharp eyes narrowed at him. But strangely enough, she’s smiling nonetheless. 

“They’re my roommate, we’re not dating, and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be weird about it!” He shouts over the noise, directing the last one at Richie. “Look—they were just drunk, and I was helping them because they were fucking throwing up. Happy now?”

“And they kissed you,” Richie points out. He’s grinning like he knows some big secret.

“Fuck, okay, can we stop fucking talking about this now? It was just an accident, it’ll be gone tomorrow, and we’re never gonna mention this shit again!”

Carmy gets saved by some distant catastrophic noise in the back, somewhere around the freezer. He leaves without a word. Behind him, he hears raucous laughter mostly to Richie’s tune.

Before he leaves for the night, he stops by the bathroom one more to try and get it off. Predictably, it remains stubborn and stalwart through soap, hot water, and scrubbing. The skin under it is red with irritation, and Carmy knows that he's getting nowhere. If anything, he's making it worse. 

His eyes linger on the blotted lipstick on his face. It's smudged, but he can see the cracks and the shape of their lips. His gaze follows the lines of it. 

The memory burns bright in his head for a split second. It bursts in like a flashbang, intense and unavoidable. There's a phantom sensation of their lips on his cheek, the smell of their perfume, the warmth of their embrace, and it's, it's just—

Carmy shuts the lights off and heads out. He needs this lipstick mark gone by morning. 

When he gets home, the apartment is dark. Unoccupied. As he flicks on the lights, he searches for them. They're usually home before him most nights. However, it seems tonight is an anomaly. He walks down the hallway past his room to theirs, and their ajar door reveals an empty bedroom.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Just his luck. 

He opens his phone then, a last resort. He has his messages pulled up, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard and stay there. 

How the hell does he even word this?

Hey, I need lipstick remover. 

No, that isn't enough information. Who knows how many types of remover there could be? What if it isn't the right one? He needs to be more specific. 

Hey, I need lipstick remover for the lipstick you were wearing last night. 

That sounds even stranger. Too specific, although it's the truth. That's what he needs. But he can't just…type that, can he? No, there's no way. 

Is there any way he can get out of saying that there's lipstick on his face from last night and not make it weird? He wishes they were here so he could just show them. Words have never been his forte. There's little hope for him now. 

Please come home right now, he briefly considers typing. It's by far the worst one out of all of them. 

After pacing for a solid five minutes, he decides to send a hopefully neutral message. 

Hey, you out for the night?

It's still pretty weird. Carmy is not a texter. There's not much he needs to talk about that can't wait until he sees them next. They're usually the one texting him, and it's usually only about groceries or bills. However, he tells himself it's fine because there's no note left on the counter. They always leave a note when they go out.

…They always leave a note when they go out. 

This thought resets his pacing around the apartment, frantically looking for the square shape and vivid color of a sticky note. That's how they usually do it, and it's typically on the kitchen counter. So, it's honestly a futile effort to be looking around the whole place, but he does so anyway. 

He looks at his phone. It's been almost 10 minutes, and still no response. 

This isn't unnatural by any means. They always end up responding eventually, but the prickling anxiety is getting pricklier by the second. 

They've got to be so hungover. There's no way they're out again tonight, he thinks to himself, and he's positive it has to be true. 

They're missing, and you're not ever gonna get this shit off your face, his brain adds helpfully. 

That's what finally kicks him into gear and forces him to press the call button. 

It rings for a long time. The more it rings, the longer he stands there in the kitchen, the stupider and more anxious he feels. It's a pitiful feeling to be consumed by, but here he is, unable to resist. 

However, when they finally pick up, he's not sure if he feels completely relieved. A different part of his anxiety is spiking now.

“Carmy?” Their voice carries a trace of static through the phone speaker. 

“Yeah, hey. You see my text?”

“Oh, oops. Sorry, I missed it. Is everything ok?”

“Where are you?” He asks instead. 

“I'm just gettin’ a drink from the corner store. Why? You want me to grab something for you?”

The absolute nonchalance in their voice humbles him, reducing him to complete embarrassment.

“Uh, no, I don't need anything. I mean, uh, I do actually need something from you, though,” he amends hastily. 

“Sure, what's up? I guess it must be important if you're calling, right?”

“I, um—yeah, kinda important,” he says with attempted tranquility, completely ignoring how much he was freaking out earlier.  “So…you got, uh, lipstick remover?”

“Lipstick remover?” Their surprise makes him shrivel. “Well, I have a couple types of makeup remover…”

“I think it needs to be specific?”

“You think it needs to be specific? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Their voice carries bewildered amusement.

“It's, uh…” He swallows. He can't tiptoe around it anymore. “It's…yours?”

“...Huh?”

“You got some lipstick on me last night, and it's not coming off,” he says finally, mortifyingly, and the line goes silent. 

“Fucking—I'm so sorry, my memory is spotty from last night and I, I thought I imagined that, and, uh—” They awkwardly clear their throat. “I'm sorry, I really am. It's not supposed to transfer like that, but I guess it just…”

“It's okay,” he says, despite how hysterical it made him earlier. That part isn't their fault. “It's just, uh, really staying on there.”

“Shit. Of course. It's this super resilient lipstick I use for when I go out drinking, because it's not supposed to come off like, at all, so it comes with this specific remover—I'm sorry, I don’t need to be rambling like this.” They laugh nervously. “I'm on my way home now, but it should be on my desk if you wanna look at it. It's a black tube, which…isn't very specific, I guess. And my desk is really messy…”

“I'll start looking,” Carmy decides. 

“I'm sorry,” they reply miserably. 

“It's okay. You said you were coming home now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Cool. See you.”

The call ends. Carmy just stands there for a minute. It's like a tidal wave just rushed over him, and now the water is slowly settling to a stand still. 

Black tube, he thinks. How hard can that be?

Very hard, it seems. 

Their room is comfortably messy. Definitely not as messy as his. There's some clothes on the floor, jackets on chairs, underwear he turns his gaze away from (don't imagine them in that lace one lying in the corner or the flowery one or the fucking thong he didn't see anything), but that's about it. Nothing outside of typical clutter, in his opinion. 

The desk, though. The desk. 

He doesn't think he can even see the surface of it. There's just lots of little things scattered across it, from piles of jewelry to stacks of papers and books. It's like an ispy book. 

He stares at it, trying to find a black tube. He quickly realizes how much of a futile effort it's going to be. 

In this moment, he thinks about how he's never spent much time in their room. The two of them usually hang out in the living room. Besides, he's not one to go snooping around in someone's personal space. Until being pushed to his limits and being given explicit permission, that is.

He leans in, peering closer at the scattered items. There's a little bit of everything. Receipts, make-up brushes, scissors, paper scraps, empty water cups, hair ties, empty candy wrappers, lipsticks…none of which are black tubes. 

Maybe it's not on their desk. Maybe it's on a different shelf. 

They said it was on their desk, a voice in his head says, but he’s not listening.

The next closest thing is their nightstand. It's a little messy, but nowhere near as bad as their desk. There's a melatonin bottle, some lip balm, a bedside lamp. He squints, seeing what might be more pills or maybe skincare until a dark tube catches his eye.

When he picks it up, he realizes it's not black, instead being a dark blue. Also, it's not a tube, it's more of a bottle.

The text on it also reads as lube, not lipstick remover. 

…Lube?

It's lube, his brain repeats, helpful as ever. 

I can see that, he thinks back.

“Hello? Carmy?”

A familiar voice has him scrambling to put the lube back. He moves it back to the night stand more quickly than he could have ever expected of himself. 

“Hey, I'm in your room,” he calls back, hoping that his fabricated nonchalance comes off as believable. He steps out of their room into the hallway, and they appear at the end of it. 

The first he notices is how much better they look when he saw them last. To be fair, the last time he saw them, they were sobbing and throwing up into the toilet, drunk out of their mind, but still. It's still an improvement. Their cheeks are flushed from the cold, and their hair is mussed from being outside.

“Hey. Did you find it?” 

“I couldn't find it,” he admits. He steps out of the way to let them through, and then he follows them back into their room. 

“Yeah, sorry, my desk is a fucking nightmare,” they mutter darkly, making a beeline for their desk. “I swear I took it out and put it right here…Ah, yes!”

Miraculously, they pull it out. It looks like a lipstick in itself, and when they uncap it, it just looks like a white lip balm. 

“So, do I just…rub it on?”

“Well—yeah, you should, but it emulsifies with water, so you just use water and then use a cotton pad…” Carmy supposes the confusion isn't too well masked on his face. “Can I see where it is?” They ask tentatively. 

Wordlessly, Carmy turns his head. He supposes they're just glad they didn't see it immediately.

“Oh.” When he turns to face them again, their cheeks are dark with color. It's not a look he's used to seeing on them. “I'm sorry,” they say again with a downturned head. 

“It's okay,” Carmy says again, and he means it. He brings a hand to his cheek subconsciously. “I just…”

“Let me take it off,” they insist, guilt knitted in their expression, and that's how Carmy ends up seated on the toilet seat. 

“Now I'm the one getting patched up on the toilet,” he says quietly. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but it makes them laugh.

“So, um, when did you notice?” They ask. The tube uncaps with a small pop.

“A couple hours ago,” he admits. The balm feels smooth and oily against his cheek. “I had no idea, but my coworkers, uh…”

“Oh my god,” they mutter under their breath. “I just don't think I'm ever gonna stop apologizing for this.”

“It's fine, really,” he insists, even though he was manically scrubbing at his skin earlier. “It was sorta funny,” he adds, even though he was freaking out while everyone else was laughing. They don't need to know. 

“That's good, at least.”

“Yeah. It was—uh…”

He feels their thumb rubbing circles into his cheek, and the words disintegrate like sand in the wind. 

“Sorry, this is just one of those things that takes a little bit of work to get off.” Their tone projects a casual indifference to it, but their voice is so quiet that it feels unfairly intimate. 

“I didn't know lipstick could be this…intense,” Carmy hears himself say. He's far away, still trapped in the feeling of their hand on his face. 

“It's what you need for an intense night out,” they reply with a small smile. He looks up at them then, meeting their dark eyes, but they're concentrated on the spot on his cheek. When they catch him looking, though, they don't look away.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly. He can’t stop looking.

“A lot better. Yesterday was rough, but I'm feeling okay now.” 

“Good.”

“Yeah. Um…” They lean back, breaking eye contact, and Carmy feels a pressure releasing. They grab a wet paper towel and carefully drag it across his cheek. “Thanks again, by the way. For putting up with me last night. I mean, it was more than just putting up, but…y'know.”

“Sure,” he says, much softer than intended. “It happens.”

“I think you're just nice,” they tease, fully intended to be light-hearted, but because Carmy's the way that he is, it weighs heavily in his chest. 

“Sometimes,” he mumbles, because that's all he can bear to say.

Because last night, they looked him in the eyes and whispered that they wanted to know him. That they thought he was sweet, he was kind. They spoke with such earnestness that for a split second, Carmy considered believing them about everything, even though that’s always the wrong thing to do.

Because once he believes them a little bit, he’ll start acting like he’s a good person. He’ll fool everyone around him, even himself. 

Then, the inevitability that is his self-destruction will arrive like it’s always promised. He will mess everything up like he always does, sharp-edged flaws unfurling from the inside out. They’ll slice everyone he was able to fool into getting close enough.

The least he can do is try and give some kindness back before it happens.

“Just take the compliment,” they say with a small grin. “Y'know, I don't remember everything from last night. There's bits and pieces I know that're missing. But from what I do remember…” They make one final wipe at his cheek. “You have to let me be nice to you.”

He remembers, too. 

So deal with it, they had said. Me caring about you.

“How could I forget,” he tries to joke, but his laugh comes out sounding far too breathless. Luckily for him, their laugh, much more tangible and believable, joins his own. 

“I said some crazy shit last night, I know.” They take a seat next to him on the edge of the bathtub. “But I meant it. I like being your friend, Carmy. I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“You didn't say too much. You were just drunk.” He feels a bit stunned. 

“Okay,” they accept after a beat. “I mean, you're right. I was just drunk. Um…” They gesture towards his face. “I got the mark off, by the way.”

Carmy stands up and checks his face in the mirror. Sure enough, it's gone. He feels relief wash over him like a breeze, and another feeling he can't place. It's…It's…

“Thanks,” he says, and they nod. 

“It's the least I could do.” They stand up, too, and walk out of the bathroom. They stand in the doorway for a moment before looking at him. “I'm gonna smoke. You wanna join?”

It's…

“Yeah, for sure. I'll be just a sec.”

Then it's just him in the bathroom, the door shut as he stares at his reflection. The harsh fluorescent bathroom light casts harshly down the planes of his face, creating dark shapes on his face. He stares at the spot where the lipstick mark used to be. The longer he stares, the more the unnamed feeling stretches outwards. 

When it drops in his stomach, that’s when he realizes.

The feeling is disappointment.

~

@zorrasucia

[matchavellichor]

Can I request a Seb x f!Reader where either MC is super tired or Seb is super tired and the other helps them relax. Like by running a hot bath, then giving a really sensual massage? It doesn’t have to become NSFW or it can. Completely up to you! But I just cannot get the idea out of my head!

You’re writing is to die for btw!

A/N: I loved this idea sm!! I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy!

Long Night

Sebastian x f!MC - NSFW/Fluff - 3.6k words - ao3

Tags: Pre-Established Relationship, Protective Seb, Cunnilingus, Body Worship, Care/Comfort

Summary: Sebastian helps you wind down after a long night.

It was half past two in the morning when you finally staggered your way back to Hogwarts, having spent the better part of your evening decimating Ashwinder camps around the outskirts of Hogsmeade. As you slip through the common room door, Sebastian rouses from the wingback chair he had fallen asleep on while waiting up for you.

“Please, no lecture tonight,” You intercept as soon as you spot him, raising a hand to your mouth to stifle a yawn. “I’m far too exhausted for this.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but disgruntledly closes it at the sight of your half-lidded eyes, the weary slouch of your shoulders. 

He brings a hand up to thumb at the smear of ash on your chin, a faint look of understanding. “I’ll save the scolding for tomorrow. You look like you’ve been roughed up enough for one night.” 

You give him a satisfied smile as you sink back against one of the plush couches. “You think I’m roughed up? Should’ve—” You wince at the contact of the cushions with the abrasions and cuts under your clothes. “Seen the other guy.” 

He looks unconvinced. “Yeah, yeah,” He outstretches a hand in front of you, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, up.” 

“Do I have to?” You close your eyes, tilting your head back onto the backrest of the couch.

“Yes . You’re a mess,” He tugs you to your feet despite your groans, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You’re taking a bath then I’m putting you in a bed. No more passing out on the common room couch.” 

“Yes, mum.” You quip, your muscles too sore to physically protest, but not compliant enough to go without a fair amount of whinging.

He locks the door behind him as soon as he gets you inside the Prefect’s Lavatory, flicking the lights on with a swish of a wand. A set of firm hands on your waist lifts you up on the counter so he can better tend to you. You grimace from the press of his fingers against your injuries and concern washes over his expression.

“May I see?” He asks, fingers paused on the laces of your bodice. You nod. 

He unties the latticework of laces with a deftness that only comes from practice, beginning on the buttons of your blouse next. He slips the garment  off your shoulders with a tenderness that contrasts so starkly to the usual hasty manner he tears it off you in isolated alcoves in the Restricted Section, or under the drawn curtains of four-poster beds.

“Lift your arms, love.” 

He pulls the chemise over your head, yet doesn’t linger too long on the sight of your bare chest when he notices the purple contuses scattered over your ribs. He frowns in disapproval, tsks as his fingers trace the bruises with feather-light touches. His gaze snaps back up to meet yours. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You give him a sheepish smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I tripped on my way to Charms?” 

He looks entirely unamused.

“Worth a shot.” 

“Merlin’s sake, the things you get up to...” He parts to rummage through a first-aid kit that he pulled from one of the cabinets, a frustration in his movements. He’s upset, but not at you. “It’s a miracle you’ve never gotten detention. Or honestly right out expelled. You’ve broken so many Hogwarts ordinances I’m surprised you’re still—”

“Since when did you start caring about the rules?”

He sighs as he pauses in front of you with a tin of dittany salve in hand. “Since I started caring about you.”

You roll your eyes, even though his words make you feel warm and you have to bite back a smile at the preposterous idea of Sebastian Sallow caring about someone other than himself. If someone had told you this a few months ago you would’ve fell into laughing hysterics.

“What was it this time?” He pops open the lid of the balm and begins to rub a generous amount on your bruises, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“A pack of angry Mooncalves. Vicious beasts, really.”

He scoffs. “Oh, terrifying.”

You nod solemnly. “My life flashed before my eyes.”

He rolls his eyes, once again intensely unamused. He finishes smearing the last of the paste over your sores, tucking the salve away in its kit. 

“So do I get to know what creature has actually battered up my girlfriend?” 

“I am not battered.” You protest. “It was just a few Ashwinder camps. No big deal. I handled it.”

“A few,” He mutters to himself in disbelief, shaking his head as he closes up the healing kit and slides it back into the cabinet. He turns back to you and you can’t help but find his face of disapproval devastatingly adorable, feeling a bit inclined to defy him more often.

He takes your jaw in his hand, tilting your head for him to study. His eyebrows knit together as he eyes the cut just under your cheekbone, concern etched into his expression. “Yeah, I can see how well you handled it.”

“Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Yes, you are, I can see it on your face.” You tilt your head, amused. “You kind of look like Ominis.”

“You wound me.” He drops your chin. 

He turns to open the faucets in the bathtub and you watch as he holds a hand under the water to make sure the temperature is just right, runs his fingers through the lavender-scented suds beginning to form on the surface.

You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his trousers to pull him closer when he finally makes his way back over to you, spreading your legs to situate him in the space just between your thighs. 

“I’m fine, alright?” You trail your hands over his chest demonstratively. “Got all four limbs. I’d call that a major success in my books.”

“Your definition of success genuinely perturbs me.” 

He braces himself against the ledge of the counter when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss him lazily. 

His mouth is warm and sweet, the taste of mint on his tongue where it meets yours.

He indulges you for a moment, a hand coming up to hold your jaw. A thumb brushing against your cheek, lips moving against yours with a syrupy kind of softness that makes your toes curl. He holds his other hand to the small of your back, fingers spreading warm and broad over your bare skin. Tender. Careful. 

You want to just melt into him, your muscles loose and jelly-like from exhaustion. You groan, pettish and frustrated, when he finally pulls away. He smiles.

“Stop trying to seduce me and get in the bathtub.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” You scoff, your legs wrapping around the backs of his calves to keep him close to you, feeling the stiffness pressed hot against your stomach. You smile

back. “I’ve clearly already done so.” 

“I have a gorgeous, half-naked witch kissing me, you can’t expect me to maintain total composure.” He steps away from you and holds out a hand for you to take. “Now get in the tub before you whittle away the little moral principle I still do possess.” 

“Oh, stop it,” You jeer as you let him help you down from the counter. “Corroding each other’s moral compasses is our favorite pastime and you know it.”

“The only pastime I’m interested in right now is getting you clean and in bed.” 

“Such a bore.”

“You are such a brat.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

He slips off the rest of your clothes with gentle fingers, mindful of every bruise and abrasion as if he’s already memorized their locations. You sigh contentedly when you finally sink into the warm water, your head falling back against the porcelain. He kneels down beside you, brushing back the hair from your cheeks and forehead.

“Feel nice?

Your answer is a murmured mnhgmm. He chuckles and casts a stasis charm to keep the water at that temperature. He watches you for a moment, fingers dipping under the water to rub soft little circles over your arm. 

He slips a hand under the nape of your neck. “Tilt your head back, darling.” 

You oblige even though your muscles feel too limp to move, letting him run his fingers through your hair and dampen it in the water.

He works in some sickly floral-scented shampoo, the kind that you find far too sweet for your own preferences but that you know he absolutely adores smelling on you. You can’t find it in you to protest because the feeling of his firm hands massaging your scalp makes you too lax to form any coherent thoughts.

“Fuck.” You mutter when he kneads at a particularly sensitive spot at the nape of your neck. “I’m going to marry you.”

He breathes out a laugh, focusing on that spot until you’re practically melting into his palm, shoulders sinking further into the water. “That easy?”

“I’m a simple woman.”

“You’re very much not.”

“You like it.”

He smiles fondly. “I do.”

He takes advantage of your drowsy state to lean over the rim of the tub and steal as many kisses as he wants, tilts your chin up with a wet hand to give himself better access to your lips. He moves you around like a ragdoll, placing kisses down your wrists, on your knuckles, while he runs a loofah up and down your arms.

“You look pretty like this.”

“What? Covered in the blood of half a dozen different poachers? You’re sounding like Poppy.” 

You chance a look at him through one half-opened eye. He’s watching you intently, arms crossed over the side of the porcelain basin, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“While admittedly strangely erotic ,” He confesses,  rubs at a lingering speck of scarlet on your neck. “I meant...all sapless and drowsy. It’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

When he’s finally content that he’s gotten every ounce of blood and soot from your body, he helps you out of the water with one of your arms slung around his shoulder, wrapping you in a towel that’s big enough for you to drown in.

Sufficiently dried and smelling like a floral abomination, he takes you back to your room and lets you sink back against the pillows while he rummages through your chest for pajamas. 

He manages to procure the tiniest set you owned, a sleek negligée with a babydoll neckline and a ditsy floral pattern all over, little pink roses with green stems adorning the fabric. It’s ridiculously short and leaves absurdly little to the imagination.

He holds it out to you curiously, dangled precariously over his finger by one of the thin straps. “How come I’ve never seen you in this?”

“Because that thing can barely be considered clothing.”

He helps you sit up on the edge of the bed. “You’re not doing a very good job of selling me off it.”

“I’ll indulge you in your utterly impractical sleepwear choices just this once.”

He slips the gown over your head, smoothing down the fabric at your waist. His hand stretches broad and warm where he’s settled it over your hip. When he pulls away to tuck the matching frilly floral undergarments back into your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed any knickers?”

“Nope,” He pushes you back against the bed and you sink into the covers. “Doctor’s orders.”

You shift onto your stomach, hitching a leg over one of your pillows tucked between your thighs as you get comfortable. You murmur through a yawn, “I’d like to see this guy’s medical license.”

Sebastian eyes the way your dress rides up over your bottom, the silk bunching up at your cinched waist. If he were a weaker man, he’d be tugging the flimsy fabric the rest of the way up over your hips and fucking you into the mattress until you were truly sore and exhausted. 

However, he has principles. Sort of.

He kneels beside you at the edge of your bed and tugs the hem down before you can properly give him a heart attack. You’re blissfully unaware of any unintentional indecencies.

He lets his hand linger a little too long, running down your sides and reveling in how warm and pliable you feel under his touch.

“You’re a little tense,” He remarks, even though you’re certainly anything but tense. You currently feel like you’ve dissolved into a puddle of warm sensations and you’re surprised you haven’t seeped into the mattress by now. 

His hands are kneading at your back before you can form even a semblance of a protest though, and you soon forget why you would ever want to. 

He smooths his fingers over the silk, feels your warmth seeping through the fabric and it’s enough to make him lose his mind. Before long he’s slipping his hands under the hem of your dress, chasing the feeling of skin-on-skin. 

He massages the space between your shoulder blades, down your spine, over your sides, smiling to himself at the little satisfied sighs you let out from the sensation. 

“Fucking hell,” You moan when he presses his knuckles into a particularly knotted spot at the small of your back. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He spews out a laugh, sounding utterly delighted with this information. “And all it took was a measly little massage for you to come to this realization?”

“Among other things...” You murmur contentedly into the pillow.

“Give me a comprehensive list when you get a chance,” He leans over you to place a kiss to your shoulder, runs his hands south to knead at the soft flesh at your hips. “I need to know what I’ve been doing right.”

“Well, first on the list, —whatever magic you’re doing with your hands right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Next up…mmhm, that one thing you do with your tongue.”

You pause, thighs squeezing together at the memory of the many times his head has been between your thighs. “Actually, that might be number one.”

“Might be?” He scoffs. “Well clearly I haven’t been doing it nearly as good as I should have. Simply unacceptable.” He enunciates his indignation by flipping you onto your back, amusing himself with the drowsy giggle you let out.

He kisses you slow and languid, cupping your jaw in his hand and rubbing your cheek with his thumb as if in appreciation for getting to touch something so precious. He peppers kisses down your neck, inhaling deeply, “Gods, you smell amazing.”

“I smell ridiculous.”

He licks a stripe down your throat in exemplary approval. “Ridiculously delicious. It's absurd, really.”

He dips his head to trail kisses over your collarbone, down your sternum, around your navel, over your hip bones. His hands bunch up the fabric of your dress, tugs it over your waist and gropes tenderly at the expanse of exposed skin.

He takes his time, as if he’s at an altar in solemn devotion. You let out soft, drowsy sighs as he drags his tongue down your midriff, across your hip, as if he needs to taste every part of you.

He looks up at you when he finally dips his head between your thighs, clearly satisfied with the way your head is sunken back against the pillow and your hands have balled up the comforter in little fists, consumed by anticipation.

He hooks an arm under one of your thighs and pulls it over his shoulder, keeping the other pinned to the mattress. He revels in how pliable you are, a weak, loose-limbed little mess spread out before him, barely even able to keep your own eyes open. He can’t help but watch you, truly study you in the state you’re in.

You huff after a full minute of him hovering over your center, his warm breath lighting your nerves on fire. “I thought I was supposed to be going to bed?” 

“I’m just helping you wind down,” He murmurs and places a kiss to your mound just to appease your impatient whines. Your stomach swirls at the long-awaited contact and the mewl you let out would’ve been mortifying if Sebastian’s returning groan wasn’t just as needy . 

He licks a single broad stroke through your folds with the flat of his tongue and you can feel his smirk against your skin when your hips squirm from the contact.

“Look at you,” He coos, taunting, rubbing your slickness in with the pad of a finger. “You’re clearly too worked up to sleep at the moment.” 

You’re too drained to argue for your obvious lack of energy and Sebastian’s ministrations certainly aren’t helping.

You’re half-asleep, half-kept-awake by the soft kitten licks he devotes to your cunt, slow and measured, the same way one would lap at an ice-cream cone they really, really wanted to savor. Patience was never a virtue Sebastian possessed,  yet he was managing to exude it with every brush of his tongue, infuriatingly calm and stoical.

“Oh, god—” Your gasp is strangled when he finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. He does it knowing full well it’d make your hips jerk, make you push futilely at his head with weak hands and tired muscles.

“I know, angel,” He pushes you back down against the mattress, folds his forearm over your stomach to keep your hips pinned down. “Relax, it’s alright. Let me make you feel good.”

He tongues at you, slow and deliberate, for what feels like hours, until there’s a wet spot in the linen sheets underneath you and you’re whining his name through breathless pants. He seems content with spending eternity with his head between your legs and dangling you on the precipice of your orgasm with soft, feather-light kisses.

“Please, please...” 

Your hands have long fallen limp over your stomach, too listless to thread your fingers through his hair. You’re a languid mess and he seems to like you like this, dwindling between the lines of consciousness and only kept awake by your desperate desire to come. 

“My pretty baby. So sleepy, hm? Poor thing.” He hums against your skin, and you’re so close it hurts. You’re too limp to press his lips to your cunt with your hands, to rock your hips and chase your orgasm the way you normally would. You just let your head loll back against the pillow and whimper his name like it’s a prayer. 

“You’re so beautiful like this. Just a little longer.”

Only when there’s tired tears pricking at your eyes and the knot below your navel is wound so tight that you feel like your entire body might snap, does he finally push you over the edge.

It’s not the violent, body-wrecking kind of climax he’s pulled from you so many times, not the freefall from the height of a staggering cliff. It’s more of a smooth descent, the drop-off on a rollercoaster that makes your stomach swoop. The kind that starts high and ends low, seeps through your entire body like sticky-hot molasses.

He manages to make it just as slow and drawn-out as the process it took to get you there. He keeps your legs open with his palm spread over your thigh, even as you try to fold into yourself. He groans at the sensation of you cumming against his mouth, his hips rutting mindlessly against the mattress. He blissfully laps at you and rides you through it until you dissolve into a puddle of shallow, shuddering pants.

He places kisses to the inside of your thighs while you tremble, murmurs praises against your skin, “Beautiful. Love watching you come apart for me.”

When he crawls up your body and finally presses his mouth to yours, you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

It’s soft and tender, and his chin is sticky, and it’s all just so good that you feel as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. He smiles against your lips when he realizes you’re too drowsy to even kiss him back properly, beyond pleased with your lethargy.

“Good?”

You’re too incoherent for words, but the lazy little hum of agreement you let out is just as satisfactory. 

He breathes out a laugh. “You’re the most precious thing in the world to me, do you realize that?” 

He kisses you once more before he pulls back to take in the state of your flushed cheeks and tear-damp lashes, still fluttering in their weak attempts to stay open. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs through a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Sleep.”

He rights your rumpled camisole that’s been bunched up at your waist and smooths back the stray hairs sticking to your cheeks. You let him adjust you how he sees fit and fluff up the pillows around you until you’re properly swaddled to his liking.

He leans in to nose at your jaw, reveling in how warm you are and stealing as many kisses as he pleases. He leaves whispered promises that he knows you won’t hear, traces vows with his fingertips over the soft expanse of your skin. 

Only after your breathing’s finally steadied out and you’re curled into yourself does he pick himself up from his spot on the edge of your bed. He allows himself a final chaste kiss to the soft patch of skin on your shoulder that’s peeking out from under the covers, before he slips out the door silently. 

In the quiet of the empty hallway, his skin still buzzing from your touch, he makes his way back to his room with a soft, pleasure-drunk smile tugging at his lips.

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

They weren’t invited to the celebration held that night, which disappointed Elain. She knew from the journals she’d read that Lucien spent the majority of his evening thinking about the would-be Empress, who was housed somewhere on the estate. After the walk around the garden, she’d been a little panicked that she’d ruined everything. She was here, though—and Elain merely had to hang back and let the Emperor do his thing.

Arina was back to pacing again, cradling her hand against her chest as though she’d injured it. While Elain felt some measure of calm, Arina seemed more panicked than before. “You’re not taking this seriously,” she complained, unwinding her hair from the pins Elain had used earlier that day. 

“I am,” Elain protested with a nagging feeling of fear. “What do you want me to do? Rob the Emperor?”

“Yes,” Arina hissed, rounding on Elain so quickly Elain nearly toppled to the bed. She, too, was undressing for the evening, preparing to sleep. “Bat your eyes at him and beg him for coins and a horse.”

Elain scowled. “We’ll mess up the future if I start flirting with him.”

“Who cares about the future?” Arina demanded, back to pacing. “I’ll rip off a thousand butterfly wings if it convinces you to do anything besides trail after—”

“Stop it,” Elain whispered, wrapping her arms around her body. “I’m not racing out of here without a plan. If you want to, no one is stopping you. Go bat your eyes at the Emperor for a horse and some coins. Or better yet—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Arina hissed, cheeks burning with color. “I don’t want to get trapped here.”

Assuming they weren’t already. Just because they’d somehow come through didn’t mean they’d easily make their way back. That scared Elain enough into not wanting to try at all—at least she couldn’t be disappointed. Giving voice to her own secret fears, she whispered, “Do you think Gray is worried?”

Arina nodded solemnly. “People are probably looking for us.”

“Let’s bide our time—let them think we’re no threat. They’ll forget us soon enough. You know what’s coming…right?”

“We don’t study history the same way,” Arina reminded Elain, plopping beside her on the mattress. 

“A fire,” she reminded Arina, glancing toward the window. “And an attempted coup. They’ll be so focused on keeping their lives and the city safe that they’ll forget us. We can slip away in the ensuing chaos.”

Arina took a breath. “Okay. As long as we have a plan.”

“We can ask the Emperor for money tomorrow. Tell him we need clothes and hope he’ll put it directly in our hands.”

“And when we don’t buy clothes?” Arina questioned. Elain wasn’t sure about that. Shaking her head with a sigh, she only shrugged. Elain didn’t know. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

There was time—about a month of it, assuming she had the date right. Elain was terrified to ask Lucien where they were in the Julian calendar and betray herself as any stranger than she already was. 

“And the stables. And…how to ride a horse,” Arina murmured, ticking off an invisible checklist in her mind. 

“I’m sure one of the gentleman here would oblige—”

“Don’t give them ideas,” Arina ordered, rounding on Elain again. “It must have occurred to them that we don't have a father or brother to supervise us. How long before…”

“Lucien won’t allow it.”

“No, because he’s too busy trying to figure out how to get you into his bed.”

Disavow him. 

Elain shook the thought from her mind. “He’s with his wife tonight,” she reminded Arina, who had no clue how the Emperor spent their time. This was Elain’s passion—bordering on obsession. Helena was here and if Lucien could be trusted, he’d seek her out once the wine wore off before going back to bed to document the moment he knew he had to marry her. In the morning, Elain would be nothing more than a troublesome ward Lucien wanted to be rid of.

“Sure,” Arina replied, making her way toward the door. “Keep this locked.”

And that was that. Arina sauntered across the hall, the lock to her own bedchamber clicking loudly once the bronze was latched in place. Elain took Arina’s advice, well aware that there was little protection afforded to her here, and she lacked even the most fundamental rights she’d grown accustomed to back home. 

Pajamas were simply the night tunic she’d worn beneath her clothes—a simple white shift, truly, that would have been see-through in the sunlight. Here, in the near dark, though, Elain’s modesty was protected. As if that were an issue, truly. She’d been sleeping with Graysen for years, her chastity was a distance dream left back in the states. It had been such a trivial thing to her, a construct easily shed when the right man came along.

And still, she didn’t want to advertise that fact and make people think she was available to anyone with a passing fancy. 

Elain crawled into bed, oil lamps still burning, and realized she was bored. She was so used to scrolling her phone at night, staring aimlessly into the void that now she didn’t know what to do with herself. How did people fall asleep without something to look at? Elain turned on her side, wondering how the party was going. Would they stay up all night? She’d wanted to be invited and had been, at the same time, relieved she hadn’t been. Elain didn’t think she could fool a room full of people who’d been born and raised in this time period.

She couldn’t sleep, though. She was too warm, too awake, too anxious. Kicking the blanket off her body, Elain made her way to the balcony overlooking the gardens. Fate, too, stood beside her, watching as she braced her elbows against the marble. Lucien made his way outdoors, sighing softly as he ran a broad hand over his long hair. In every marble bust she’d ever seen of him, his hair was shorn short—she rather liked his non-conformist ways. Elain couldn’t help but watch, mind racing. She remembered this moment from his journals, had read it a million times throughout undergrad. It had become an obsession, wishing she could feel even an iota of what he described in that moment.

Lucien would turn, locking eyes with his future wife and as they looked at one another from across the garden, he wrote that all doubt melted away, leaving him with a feeling of pure certainty. It could only be her—no one else. At least she’d get to see it in real time. Lucien paused just outside the marble pillars, head tilted toward the starry sky overhead. Somewhere just behind him, she heard a man’s voice call his name.

Lucien began to turn, halting when his gaze snagged on her. He was too far for her to truly read his facial expression which was half relief. Elain’s heart picked up in her chest, beating frantically as she stood there, watching her just as surely as she watched him. 

The insistent voice called for him again, drawing his attention back toward the cheerful flame of the interior of the palace. Only when Lucien’s back faced her did she exhale the breath she’d been holding. With Lucien gone, Elain could stay as she was, leaned against the marble.

The world felt different to her. Newer, somehow. Like a planet she’d never visited, a foreign world with foreign customs and people who looked like her but shared almost nothing in common with her. 

Elain knew she ought to go to bed rather than stand there and reflect. Turning, Elain might have gone, too, had she not heard a grunt of air followed by fingers gripping the railing and then an all-too familiar face.

“This is hardly dignified,” she said dryly and Lucien hoisted himself up onto the balcony, clearly pleased with himself.

“I have no dignity to speak of when I stand in your presence,” he said through a huff of labored air. 

“You smell like wine,” she complained as he righted himself, absurdly handsome in the moonlight. “Are you inebriated?”

He offered her an easy grin. “A little.”

“Go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” he questioned, stepping around her with more grace than a drunk man ought to have. Elain trailed behind, hands bunched at her sides as Lucien’s gaze swept over her room. They landed, predictably, on her mussed bed. “Can’t sleep?”

“Don’t you dare say whatever it is you’re thinking,” she warned, hating the creeping flush making its way up the back of her neck. 

Lucien glanced over at her. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She was certain he would, though, if he thought he could get away with it. Instead, Lucien plopped onto the bed she’d recently vacated, stretching his long, muscular body across the sheets. Elain remained on her feet, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Even when Graysen had pressed her for sex, agreeing to turn off the lights and that she could keep her shirt on, if she wanted. Unlike Graysen, Lucien was the sort of man lost to history. He exuded something far beyond confidence—some word Elain didn’t know in any language, couldn’t describe but could certainly feel. Pinned beneath his gaze, she thought if he told her to strip herself naked so he could merely look, she’d have done it.

“The man you were bound to. How did that come about?” Lucien asked, plucking at some invisible piece of dust from the bed. 

“Are you asking me about courtship?” she asked, genuinely confused.

 Lucien’s eyes brightened. “Courtship,” he repeated, the word strange in his voice. “Yes. Explain it to me.”

“It’s not much different from what you have here,” she lied, because dating seemed impossible to explain. “We met and he…brought me gifts? Took me places?”

“And your father? He arranged the match?”

God, no. Elain tried to imagine her father arranging husbands for her, Nesta, and Elain. “He’s dead, remember?”

Lucien’s face blanched. “My apologies. Who arranged it?”

“I did.”

There was another long pause. “You?”

There was no missing her indignation. Lucien threw up his palms as she crossed her arms over her chest, frustrated that she couldn’t just explain the customs and culture of her own time period. He didn’t understand, had grown up in a vastly different world where women were little more than cattle. He might value her—might care about her opinion—but he’d never fully grasp the idea that Elain made every decision for herself, male relative be damned. 

“Yes, me,” she hissed. 

“Of course,” Lucien agreed, clearly deciding this was not a fight he wanted to pick. Illuminated in the golden glow of the dying lamps, he pressed on. “This courtship…how long did it take?”

“Eight years,” Elain said with a relish, delighting in Lucien’s confusion. He was clearly trying to do some math in his mind to figure out her age, as well as his own internal misunderstanding. 

“So you don’t love him.”

“I—”

 Elain stopped, the words caught in her throat. A triumphant smile slid over Lucien’s features as he sat up fully again so he could cross the room to see her. She knew what she’d been about to say.

I don’t.

It was the second thought, pushed right behind instinct, that screamed yes you do! You do love him! She didn’t have to lie, here. Elain didn’t have to pretend, here in the ancient world, that she wanted the future Graysen was offering. Maybe she had, once—but not anymore.

It was strangely freeing to admit it to herself. As Lucien approached, Elain only barely paid him any attention, her own internal triumph far more interesting. Whispering, she said, “I don’t love him,” to herself. As if it would matter in this place where love was a nice thing to find, but unnecessary to marriage itself. 

Elain’s gaze snapped upward as Lucien reached for a strand of her hair. Lifting it to his nose, the Emperor himself inhaled the scent, eyes burning. Oh, she thought, heart racing again. Oh no. 

“Alis propriis volat,” he murmured, unaware of how her stomach flipped violently at the words. “Is that what you want, Helena? Jewels? Lovely things?”

“I—” Elain couldn’t move, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. What did he say? “What did you call me?”

Lucien dropped the strand of her hair, adjusted the shoulder of his toga, and turned for the door. “Helena,” he repeated without a look backward. “The people will demand a Roman, and so I’ve made you one.”

“You…”

“Rest,” he ordered, unlocking her door. “We’ll see more of each other in the morning. Let me show you how a Roman does courtship.”

And then he was gone, leaving Elain in the encroaching dark with only one word echoing through her mind.

Helena.

Fuck.

—-

I saw her eyes, bright as stars—the only bright thing amid the dark and I knew. 

Lucien was in a good mood. He’d seen Elain in a nightdress, which had been enough to fuel several lurid fantasies he’d tell her about once she was in his bed. Afterward, once he was spent and his skin cleaned of sweat and smoke, he slept better than he had in years. Certainly since he’d been named Emperor. It felt like at least one thing might work out for him amid the chaos that was the rest of his life. 

She wanted a courtship before she decided? Lucien wasn’t opposed, though it wasn’t common among [upper class what are they called??]. She’d betrayed herself in that moment as a plebian and Lucien simply did not care. He’d invent an entire lineage for her so he could make her his wife and he’d do it with a smile on his face. 

A nervous servant came stumbling into his office holding a wooden box of the item Lucien had ordered. Hairpins, encrusted with pearls, lay in the purple cushioned interior. He could picture them nestled among the wild, dark curls, shimmering iridescent in the bright sunlight. There were other pieces he was dreaming up, but those would take longer and he wanted to give her something that morning.

It wasn’t Elain who joined him for breakfast, but his older brother. Eris came in looking immaculate and yet exhausted at the same time. “Up late, brother?” Lucien asked as he rose from the chaise he’d been lounging on. 

“What is your plan for the barbarians?” Eris demanded. “I have compiled a list of every man in Britania who has not taken a wife. It was my thought—”

“They’ll remain in Rome,” Lucien interrupted, hackles raised. “I have thought about the blonde…Agrippina?”

“Arina,” Eris practically snarled. “What about her?”

“Sulla…what is he calling himself? Hibernicus imperator?”

Eris snorted. “He’s a friend to no one but the banks, let alone Hibernia.”

“He mentioned last evening he was looking for a wife…and like so many, finds himself entranced by the shade of her hair.”

Lucien was watching his brother carefully while pretending none of this was terribly interesting to him at all. Eris had nearly been married once—the woman in question had run off with another man before the ink could ever be placed to parchment and Eris had seemed relieved by the entire thing. Lucien was resolved to stay out of his brother's affairs…but something was going on.

Maybe he, too, was fascinated by Arina’s shade of blonde hair. 

There was a violence to Eris’s expression that Lucien found fascinating, though he remained as he was. “Are we agreed?” Lucien asked, drumming his fingers against his desk. He knew they weren’t—knew that Eris was going to wreck this somehow, someway. It interested him to watch, given how controlled Eris typically was. 

“Fine,” Eris said dismissively, just as Lucien hoped he might. Nothing would entertain him more than watching what Eris might do next. Lucien had no intention of extending a sincere offer to Hybern, who was supposed to be courting a different bride, besides. 

“Tell me about the provinces,” he said as more of his advisors began trickling in, holding rolled pieces of parchment that held the figures of the empire. As Lucien ticked slots on his own sheet of parchment, he let out a small sigh of relief. Things could  be worse.

They could be better, of course—they always could be—but he had money to pay his soldiers, to repair crucial infrastructure and most importantly, to host his games without worrying it would empty his coffers. Lucien intended to ensure everyone was able to eat something, which would engender the good will of all his people. To a Roman like Lucien, ensuring his military was happy came above all else, but right beneath and nearly as important was the love of his people. If they turned on him, no amount of military control would save him.

One only had to look at how thoroughly Nero had been buried to know that. Too many vanity projects had been the downfall of Nero—Lucien would need to be more careful and ensure his legacy was more than just gold plated halls and fucking his way through the patricians. 

Which, of course, turned his thoughts back to Elain. There was something about her—something that felt more akin to magic, that seemed strange and exciting all at once. It was more than just her ethereal beauty, though Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t drawn to her for that, either. When she looked at him, he swore she saw through him, those brown eyes cutting through flesh to find the bone. 

What did she know about him, he wondered? What had she discerned since she’d arrived? Lucien wanted to rise from his chair and find her, but business needed to come before women. If his father had learned that lesson, perhaps he would have been Emperor rather than Beron. 

There was talk of the provinces and letters read from the presiding governors who both swore their allegiance to Lucien while offering slimy congratulations and informed him of the politics happening within their borders.

There had been little raiding, which was always a blessing from the gods. Lucien didn’t want to find his first month plagued by barbarians looking for weakness or ship off his soldiers before they got to participate in his circus. 

Clapping his hands together as the sun rose higher in the sky, Lucien offered everyone sweating in that overheated room a smile. “Enough talk,” he said, rising from his chair to stretch out his aching, stiff legs. “At least of business. Tell me about my games.” Smiles split the faces of the once severe politicians, patricians, and generals. Everyone liked a good celebration—or any excuse to get a little too drunk. 

“Emperor,” Hybern stood, dark eyes gleaming with what Lucien wanted to believe was mischief, but was likely something dark, “I had the most inspiring idea.”

Lucien wasn’t unwilling. “Tell me.”

Tracking Elain down was harder than Lucien anticipated. It was a particularly hot day, leaving sweat to slide down his spine. He knew he ought to cut his hair, if only to get it off the nape of his neck. Make himself a proper Roman. The idea, typically revolting, suddenly had merit as he stepped into the steaming heat. All he wanted to do was see her and talk to her. 

And of course she was nowhere in the palace. Lucien accosted several servants before he learned she and Arina had been asking about the stables before they’d been pointed toward the city. If he told his brother, Lucien knew Eris would immediately assume the worst. In truth, he was a little uneasy about the queries. 

Where did they want to go? Stalking through the city, Lucien’s mind turned over the possibility that Eris was right—that they had nefarious goals and he’d been blinded by Elain’s beauty to truly notice. He knew some barbarian societies utilized women as warriors and leaders…did they also utilize them as spies?

Surely.

Lucien was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was practically on top of Elain until he half tripped into her. She stood in front of a stall, arms crossed over her chest as her friend, Arina, argued in loud Latin with the vendor. 

“Two denarii is absolute theft. You can take—”

The vendor, catching sight of Lucien standing behind them, immediately averted his gaze and bowed his head, which caused Elain to turn first. Her cheeks, warmed by the hot Roman sun, seemed to pale when she saw him. Arina, however, merely arched her brow before turning on him.

“We’re being cheated by a vendor.”

“I’ll pay,” he said, well aware it was his coins jingling in their pockets anyway. Some of Arina’s fire seemed to extinguish, though Lucien knew she didn’t like that he’d swooped in the way he had. They were dressed like respectable women and oozed money—of course the vendor wasn’t going to negotiate with them. It lended weight to his belief that wherever they truly came from, women held much more power and sway than they did in Rome.

He was curious about all of it. Not suspicious enough, either, which he knew could hurt him. Women had toppled regimes in Rome just as they did everywhere else. It was just…looking at Elain, even as he handed over the denarii, Lucien didn’t believe she’d come here to harm him. Those eyes were too soft, the same color brown as a fawn's coat, her face shaped like a heart, her skin unblemished like polished marble save for the freckles that speckled along the bridge of her nose.

If she was a spy, her people had chosen well. Lucien simply did not want to believe she would betray him. 

The merchant handed over a pale yellow scarf to Arina, who immediately handed it to Elain. Biting her lower lip, Elain told him, “It’s for my hair.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured without meaning to. Then, remembering he’d come to question her, Lucien cleared his throat. “I’ve come to escort you back to the palace.”

“They send emperors for that, now?” Arina asked with a roll of her green eyes. He did believe she was a spy—she could have been a general if she’d been a man. “Lasciaci in pace, porca puttana.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Elain sighed. “It’s nothing—she’s complaining about the heat.”

Lucien didn’t understand the harsh tones coming from Arina, but he knew an insult when he heard it. It was tempting to demand she tell him the truth and there was no way for Lucien to know for certain. Not without finding a translator, which was notoriously difficult. Most of the people he knew who spoke the local barbarian dialects lived within the provinces they governed rather than the capitol. He’d send an inquiry, he decided. Lucien had a knack for languages.

He led them through the noise and bustle of the city, watching from the corner of his eye as Elain replaced one scarf for another, expertly wrapping it around her hair and neck the way a Roman lady would. 

Once back inside the shade of the courtyard, Arina split off muttering in that language beneath her breath while Elain tried to keep from laughing.

“She’s insulting me, isn’t she?” Lucien asked, rounding on Elain so quickly she nearly stumbled into a fountain of Venus. The image was striking—the goddess of love in her red painted dress, head and hands tipped toward the sky and Elain, who might have been the real-life incarnation of her, sitting on the marble lip with wide eyes. 

“Of course,” Elain replied, wincing as she rose back to her feet. Lucien had offered her a hand which she politely declined, wiping non-existent dirt from her backside. “She doesn’t like men.”

“Oh,” he said. Eris would be devastated, but he supposed it made sense, if not…a little strange to consider. “I—”

“Not—not like that,” Elain said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She likes men, she just finds them to be very stupid.”

Lucien found her attraction to other women easier to understand. “But…men aren’t stupid.”

Elain blinked up at him, lips pressed in a thin line. “Of course not.”

“All of the greatest minds in the world are men,” he continued, certain she did not believe the words she said. 

“Because they’re allowed to have minds,” Elain snapped, stepping around him with burning cheeks. “While women maintain their homes and raise their children and ensure their every need is met so all they have to do is think and write.”

Lucien trailed after her, heart thudding in his chest. “It is what women enjoy doing.”

It was her turn to round on him, spinning so quickly a couple wild curls escaped the pins beneath her pallas. “Is that what they’ve told you? Or simply your belief?”

“Women cannot handle excitement,” Lucien snapped, frustrated with her. “It’s bad for their constitutions—”

Elain laughed, face tipped upward toward the skies and right then, Lucien truly believed he was in the presence of divinity. She was Venus, fiery and furious as she faced off with him. Who else but a goddess would dare to laugh in the face of an emperor? Lucien’s knees trembled for a moment, palms sweaty, as he wondered how best to show contrition. 

It felt sacreligious to touch her and still he did, grazing his fingertips over her jaw. “Why were you sent to me?”

Her angry laughter faded, eyes widening with fear. “I…” He watched as she swallowed, teeth worrying against her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

A better man would have promised to help send her back, but Lucien was not a better man. He wasn’t even a good man, because when Elain crept closer, placing her palm against his chest as she asked, “Will you help me get home?”

Lucien nodded his head. “I will.”

And he knew, when he left her in the palace, safe within his walls, what he intended to do. She had no father, no patron—no one to object to the document he drew up. He only required his signature, which he inked to parchment easily.

Lucien intended to keep her on mortal soil.

As his wife.

Arina:

“Congratulations on your impending nuptials.” Arina spun, stola tangling around her legs at the sound of Eris’s voice. She’d heard his words before she registered the angry glint in his eyes. 

“What marriage?” she demanded, fingers skimming over her ribs for a knife that wasn’t there. She’d tied it to her ankle, for all the good it did her at the moment—Eris stalked forward, dragging long shadows in the flickering candle light. Night was nearly upon them and she didn’t want to be seen alone with him. Didn’t want to be seen anywhere. She and Elain were in danger and

Arina knew it—the Emperor looked at Elain as though she were responsible for the very sun in the sky. Arina knew what that meant, knew that unlike back in modern Rome where men looked at Elain that way, too, that Elain had no say if Lucien decided to put her in his bed.

And she had no say if he sold her into a different marriage that separated them. 

“To Hybern,” Eris practically growled, reaching for her. Arina reared back, slapping at his fingers before he could touch her. Eris exhaled, clearly irritated. 

“No one told me about this.”

“Why would they? You are, after all, a simple woman—”

“Vaffanculo!” she hissed, slapping him so hard it made her palm sting. Arina hated Eris so much right then, more when he grabbed both her wrists and, with more force than was probably necessary, shoved her up against the marble wall, hands pinned over her head.

“I’m warning you,” Eris hissed, his breath wine-sweet against her face. “Hybern is a miserable bastard I wouldn’t wish on even a malefica like you.”

Arina struggled against his hold desperately but it was no use. He was battle hardened and strong, the calluses of his fingers scraping over the delicate skin of her wrist. “Why would you help me?”

His eyes glittered and oh, she shouldn’t have asked. He was jealous. He wished he’d been the one who’d been told to marry her, but couldn’t oppose the emperor. Unaware of what she knew—that he did marry and he was happier for it the way so many stupid men were. 

“You’re an ill omen,” he breathed, lowering his face closer, until there was merely a breath between her mouth and his. “You’ll destroy me if you stay.”

That wasn’t true, though there was no point in arguing with him, either. “What makes you think so?”

“I had a dream from the gods before you came,” Eris told her, amber eyes searching her own for some proof he was right. No matter that he’d probably been lost in his cups at the time and half hallucinating. “They warned me about a beautiful woman, they…”

“Help me, then,” Arina urged. “We just want to go home. Give us a horse and we’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

Eris looked pained at the thought, his better sense warring with whatever he thought was going to happen between them. Nothing, she wanted to scream. She wasn’t staying in this shithole draped in ivory and gold to play second class to a man when she could do that back home surrounded by antibiotics and air conditioning. 

“Please,” she whispered, snapping Eris back to reality. He seemed to have realized what was happening and the position they were in.

“I’ll leave you two horses,” he murmured. “But if you get caught and brought back, do not look to me for help.”

“I wouldn’t look to you for anything, don’t worry,” she snapped, shoving him back. His words bothered her, for some reason, though Arina didn’t care to contemplate why. Eris’s face twisted with anger and quick as a viper, he reached for her hair to pull her face close to him again, neck inclined so she was looking directly at him.

“I want to hate you,” he said and she knew before their lips touched that he was going to kiss her. Men were painfully predictable, even in ancient history. They never quite graduated beyond pulling pigtails on the playground, unable to just admit they had feelings that made them uncomfortable. 

Just before they touched, Arina had been prepared to knee him roughly between the legs, well aware he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his long, purple embroidered tunic. But then…then. Oh. Arina had expected something gross but Eris’s mouth was soft even when the rough stubble of his cheek scraped against her chin. He smelled nice, like a warm day in Autumn. Even his fingers softened in her hair so his fingers could gently rub at her scalp.

It had been a while since she’d kissed a man, and longer still since that kiss had been interesting. Good. And tragically, for all his talk and stalking around, Eris was a good kisser. He tasted sweet like wine and his skin was sunwarmed despite the late hour.

She should have shoved him backward. Hit him across the face for good measure. Even when he released her wrists, Arina simply brought them to his neck, one hand circling the soft skin while the other moved up the nape of his neck to card through the short, auburn strands. Arina sighed against his mouth, giving him access just behind her teeth. Eris was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. Seizing the opportunity, Eris pushed her harder against the wall so he could press himself against her, letting her feel proof of his tainted want.

The gods had warned him about her. What did that mean? 

She forgot when his tongue swept against her own, eliciting a soft moan from her throat. Eris, too, groaned in pleasure at whatever it was he felt. Did lust streak through his body, too, settling between his legs like an unwelcome and unwanted guest? Arina would have let him drag her to bed—she’d slept with worse men, after all. If Eris had hauled her up into his arms, she would have let him, giving him one good night and a story she could hold on to long after she was back home. 

But Eris pulled back, eyes wild and hair mussed. He must have known they were in dangerous territory. A few seconds more and maybe he would have. “I don’t want to ever see you again,” he said before turning, his words a threat. Arina knew what would happen to her if she failed.

He’d marry her.

[bitethedevil]

Strange Bedfellows (Lae’zel X Raphael): Chapter 1

Link to this fic on AO3

Summary: Lae'zel stayed on the Material Plane after the defeat of the Netherbrain. She vowed to rid Faerûn from Vlaakith's filth. She found plenty of allies to aid her cause, but not many people stand a chance against the ruthlessness and efficiency of the Gith, and she soon finds herself struggling.

Though she is not the only one who is struggling: Raphael has been left crownless, and he has angered the Lich Queen herself with his actions. He is in desperate need of assistance from someone who knows how Gith work and think.

Author’s note: I give to you: the cursed ship of Raph'zel (or Hell Frog, if you will). You're welcome and I'm very sorry. It makes sense to me. Both Gith and devils are lawful creatures, though still in very different ways...and I like to put characters who would hate each other's guts in a box and shake it violently <3 Also: the part about Raphael and Vlaakith and a certain object isn’t something I made up. You can find the slate in the Astral Plane.

I would strongly suggest that you read this on AO3 because there I have included a little Gith dictionary at the end.

After the defeat of the Netherbrain, Lae’zel had ventured out to wipe out every Vlaakith stronghold on the Sword Coast. She had vowed that she would not stop until every sarth and kith’rak had been defeated. She had found plenty of new allies to join her cause. People who she grew to trust and who she could call ‘friends’.

They were, however, not as efficient as her former group of allies. Her new friends were capable fighters, but no one else but her was Gith, and they stood little chance against the warriors who had trained all of their life. In the beginning they had been lucky and wiped stronghold after stronghold, but now, she was beginning to lose more people than they managed to kill. Morale was dwindling fast.

This time she had lost two dear friends when they had tried to storm what they thought would be a small camp. They were caught off guard and they only barely made it out alive. They had regrouped in a nearby tavern after.

“Lae’zel…” Tasar said in a gentle voice from beside her. “We couldn’t have known, so stop blaming yourself. Olyssa and Perth knew the risks and they still insisted to go in first. They wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up for it like this.”

She lifted her head to look at the elf. Tasar was a capable ranger and the one out of the group that always managed to stay positive no matter what. Even he looked like hell with the blood in his blonde hair and the tinge of sadness in his green eyes, even though he tried to hide it.

He was being strong for her and despite her appreciating the thought, she did not appreciate the gesture. She was not to be coddled. Though there was no reason to snap at him. No reason to make a bad mood worse. She only made a grumbling noise and turned her focus back to eating again.

She looked around the room. Her companions were dealing very differently with what had just happened. Murnum and Gulmin, the two twin dwarven paladins were drinking in silence. Grace, their tiefling bard, was drunkenly talking to strangers at the bar. Vincent, their human wizard, had been staring at a map and picking at his food for a good half hour by now. Tasar was still just staring at her in worry. It annoyed her to no end.

“We will set up camp soon,” Lae’zel said to those around the table. “Whoever is sober will keep watch. We will leave tomorrow at first light.”

Murnum and Gulmin took a gulp of their ale at the same time at her words, wanting to avoid being the ones to take the night watch. Vincent nodded a bit without ever taking his eyes off the map.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Tasar piped up. “You get some sleep tonight, Lae’zel.”

She gave him a short nod before going back to tearing apart the piece of chicken in her hands. Her eye twitched when she heard Grace’s high-pitched drunken laughter from somewhere in the tavern.

“Someone is talking with your girl, Vince,” Tasar said and looked at Vincent.

Vincent briefly looked up from the map to look behind him at the highly intoxicated tiefling woman. He sighed and looked back at the map.

“She is not ‘my girl’,” Vincent mumbled. “Let her drown her sorrows…We all mourn differently.”

“Mhm,” Tasar hummed and leaned over the table. “It looks like she’ll drown in that fancy lad’s brown eyes if you don’t do something. Come on, Vince…you like her. You should say something.”

“You should mind your own business, Tas,” Vincent retorted with a tightlipped smile.

They kept talking. It was irking Lae’zel how they could talk about such trivial matters when two of their friends were dead. They had lost many people, but it was angering her how desensitized they were all becoming.

There was one more high-pitched laughter from Grace behind her over the bickering of the two men, and that made her snap. She hammered her fist down into the table. The sound of it and her fiery gaze was enough to silence the whole table.

“Tasar, go out and scout for a place to camp,” she ordered cooly and then turned around. “Grace!”

Grace turned around two tables away from them with a lazy smile on her lips. Lae’zel froze for a moment when she saw who she had been talking to before her eyes narrowed at the man. A wide smile spread over Raphael’s face and his eyes lit up in recognition when he spotted her.

Lae’zel stormed over to them. She made a sharp gesture towards their table to Grace.

“But—”

“Now,” Lae’zel hissed at her.

Grace’s face was like that of a child that had just been told ‘no’, but she complied. She smiled politely at Raphael before moving to their table as she had been asked to. Lae’zel stared down Raphael.

“Lae’zel of K’liir…” he said with a charming smile. “Fancy seeing you here. One would expect that you—”

“No,” Lae’zel interrupted him with a sharp gesture. “No talking. Leave.”

Raphael’s smile got slightly tighter at getting interrupted.

“Now, now…” he said in a low tone. “There is no reason to get so defensive, my dear. My grievances are with your former leader, not you. Whyever, would I harm you for the sins of someone else? Perhaps—”

“I will harm you if you ever speak to one of mine again, chraith,” she warned coolly.

Raphael chuckled at that, though it was a cold sound. He did not like how little he was in control of the current situation. Lae’zel was not Tav, and she would not give him the time of day.

“You have grown quite sentimental, it seems,” he said. “How unlike you. Though I suppose it is only natural with how your little crusade is progressing…I hear that your allies are dropping like flies…”

Lae’zel walked away from him. She went outside to retrieve something from their packs. When she came inside again carrying the Orphic Hammer, a few of her allies got up from their seats. They only saw her carrying a big hammer and walking towards a man in a very determined manner, so they looked prepared to fight.

She dropped it at his feet. Raphael did not look particularly impressed. He glanced down at it with a bored expression and then smiled lazily at her.

“I was wondering what became of it,” he purred. “Is this supposed to bribe me to stay away?”

“Yes,” she said in a cold tone with a small smile and narrowed eyes. “If that is insufficient, perhaps a sword through that horned skull of yours might persuade you. I don’t deal with devils.”

“Ah, I see,” he said with a smirk. “You merely get others to do so for you, isn’t that so?”

Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword in warning. This was not the day to test her.

“Don’t forget who is responsible for you ever getting your hands on that silver sword of yours and who assisted you in freeing your people,” he said and then made an expression as if just remembering something. “Or, of course, who now owns your dear Tav’s soul because of it. In a fair world, would it not be yours instead, Lae’zel?”

Lae’zel drew her sword and the whole tavern fell quiet. Raphael looked at her with that grin of his and then at the patrons around them. He glanced down at the sword and then took one last look at her face.

“See you soon,” he purred and snapped his fingers.

The patrons gasped when flames danced around him, and he disappeared. He left the Orphic Hammer behind.

A few days passed. Lae’zel was seated on a bench a bit outside camp while she watched her companions train. She was eating her second lunch while looking at the map beside her, planning their next move.

“Does it get tiring?” she heard Raphael’s voice behind her, making her pause her chewing. “Eating enough for two simply to stay alive in a realm that you were not made for? Your body disagreeing with you constantly as it is dealing with a world it has not adapted to? And, worst of all, aging…”

Lae’zel finished chewing, placed the bowl of food beside her on the bench and reached behind her for her sword. She grabbed the hilt and pulled, but felt Raphael’s hand on hers, stopping the movement.

“Tsk tsk,” he tutted. “I only wish to speak with you. Just a little talk between former unlikely allies, and then I will leave you alone for now. I promise.”

“G’lyck,” she groaned in annoyance. “Speak if you must, devil, but do not expect me to listen to your mindless chatter.”

Raphael moved the map that was sprawled over the bench to sit down beside her. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned his arm on the backrest as he looked at her.

“I have always admired the Gith,” he said. “They are without a doubt one of the worst mortal races to make deals with, but I admire them all the same. In truth, your societies are not much different from those of the Hells.”

She stared at him with a blank expression.

“It is clear that you have failed in all of your dealings with Gith if you begin by insulting them,” she grumbled. “We’re not the same.”

“No?” Raphael asked. “We both believe that strict adherence to order, laws, and hierarchy will uphold our societies and cultures, do we not?”

“A devil might be orderly compared to a demon, but a devil’s order is nothing short of chaos.”

“For an outsider with no real understanding, perhaps,” he mused. “We wield order like a sword, and like a sword, it does not need to have pretty adornments or modifications to serve its purpose. As long as it works. I am sure a pragmatic woman like you would agree.”

“A sword, yes…A curious metaphor for someone who does not know how to wield one.”

“Pardon?” Raphael said, sounding slightly offended. “I am perfectly capable with a sword. I have fought in the Blood War, same as any devil.”

Lae’zel gave him a dismissive gesture and took a bite of her food.

“You are a bard,” she said once she was finished chewing.

“Of some, as I am sure you are aware, use swords,” he said in a slightly annoyed tone. “I am still quite proficient with a rapier even though it has been centuries since I was last on the battlefield, I can assure you.”

“You would call a rapier a sword?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “I have never seen much sense in hacking and slashing away at a target, when one well-placed thrust could do the trick. I do, of course, know how to handle a longsword as well.”

She shook her head and finished her bowl of stew. She folded the map and put it in her pack.

“I am returning to camp,” she said. “I do not have time for chatter about your lack of martial prowess, istik.”

His eyes narrowed at her and his nose was wrinkled in annoyance when she started to walk away from him. Lae’zel discarded the bowl into a bucket and drew her sword as she walked towards her tent. Raphael appeared in front of her in a flash of fire.

“I will talk, and you will listen,” Raphael grumbled. “We have a common goal, you and I. You want to rid Toril of Vlaakith’s influence, do you not?”

Lae’zel sat down with her sword in her lap and looked up at him with a bored expression.

“You do not care about the liberation of the Gith,” she said. “You cared about the Crown of Karsus. I do not have it. Leave.”

His jaw clenched and he looked around as he noticed the stares he was getting from her companions who recognized him from the tavern. Lae’zel raised a hand as to dismiss them from taking action and kept cleaning her sword.

“I would not waste my time here if our interests did not align,” Raphael said in a low voice to her. “Your little merry band here are not suited for the task they have been given. I could lend you assistance. Soldiers whose sole life purpose is to fight.”

Lae’zel looked up at him again. She studied his face. His tone was off.

“You are afraid,” she said as if it was simply fact. “Why?”

His already sour expression soured further at the accusation.

“Careful, Lae’zel,” he warned in a dangerous tone. “You do not want to make an enemy out of me. Especially when I might prove to be your best ally in this little endeavor yet.”

She got to her feet, sword still in hand.

“Do you think me so naïve, devil?” she asked. “Do you think that I would give my soul for an incompetent group of devil soldiers? We have nothing more to discuss.”

“I am not asking for your soul, you stubborn child,” he hissed. “I am asking you to do what you set out to do and kill every last trace of Vlaakith’s vermin on this plane. I am asking you to—”

He was interrupted by the loud sound of Lae’zel’s silver sword getting sharpened on the grindstone. He saw red. He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and snapped his fingers.

Lae’zel’s eyes were furious when she saw that she was in the House of Hope. She grasped for her sword, but it had not been transported there with her. A flash of fire danced around Raphael as he took his devil form. His wings spread out behind him and his eyes bored into hers as he adjusted his clothes and schooled a smile onto his features.

“Please, take a seat,” he said in a dark but calm tone and gestured to a chair at the table.

Lae’zel did not budge. She stared him down from where she was standing.

“You will send me back,” she hissed. “Now.”

“No,” he said in a warning tone. “You will sit down. You will behave and you will not leave the Hells before you have listened to every word I have to say. That can take minutes, hours, days, and it is entirely dependent on your behavior, my dear.”

She gave him a low growl of discontent before dragging out a chair and sitting down.

“Speak,” she ordered sharply.

Raphael sat down in front of her and crossed one leg over the other as he studied her for a moment. He would not be rushed in his own home.

“Did you ever wonder why I had the Orphic Hammer in my possession?” he asked.

She just kept staring at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to get to the point.

“I suppose not,” he said. “You and your dear friends were no doubt too busy at the time to ask the right questions. Had you done a little digging, you would have learned that you, in a sense, owe your miserable lives to me.”

She raised an eyebrow. There was a glimmer of something in her mind. An inscribed Githyanki slate that they had found in the Astral Plane. It depicted Vlaakith and a devil making a deal for the Astral Prism.

“Continue…” she hissed.

Raphael smiled at her.

“Come now, Laezel,” he said. “One must know a lock intrinsically in order to make a key to said lock, do they not?”

Her suspicions were proved correct, and she felt her blood boil at the revelation. Her nails dug into the armrests of the chair. She wanted to kill him.

“You made the Astral Prism…” she said in a fiery tone. “You helped Vlaakith enslave Orpheus, and you ask for my help! I should drive a sword through your skull for what you have done!”

Raphael held out a hand in a gesture to calm her.

“And I helped free him as well, did I not?” he countered. “It was business. I made most of my fortune from that deal, but I did not enslave your prince myself. Your former queen did. I did however make the Hammer as an insurance policy after I saw the mess she made. It was merely a question of time before her little scheme would be discovered.”

“And now she wants your head for defying her,” Lae’zel replied. “Should I return to the Astral Plane, then I will make sure that every living Child of Gith will want the same thing for what you have done in the first place.”

“I have done what you say,” he said. “But as I have told you, our interests align. You need allies to your cause, not enemies. I am motivated to help you.”

“Chk,” she scoffed. “You are motivated to help yourself, devil.”

“You need all the help you can get, Lae’zel…”

“You need my help,” she said. “Or else you would not be here filling my ears with your drivel.”

Raphael’s fist hit the table so hard that she thought it might split in two. She looked at him with an unimpressed glare. He leaned closer to her with fire in his eyes.

“I am being hunted for sport by Gith on the Material Plane,” he said in a low, angry voice. “I have Tiamat’s dragons circling my home here. I would never have given you or your friends the Orphic Hammer to break your precious prince’s chains, had I known you would not keep your word. The Crown of Karsus was my insurance that this would never happen. Had Tav kept her word, Vlaakith would have been snuffed out long ago.”

Lae’zel sneered at him but that did seem to calm her down for some reason.

“It was not my idea to snub you of it,” she said.

“I know,” he grumbled. “I admit, I should have made the deal with you instead of her. A mistake that will haunt me for millennia.”

She huffed in response.

“I am offering you soldiers,” he began in a softer tone. “Some who will be from the Material Plane and others from here in the Hells. In return I am only asking for you to lead them. I will guide you, of course, but you will lead them. Laws prohibit me from directly interacting in such a manner on the Material Plane.”

“I will not do it,” she said and shook her head. “Find someone else.”

Raphael looked at her with the disbelief of someone who was absolutely certain they already had the deal in the bag.

“What do you mean you will not do it?” he asked.

“What I said.”

“I can’t ‘find someone else’,” he said in an annoyed tone. “You know how Gith fight, where they hide, how they think. You will fight them regardless and I am offering you help to do so. Why would you not accept?”

“Would I sign a contract?”

“Obviously,” he said impatiently. “Though it would only be a necessary formality. I have to abide by Infernal laws.”

“Then your offer does not interest me. I will kill every last one of them, and I do not need your help, devil.”

Raphael’s claws dug into the arm of the chair to the point that she could hear the wood creak, and his jaw clenched. He raised his fingers to snap.

“Perhaps you will reconsider once more of your new friends die to your incessant stubbornness,” he grumbled. “Insolent child…”

He snapped his fingers and sent her back.

[holdmymallowsweet]

What are you doing here? 02

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 4684, properly tagged on AO3

Chapter summary: It's the start of a new school year, and Ominis hopes he and Sebastian can carry on as they used to, even if one of their trio is missing. Looking back, that thought seemed almost foolishly optimistic.

a/n: This is the first of two pre-library chapters, featuring Ominis’ thoughts and feelings and whereabouts during the first few weeks of their fifth year, while Sebastian and Mc are busy fighting trolls and sneaking into the restricted section. Enjoy!

Chapter 01 || Masterlist || Chapter 03

Chapter 02 - Relegated

Calling her arrival at Hogwarts ‘memorable’ was almost an understatement. Disrupting the feast, led through the great hall by the headmaster himself after a rather lively argument behind half-closed doors that had the entire student body sit in nervous anticipation, it was no wonder that she seemed to be the only thing deemed worthy of discussion by anyone who was not a quidditch enthusiast.

Ominis wasn’t too bothered by it. Usually the one who’d know everything that went on within the castle’s walls and not so secretly fond of gossip, after everything that had happened at the Sallow’s during the summer, he longed for some peace and quiet. A sense of routine, while he and Sebastian would try and figure out how to go on, now that one of them was missing.

Who they were, where they’d come from and why they’d made such a spectacle of their entrance didn’t have to be his concern, not tonight at least. They’d ended up at the opposite side of the Great Hall anyways, out of mind. It wouldn’t keep him from having a decent meal, a good night’s rest, a regular day of classes tomorrow. Nothing else would either, if he could help it.

Wishful thinking.

They’d barely passed the giant hourglasses to return to their common room for the night, when Sebastian took him by the arm, years of experience letting Ominis know before he even opened his mouth that he had other plans.

“Listen, Ominis-”

Ominis groaned. “What is it now?” He was so tired.

“I think I’ll make a detour into the restricted section before bed.”

Oh for Merlin’s sake.

“On our first night back? You could at least wait a day before getting yourself into trouble again.” And wasn’t he tired as well, after the day they’d had?

“There’s something I want to check.” Sebastian paused. “For Anne. If you’re worried about me, you could come too, if you’d like.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. It seemed like an off-handed remark, but there was something pleading in his friend’s voice, and it did make him feel guilty for how he was about to answer. But not guilty enough. “I’m sure you don’t need my help to get yourself another detention.”

“Fair enough.” And just like that, Sebastian was gone.

Ominis took a deep breath. He suddenly felt nauseous, and it had nothing to do with the food.

Was this how his fifth year at Hogwarts was going to be like? Sebastian taking every opportunity to engage in extracurricular, clandestine activities and the detentions that would undoubtedly follow, where did that leave him? He’d hoped with Anne being the way she was, that Sebastian would perhaps be a bit more reasonable, grow up a tad more.

His exploits hadn’t bothered Ominis as much last year, when his friend first started digging through forbidden books and sought out the seclusion of the Undercroft by himself, but last year he had Anne. Anne, who would rather play games with Ominis than put her nose in old, eerie tomes, who would usually take his side in their petty arguments, who would listen to him and fill the silence with cheerful chatter, in a way only she could. In that moment, more than ever before, he was suddenly very aware that she was truly gone. 

It felt as if the realisation ate a hole through his stomach..

Ominis inhaled slowly, rubbing at the crease that formed between his brows. He was so tired.

The two Slytherins had walked up to the castle from Feldcroft, as they did every year. Making the journey to London and spending the whole day on a train had always seemed ridiculous when they lived that close to Hogwarts. 

In the years prior, the three of them would have left the Sallow’s house early and made a day of it in Hogsmeade, but it wouldn’t have been the same without Anne. So they’d spent as much time with her as possible, holding on, attempting to avoid the moment they’d have to leave her behind until the last second. It had been a subdued, gloomy journey after that, not to mention exhausting, both physically and emotionally.

Ominis stood there motionless for a while, trying to collect his thoughts. He was passed by waves of chattering students, eager to return to their warm beds and catch up with their dorm mates in private. Imelda stomped past him, cursing under her breath. Obviously upset about not getting to boss around her team on the Quidditch pitch this year, she would likely try to make it everyone else’s problem as well.

He sighed, resigned to head down to the common  room alone.

“Did you hear? About the new fifth year? Why they were late to the sorting?”

He strained his ears, determined not to miss the answer, slowing down a bit to walk behind the gossiping pair of friends. Change of plans. Perhaps holding on to his old habits would do him some good after all. And perhaps there was a chance for some more light-hearted thoughts to occupy his mind. Something intriguing and perhaps funny to discuss with Sebastian when he got back.

“No, I just heard they were with Professor Fig. Did something happen then?”

“I don’t know any details about it.” The girl paused for dramatic effect. “...but they say their carriage was attacked by a dragon. Some bloke from the ministry was ripped apart right in front of them.”

Oh, you can’t be serious.

“Nothing yet.” Ominis teased. “I hope we get to see- or at least hear one today.”

All in all, his mood had been surprisingly good this morning. Leaning against the common room windows, he’d amused himself trying to keep the new first years on the lookout for mermaids, listening to their little sounds of excitement and impatience, wondering how long he could keep them there before they caught on. 

It had been Anne’s idea last year, and the fun had lasted until the prefects told them to cut it out. Ominis knew it would never be quite the same without her, but she’d insisted he do it again, ‘in her memory’.

He’d tried hard not to think about the implications of that phrasing.

“I- I think I heard one!”

Sounds of little hands slamming against the window and excited, high pitched gasps made the corners of his mouth twitch into a sly grin.

Being back at Hogwarts and getting a good night’s sleep in his familiar bed had done wonders to rid him of the near constant feelings of unease and dread he had since Anne had been cursed.

Ominis missed her dearly, but it was a relief to be away from the now gloomy home in Feldcroft that had once been his sanctuary, from the tension stemming from Solomon’s anxiety and his constant disagreements and shouting matches with a helpless, short tempered Sebastian, periodically disturbed by Anne’s cries and moans of pain. 

In the family’s time of hardship and grief, he’d felt like an intruder.

Ominis would have liked to help, he would have done anything, anything for his closest and only friends, but in the end all he could really do was stand there and listen to the Sallows telling him that another examination had not come up with results, that another remedy they tried had failed. The best he could do was stay out of their way, trying to melt into the wall.

A week before they had to leave for school, the consensus amongst the healers was that nothing could be done except have her rest and wait to see if she got better on her own. They were told she wouldn’t return to Hogwarts. 

Sebastian had not taken it well.

Determined as he’d been to stay awake and wait for his return last night, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with Ominis, and he’d been fast asleep when Sebastian had snuck back into their dormitory. They’d made up for it in the morning, gossiping about her as much as everyone else as they’d gotten dressed. It felt normal, comforting. 

Until, after a particularly wild theory of Ominis’, Sebastian had blurted out “...wait until Anne-”

It had been an innocent mistake. Ominis hadn’t commented on it, but the carefree mood was marred by heavy clouds. But the rain hadn’t fallen, not yet, at least.

Ominis listened for the sounds of his friend, who went through his newly stolen library books in front of the fireplace, pacing back and forth and sometimes mumbling to himself. He seemed to be doing all right, for now, at least.

Even if he was no longer in the mood for conversation.

Sebastian had been picking up bits and pieces of information about the new fifth-year and her journey to Hogwarts on his way to the library, most of it probably exaggerated, some of it seemingly complete and utter nonsense. 

Regardless, most of the Slytherins thought of it as an excellent adventure, a riveting tale that would go down in Hogwarts history. Imelda thought it was brilliant of her to take away all the attention from the first years.

Ominis couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. He might have expected her to relish the attention if she’d been a Gryffindor or even a Slytherin, but Hufflepuffs were usually happy to quietly exist in the background and mind their own business. He could relate.

He decided to stop thinking about it. Either way, their paths likely wouldn’t ever cross, unless they’d happen to walk through a classroom door at the same time.

“What do you think mermaids look like?”

Only, the way things progressed, thinking of her or not wasn’t his decision to make.

“What do you mean, you fought a troll?” Ominis asked, distraught. “Are you all right? Is she all right? Did you get hurt?”

“Don’t worry, Ominis, we’re fine,” Sebastian drawled, unbothered.

Sebastian hadn’t wasted any time telling him about his exploits in Hogsmeade with the new fifth-year. They were sitting by the common room fire, eating their way through an assortment of snacks Sebastian had stolen from the kitchens on his way back. Naturally, he’d been rather hungry, having missed dinner. And almost getting smashed to pieces did apparently conjure up quite the appetite.

He’d barely made it back in time for curfew, stumbling into their common room where Ominis, first annoyed, then worried, had been pacing up and down waiting for him.

“She was brilliant, you should have been there.”

Why hadn’t he been?

“Real duelling prodigy, that one,” Sebastian stated through a mouthful of food.

Yes, Ominis had gathered that much from their Defence Against the Dark Arts class earlier that day.

He frowned, his good mood from this morning long gone. He hadn’t talked to his best friend since the end of Hecat’s class, when he told a stunned and confused Ominis that he’d invited the girl who just beat him to Crossed Wands, but the Hogwarts rumour mill had done it’s best to keep him informed about their whereabouts since then.

Sallow and the new fifth-year really hit it off.

Sallow and the new fifth-year were seen going to Hogsmeade together.

Didn’t Sallow have other friends he was usually with?

No one really cared that much.

It didn't exactly feel good. And although Ominis was usually content to leave Sebastian to his own devices, after being deserted for almost the entire day, one might think an apology would be in order. 

Perhaps an inquiry about what he’d been up to- nothing, really, but it would have been polite to ask.

But it was Sebastian, and politeness was not his strong suit.

He listened to Sebastian chewing noisily, feeling his way through the stack of food until his hand landed on an apple tart. More because he wanted to keep his mouth busy than because he was hungry, and also because he’d already gotten his fingers sticky, Ominis took a small bite. If he said something now, it wouldn’t be anything nice and he wasn’t spoiling for a fight. 

“There’s more to all of this. She practically admitted it,” Sebastian said. Dreamily, intrigued.

Understandable, all things considered. Not yet alarming.

“Just wait, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Ominis didn’t like the sound of that at all.

Sebastian was starting to get obsessive again. Ominis knew him well enough to recognize the signs. Sebastian had been like this when he’d joined Crossed Wands, when he’d started sneaking into the restricted section, when he’d started to teach himself spells- dangerous, forbidden spells, many of which Ominis knew his friend didn’t bother telling him about anymore after he’d first voiced his concerns.

And now there’s the new fifth-year. Sebastian was going to make her his new research project, his new favourite pastime, and while it might have been good for him to have something to distract him from Anne, it made Ominis feel...

He refused to call it jealousy. He’d settle for ‘concerned’.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.” Ominis tried to keep his tone light, but didn’t quite succeed.

“Why not?”

Ominis sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, only… I’m having a bad feeling about this.”

They were silent for a moment. Then, Ominis heard a stifled chuckle from his friend.

“When you say a bad feeling, you mean like an-“

 “Sebastian, don’t-“

“Like an ominous feeling?”

Ominis half-heartedly threw his leftover tart at him.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad if he felt like he could ever get a break from her, but she seemed to be everywhere. Except of course when she seemed to be nowhere at all, sneaking out of school at odd hours, coming back hours later carrying the faint scent of the forbidden forest, or the lake, but even then, she was always… there. In the whispers in the hallways, in rumours, slipping into every conversation he’d have with Sebastian, at some point.

In their first Herbology lesson, it was her mandrake that shattered the greenhouse windows and almost took out his eardrums, turning an already debilitating class into a headache.

While he struggled in potions, she somehow excelled at the subject and even found time to steal from Sharp's office.

Ominis had groaned internally at the whole spectacle. If Garreth Weasley could put her up to theft not five minutes after making her acquaintance, he’d rather not think about what sort of mischief she got up to with Sebastian.

Like sneaking into the restricted section of the library. The tale of Sebastian Sallow taking the fall for her spread through the school like wildfire. When Ominis had asked him why he did it, Sebastian had simply stated: “Because that’s what I do for my friends. I’ve taken the fall for you before, anytime we’ve done something bad enough that I thought it might get back to your parents.”

Ominis hadn’t known what to answer. She’d been at school not even a week, and yet she already enjoyed the same friendship privileges as himself, in Sebastian's eyes. It felt as if he’d been punched. He knew his feelings were stupid and childish, it had been absurd to assume that Sebastian would never want or need any other friends. But still, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t enough. 

He wanted, needed to let these feelings out somehow, and at first he considered putting them into his letters to Anne- but Anne had enough to deal with, sitting in that dreary house in agony with no one but her uncle for company. 

Ominis thought of her every day, everytime her empty chair in their classrooms reminded him of her absence, every time he heard someone talk about flying, or taking a sneaky dip in the lake before it got too cold. All things Anne used to love, that she wouldn’t do again, perhaps not ever.

If she tried to fly a broom and was struck with a bout of pain while mid air, she’d die.

No, he wasn’t going to bother Anne with his troubles. If she needed to know that her brother was positively smitten with the new student, Sebastian could tell her himself.

As the week went on, thankfully without further incidents, Ominis became more accustomed to her presence. She was, to his surprise, a fairly decent student, learning new spells on the first or second try and performing well in class, even when the teachers put her on the spot. How she managed that, when she seemed to prioritise gallivanting through the highlands over studying, was a mystery. She was polite, outgoing and cheerful, quickly making friends and wrapping her classmates around her finger with an effortless charm not unlike Sebastian’s.

The more time passed, the less Ominis could bring himself to share the enthusiasm.

Of course he’d been somewhat curious about her too, at least at first. 

He’d even made small, tentative attempts at approaching her. Perhaps making sarcastic remarks about her duel with Sebastian and their adventures in Hogsmeade had not been the best way to do it, but her complete and utter indifference, to the point of not even replying to him, left him dumbstruck. She could have at least quipped back.

And it stung- the realisation that she didn’t recognise him. 

Which meant Sebastian hadn’t mentioned him to her, at all.

He started to seek out the solitude of the Undercroft more often, lately the only place where he felt truly free from her presence, even if every empty crate in there seemed to taunt him with memories of himself and the Sallow twins, of nights they’d spent sneaking out of the common room to laugh and play games and eat stolen food from the kitchens. 

Simpler times that he’d never thought he’d one day miss so desperately that his very soul seemed to ache.

He knew he’d be there alone now, like all the other times, though he secretly wished he’d walk in there to find Sebastian waiting for him. Ready to carry on as they used to, even if there was someone missing. At least it would be a small comfort, for both of them.

Hearing the familiar mechanical whirring of the Undercroft’s hidden entrance made him pause, and for the briefest moment it seemed he’d gotten his wish.

“Hello Sebastian.”

No. Wrong.

“Wait.”

It wasn’t Sebastian. In an instant, he tensed up, his stomach filled with dread. Someone found the Undercroft, someone he didn’t recognise, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. If they left without saying anything, he would never find out who they were.

“You there. I can hear you.”

Say something, anything.

“Oh, hello. Ominis, isn’t it? I believe we have Potions together. And- Herbology?”

His insides turned to ice in an instant, as he realised what was going on here.

It was her.

Of course it was her.

She tried her best to sound cheerful, but there was definitely a nervous undertone in her voice. And while it wasn’t his most pressing concern, the fact that even now she didn’t seem to remember him from any of their classes, other than those he was obviously rubbish in, did nothing to endear herself to him.

“I recognise that voice.” He said, more to himself than to her. “You’re the new fifth-year.”

He tried his best to sound calm, failing miserably as his frozen insides melted into white, hot anger.

“Did you just come from the Undercroft? How did you get in there?”

He already knew. He wasn’t asking because he needed the answer, he wanted to know if she was going to be honest about it.

“That room’s called ‘the Undercroft’? Ah. Well, I was exploring and suddenly found myself in a strange passageway-“

Liar.

He had enough of her. Of both of them.

“Don’t lie to me. No one ‘stumbles’ upon that room. Sebastian told you, didn’t he? You breathe a word about this place to anyone and not even your precious Professor Fig will be able to help you. My father is friends with the Headmaster. I’m not afraid to exploit that connection if I need to.”

It was an empty threat, of course. He hadn’t spoken to his father in ages, and he wasn’t keen on being in the vile man’s debt, especially over something like this. But there was a good chance she didn’t know and if she asked around, all she would find out was that his father was indeed friends with Professor Black, and perhaps that would frighten her enough to keep her mouth shut.

“You needn’t threaten me. I’m not going to say anything about your Undercroft.” The Hufflepuff’s voice sounded more assured than before. If she was at all intimidated by him, she didn’t show it. “And Sebastian is a good friend. You shouldn’t immediately assume the worst of him.”

“I don’t need you to tell me about my oldest friend, thank you very much.” His patience was at a breaking point, and it finally seemed to dawn on her that there was no way to salvage this conversation.

“Ominis, I just meant-“

“I know what you meant. Sebastian gets himself in enough trouble. He doesn’t need your help.”

At least she had enough sense not to respond. He walked past her, giving her a much wider berth than necessary. The thought of accidentally touching her, even briefly, made him sick.

It wasn’t entirely fair to her, and a small part inside of him knew that, but at that moment, it felt as if she’d taken everything from him. His best and oldest friend, his sanctuary, his very thoughts and feelings, everything seemed to revolve around her and Ominis just wanted it to end.

Fuming, he stormed into the Undercroft. Sebastian was still there, as expected, cheerful and completely oblivious. “Hello Ominis, I-“

“You.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

“Yes? What did I do now?”

“Are you seriously pretending not to know?” Ominis snarled, anger dripping from every word like poison.

Sebastian went dead silent for a moment.

“Ominis, let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I trusted you.”

“And I trust her, I wouldn’t have taken her here if I didn’t. You know me. I promise you she won’t tell anyone else, I won’t either,” Sebastian pleaded.

“I suppose that includes me,” Ominis spat. “Would you have told me she was here if I hadn’t found out by myself?”

“I knew you wouldn’t take it well. It was wrong not to ask you before I showed her-”

Ominis snorted.

“-but I know she will keep it to herself. I can’t tell you why, not yet, but I know she’ll keep my secrets. Trust me.”

“But it’s not your secret, is it? It’s mine.” Ominis couldn’t make sense of the feelings welling up inside him anymore. He felt angry, betrayed, but most of all, hurt, and it all seemed to merge together to form a dull, throbbing ache in his head.

Yes, it was his secret. His special place, one of the few good things that came out of being a Gaunt. For him to share with the ones he loved and trusted. And even if Sebastian was right, even if she could be trusted- and he was not at all convinced that she could- it should have been his decision. 

If Sebastian had bothered to actually introduce them to each other, to include Ominis in whatever the two of them were up to, if they had gotten to know each other, on his own terms and in his own time, perhaps he might have told her himself.

But it wasn’t only the betrayal. If only he could find the right words to tell Sebastian just how abandoned he felt, tossed aside for a newer, shinier toy.

He wasn’t enough. He’d never been, for anyone. Too weak, too useless, too defective.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. What if he said it, and Sebastian couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true?

Tears were threatening to spill out of his useless eyes, and he squeezed them shut, furiously pinching the bridge of his nose, desperately willing them to stay inside.

“Ominis?” Sebastian said, cautiously approaching him.

Ominis took a deep breath, fighting down the tears, at least for now. He leaned against one of the stone pillars.

“Anything else?” He hated how choked his voice sounded.

“What do you mean?”

“Is there anything else you told her, that I should know about? Be honest.” Ominis hoped the answer was ‘no’. And for that to be the truth.

Sebastian took a moment to answer. When he did, he spoke slowly and carefully, as if he was scared the wrong words would make Ominis’ temper flare up again. “Nothing that you’d disapprove of, I think. We talked a bit about Anne, and… you.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“I told her you’re blind and that you use your wand to get around.”

“Why, thank you. I’m sure that would have eluded her otherwise.” Ominis remarked dryly, undoubtedly getting an eye roll in return.

“I told her the Undercroft is special to you-” Sebastian went on, ignoring Ominis derisive snort.

“-and a bit about your family.”

That hit Ominis like a Graphorn, making him tense up with a sudden, poorly concealed panic. “You didn’t-”

“No, of course not. Nothing she wouldn’t have found out eventually anyway.”

The crease between his brows and the harsh line of his lips formed involuntarily as a familiar darkness crept into his mind. His thoughts must have been obvious to his long-time friend.

“I’d never tell her about anything you’d want to keep a secret,” Sebastian said.

“I wanted to keep the Undercroft a secret.”

Sebastian groaned. 

It filled Ominis with a sick sort of satisfaction. “What did you tell her then?”

“...just, well. That you’re descended from Slytherin himself, that the Gaunts care a lot about blood status. But I let her know you’re not like them.”

So she knew. Perhaps that was why she’d seemed so flustered when talking to him.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing much. I’m not sure how much she knows about these things to be honest, I mean, she’s a Hufflepuff. And I didn’t bring her down here to give her a lesson on pureblood culture,” Sebastian said, unconcerned.

“Then there was no need to tell her anything. If she didn’t know, you could have left it at that,” Ominis said, irritated.

“It’s not exactly a secret, Ominis. Everyone else knows and you’re classmates, she would have found out eventually. Wouldn’t you rather she heard it from me?”

“I’d rather she heard it from me, actually.”

Sebastian huffed, obviously amused even if he didn’t dare to laugh.

“You just said there was no need to tell her anything.”

“I… fine. Just do me a favour and keep me and my family’s secrets out of your future conversations.” Ominis said dejectedly, as the fight went out of him. He hoped this would be the end of their argument. His head was still hurting from all the shouting and he just wanted to go back to their dormitory and take a nap, forget about her and all of this for a blissful few hours.

“All right. But now that she knows about the Undercroft, is she allowed back in here? It is a good place for spellcasting and there’s more I’d like to-“

“Sebastian, please.” Ominis’ voice was little more than a whisper. He pinched the bridge of his nose again in frustration.

“Please, I know you find her intriguing, that you’re using her to distract yourself from how much you miss Anne-“

“I’m not using her, we’re friends.” Sebastian’s voice dropped, he genuinely sounded hurt.

“You know what I mean. We’re friends, Sebastian, the two of us and Anne. All I want is for things to go back to how they were before, and so do you.” It was a last effort, a genuine plea for Sebastian to let her be, before their friendship went up in flames.

“That’s not-” Sebastian broke off mid-sentence and took a deep breath. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I do not.” Ominis admitted.

He wouldn’t for a while.

more a/n: But he will in the next chapter! …maybe. So this turned out quite a bit more angsty than intended, but I think Ominis’ anger at Mc when he finds out she’s been in the undercroft is very genuine and doesn’t just come out of nowhere, so I’ve spent a lot (and probably way too much) time thinking about how he must have felt about Sebastian and Mc’s friendship. Also I did settle on Anne having been cursed right at the start of the summer holidays. Because I’m pure evil and I like the thought of Ominis coming to Hogwarts like “at least I still have Sebastian…” only to have him snatched away by Mc. …sorry. Originally this and the third were one chapter, but the length of it got slightly out of hand and I’ve had the perfect spot to split it exactly in the middle (more or less, they’re 4k+ words each now). I hope to get the next one out a bit sooner, so you won’t have to wait that long.  I hope to see you all next time! And thanks again for every one of your sweet comments and your support, it means the world to me ❤️ And finally, as usual, this fic has no beta (unfortunately) but I do my best to make sure it’s free of spelling errors. If you find any anyway, or you notice me using words wrong, let me know (nicely) so I can fix it.

[reigningqueenofwords]

Home

Pairing: McCoy x Reader Word count: 3,778 Warning: Tiny bit of angst

Read on AO3

You sagged as you looked at the clock. Another night without so much as seeing your husband. It had been 24 hours since he’d been home, and you missed him. The amount of times you had to pack up leftovers for him was nearing a full week at this point. Other friends were packing up snacks for playdates. You were packing up food your husband would eventually just take to work, and hopefully get time to eat. At this rate, you didn’t think you’d ever have the same type of life as your friends. You really did want a family one day, or at least a dog. But co parenting anything living right now would be a disaster. You’d be doing it solo, and you worked, too! 

As you went to get ready for bed, you checked your phone for the hundredth time and sighed. You had been with Leonard for a few years now, but you supposed you didn’t know what you were truly signing up for. Seeing nothing, you put your phone on silent and put it down. You had already showered so you got into bed for the night and found yourself wiping your cheeks. While you loved that he wanted to help people, you would have also liked to not feel single again. 

You had gotten together his last year of residency and he was constantly showering you with attention. While you didn’t need it constantly, you now felt you were not worth a text or call. Hell, he could shoot you a damn emoji at this point and it would mean the world. The last time you had a full conversation was at least a few weeks ago. Everything else had been interrupted by a page or call. Could you do this much longer? You’d only been married just over a year and you felt like you already lost him. You hugged his pillow tightly and tried to get some rest. 

Come morning, you needed a lot of coffee. You were tired, having not slept well. You were off that day, and didn’t know how to spend your time. You checked the fridge to get your creamer and your heart hurt as you saw some missing leftovers. Was Leonard here? “Leo?” You called out. When you were met with silence, you closed the door harder. He had come home and not even bothered waking you or leaving a note? You felt sick. Putting the creamer on the counter, you pulled out your phone to send him a text. 

Thanks for at least taking the food I cooked you, I guess. 

Part of you, a very tiny part, wondered if there was someone at work he liked so much he just had to get back. You had worried about that in the beginning since you weren’t in the same field. Your heart skipped when your phone lit up but it was only Uhura. Sniffing, you opened her text, contemplating asking to stay with her for a couple days. You tapped the table a little and decided to do that. 

Hi, are you busy tonight? And tomorrow? And tomorrow night? Can I visit? You hoped you didn’t sound completely desperate but you figured she’d understand. You continued on making your coffee as you waited for her to reply. 

Of course. Everything okay? 

Not great. Haven’t seen my husband in a day and a half. You typed out quickly. Thank you. You sent another, looking forward to not being alone. Want me to grab some lunch on my way over? 

Sure and I’ll pull out some drinks <3 Spock might pop in on his lunch break but he won’t bother us. She promised. I’ll see you in a bit. 

Running a hand through your hair, you transferred your coffee from a mug to a travel mug. Once you did that you went to get ready and pack. It didn’t take you long, and just twenty minutes later, you were pulling out of your driveway. Glancing in your rearview mirror, you teared up as you watched the house you bought with Leonard get smaller. It had been such an amazing day when you got it. You had pictured a couple of little feet running around at that time, but that image was fading. Your eyes shot to your wedding ring for a split second, then back at the road. 

Leonard finally came home at midnight that night, barely making it to the couch before he flopped on it and fell asleep. He had the next couple of days off and planned to rest, which is how he slept a straight ten hours. Finally getting up, he ran his hand down his face and scrunched his nose. “I need to shave.” He muttered. He shuffled to the bathroom to wake himself up, figuring you were still asleep as he didn’t smell coffee. He’d crawl into bed to hold you for a bit after.

Once he was clean and felt brand new he smiled and went to the bedroom. His smile fell when he found a perfectly made bed. He checked the time and had no idea if you told him you had plans. Walking out of your shared room, he went to the office to check the calendar. Nothing. He was starting to worry. He rushed to find his phone, hoping everything was alright. He called you as soon as he had it.

He bit his lip as he waited for you to answer, pacing a bit. His heart was hammering in his chest before he heard you pick up. “Baby?” He breathed. “You okay?” 

“Leonard.” You said simply. “I’m fine. I’m with Uhura.” 

“Oh.” He sighed in relief. “Glad you’re safe.” He sat down on the couch. “What time will you be home? I’ll order take ou—“ His phone beeped at him, making him pinch the bridge of his nose.  “Dammit.” He mumbled. 

You sighed. “Goodbye, Leonard.” Your voice cracked. 

“Wait. When will you be home? I’ll see what I can do.” He said quickly. 

“A couple days, probably.” You sniffed. “You probably won’t be home either way.” 

“Babe...I’m sorry.” He said gently. “It’s been a killer week. I know. Maybe for my next day off we go out?” 

“It’s been like this for weeks! You don’t ever have a damn day off! I haven’t seen you in three damn days !” You told him. “And you only come home for food. Which is fine but I would’ve been thrilled to be woken up by you.” You sniffled. “I don’t know anymore…” You said honestly as his phone beeped again. “I feel like the other woman. Go. Just… go.” You sighed. 

Leonard opened his mouth but you hung up. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. He’d make it up to you. He had to. You were his wife, and he loved you so much. He’d have flowers sent over once you were home. It was a start, at least. Getting up, he groaned as he went to get dressed. 

You stared at the wall a day later, not believing you were actually thinking of separating from your husband. Nothing felt right. You stayed, and you broke your own heart. You leave, and you break both your hearts. But you couldn’t see yourself doing this everyday. Licking your lips, you got up off the guest bed that you were using at Uhura’s and grabbed your bag. You packed up your stuff slowly, mind racing. You’d be going home to pack up as much of your life as you could, and wait until he got home to tell him you were leaving him. 

You hugged Uhura tightly and thanked her for everything before leaving. She felt for you, and told her that you were always welcome there. The drive back to your house was short and you knew your mind was elsewhere. Your heart hurt, and it felt like someone was sitting on your chest. 

You were almost done packing your 4th box the following day when you heard the front door open. The living room had two suitcases and a couple boxes you’d managed the day before. Today you were more numb, moving on autopilot. You sighed as you stood and put your hands on your hips as you waited. This was not going to be fun. 

Finally, he walked through your bedroom door. “Babe, what’s with the boxes and suitcases?”  He looked at you, brow furrowed. 

You took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.” You said simply. “I’m going to stay with my sister while I look for a place.” You wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked, not believing he heard you right. “What? Leaving? For how long?” He asked, as if he thought you’d be back. “A break? I didn’t know you needed one.” He was rambling. 

Licking your lips, you felt the tears really start. “For good.” It hurts like hell to say. “I’m not the love of your life, the hospital is. I’m basically a live in maid and cook at this point. And I’m not about to be a single mom.” You told him, sniffling. 

He stared at you. “No. I’ll fix this.” He quickly went up to you and cupped your face but you stepped back. “Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded. 

“You’re the one who left first.” You held your chin high, how? You weren’t sure. “I’m sorry, Leonard. The moving truck will be here tomorrow.” Your voice was shaky. 

He looked down. “You’re sure?” He asked, voice broken. “There’s no hope for us?” He looked back at you. 

You shook your head. “No. I thought things would get better, but we can’t even talk on the phone anymore without interruptions. I love that you help people, I do. I just never realized there wouldn’t be any room for me.” You hiccuped slightly from trying to hold back tears. “Which means there’s no way this can work.” There would be no little pink plus signs, no adopting a pet, no celebrating more anniversaries. Your future hopes were gone.

He deflated further. “I’m so sorry.” He said quietly. “I didn’t realize how bad it got.”

“You weren’t here enough to realize.” You told him. “We’ll worry about the paper work next week or something.” You knew that would be hell. “I do love you, Leonard.” You said softly. 

“I love you so much. Please rethink this. Take as long as you need but...come back.” He begged. It killed you to hear him like this, but you knew that if you stayed...nothing would change. You’d go days without seeing him, weeks without a proper conversation, you’d sleep every night alone, you’d wake up alone, and you just couldn’t mentally handle that. And neither could your heart. 

You simply nodded and looked back at your box. “I’m almost finished.” You said, hoping to end the conversation. 

He bit his lip. “I’ll always be here.” He said sadly before you heard him walk out of the room. 

You focused on your box, willing yourself not to cry again. When you heard the front door open and close, you took a break to hug your knees to your chest. 

Kirk opened the door and his eyebrows shot up. “You look like shit.” He muttered. “What the hell happened?” He asked as he stepped aside to let Leonard in.

He sighed heavily. “We’re separating. Well, she’s divorcing me…” He sat on his couch, rubbing over his face. “She’s packing now and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” He gripped his hair in his hands. “It’s over, Jim.”

Kirk sagged slightly as he sat near his friend. “Shit, like over over?” When he nodded, he patted his back. “What brought it on?” He saw you guys as so in love. He used to tease him over how ‘grossly in love’ you two were. 

“My work schedule.” Leonard looked down. “These past couple weeks have been rough and I guess that was the final straw.” He shook his head. “She pointed out that the last real conversation we had that wasn’t interrupted was weeks ago. The last time she saw me before today was over three days ago. Hell, I called her yesterday and just as I was asking about getting takeout...my phone beeped. I was worried. I got up from sleeping on the couch and went to clean up. Went into my room to a perfectly made bed, but I couldn’t remember her having plans. I called her and when I asked when she was coming home, she said a couple days. I didn’t understand. Now I do.”

Kirk hadn’t seen his friend cry often, and watching him pretty much fall apart in front of him was hard. “I’m sorry, Bones.” He said gently. He wouldn’t voice it, but he could see where you were coming from. “Any chance she just wants a break?” He was hoping for that. 

He swallowed. “No.” He sighed, flopping back on the couch. “She said there’s no room for her, that the hospital is the love of my life, and that there’s no way it can work. I’m sure she mentioned something about papers next week. I’m guessing she’s serving me with divorce papers. For a divorce I don’t goddamn want.” 

“Well, you can stay as long as you need. I’ll get you some water.” He stood. “I know you love your job, but can you step down or something?” He shrugged. “I don’t know how that works.” He said before getting him a glass. “Do you have a contract or something?” He handed it to him. “Because I mean, I think in your shoes I’d rather be with her and jobless than at a job miserable because my wife left me.” He wanted you guys both happy, and it’s clear that neither of you were. “I always saw you two having kids and a couple dogs or something.” Was that another reason you were leaving? You wanted a family?

Leonard drank from it and nodded. “Yeah, I thought we would. She mentioned she was basically a live in maid and cook and she wasn’t going to add single mom to that list.” He stared at the glass. “I have a contract but maybe I could talk to someone.” He sipped the water. “When I called her and she hung up I thought starting to make it up to her would be by sending flowers. That’s not gonna do anything.” He muttered.

“No.” Kirk agreed. “She needs to really see a change.” He knew you meant business if you were already halfway out the house. “And it needs to be a big one, and fast. I don’t know how fast divorces go, but if papers are going to be worked on next week…” 

Leonard nodded. “The one day I have off.” He mumbled and pulled out his phone. “I’ll schedule a meeting with the boss people.” He sighed. “Not even sure what I’ll say but…” You were worth it. He let out a breath. “She loves that I help people, and that’s what I do. How can I be with the woman I love while doing what I love? It seems there’s no middle ground.”

The blonde nodded. “Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw as he thought. “I mean you can’t just cut your hours right?” 

“No. I get called in.” He told him. 

“Hmm. I don’t know. I don’t know which you’re willing to give up.” He said honestly. Kirk had known him for years. He was one of the most driven people he had ever met. 

There was a long silence. “I’m gonna quit my job. I’ll sell the damn house, and tell her we can move wherever she wants and I’ll find a job at a place I won’t be on call.” Even if it took him time to prove it, you were worth it. 

Kirk looked surprised. “Okay. As long as you’re happy. Not worth it if you hate your job and take it out on her.” He said simply. “Take the afternoon to think about the entire situation?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He agreed, leaning back. “Thanks, Jim.” 

Sitting in your sister’s guest room, boxes surrounded you. This wasn’t your home, but even your home really wasn’t your home anymore, either. You were grateful she had room, but you knew you’d have to find your own place soon. You felt like you could just sleep forever at the moment. You hadn’t taken your ring off yet and you found yourself playing with it as you laid back. You knew it was unhealthy but you pulled out your phone to look at old pictures of you and Leonard. Back when he spent time with you. The first one that came up was from six months before. He had been trying to make you a nice dinner, but you kept distracting him because of how hot he looked in the apron. The picture was him looking at you sideways, cocking an eyebrow at you, trying not to smile.  Your heart hurt at the memory. Snuffing, you swiped to the next one, unaware that he was doing the same on Kirk’s couch.

It had been a few days and you were barely eating cereal, dreading calling your lawyer for the papers. You’d taken some personal time off work, which you knew couldn’t last forever. Your sister and her husband were off at work, leaving you in the completely silent house until right before dinner. You were sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace when there was a knock on the door. You sighed, figuring it was a delivery or something. You went to open it, faking a smile. 

“Hi.” Leonard swallowed, holding out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

“Leonard.” You said softly, taking them automatically. “Thank you...but what are you doing here?” You asked, letting him in, chewing on your lip. “I’m surprised you aren’t at work.”

He came out with it quickly. “I quit yesterday.” He said softly. 

You stared at him. “You...quit?” You asked, not sure you heard him right. “The job you love more than anything? The one you basically live at?”

“I didn’t love it more than you.” He rubbed his jaw. “So I quit. It wasn’t worth it if I lost you to it.” His voice was soft. He really wanted to pull you close, but didn’t want to risk you pulling away. “And, I want to sell the house.”

You looked more surprised. “Why?” Your brain was still trying to catch up. “You love that house.”

“I do. But only with you in it.” He said simply. “I’m willing to move wherever you want. I have a list of places that I can practice at. As a regular doctor with regular hours.” He explained. “So I can be home, I can spend time with you, and I can work on proving to you that you mean more to me than anything.”

You stared at him, not knowing what to say. This was not close to what you expected to happen today.

He shuffled a bit. “Do...you need time to think about it?” He was really hoping things would go well. He honestly hoped you’d come home. 

“I’m just trying to process this.” You went to put the flowers in some water, thinking it over. The fact that he quit his job spoke loudly to you. It was just something that was so shocking that it was like your brain was trying to catch up to that fact. Once you stepped back in front of him, you eyed him. “Will you hate me down the line for making you quit the job you love?” You asked softly. 

“No. I’d only hate myself if I completely lost you.” He said honestly. “I could never hate you.” He offered his hand to you. “If I had to work some fast food job to prove that to you, I would.”

You bit your lip before taking his hand. “And you won’t have these hours anymore?” You asked. “No more not seeing you for days?”

“No more. I’ll have lunch breaks and evenings.” He tugged you gently, wanting to hug you. “I’ll get to sleep next to you and take you on dates.” 

“I really hope these aren’t empty promises.” You looked up at him. “Please don’t say all this for things to go back to how they were.” 

“I’ll prove to you everyday that I’m sorry and that I’ll do better.” He rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. “Come home. Please.” He pleaded. “We’ll find a new place for us, together.” This entire this was a huge stab to the heart for him, and a wake up call. “Even if that’s some backwoods town with 100 people. If that’s what you want, I’m there.”

You teared up again and found yourself burying your face in his chest. You gripped the back of his shirt, scared he’d disappear. He hugged you tightly, kissing your head as he kept mumbling ‘I’m sorry’s’.” He’d spend the rest of his life making this up to you. “I’ll come home.” You finally choked out. “I, uh, have a lot of boxes upstairs.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He rubbed your back.  “Have you had lunch?” He asked. “Or can I take you out so we can talk about where we’d like to go?” 

You nodded. “Pasta place?” It was your go to when you had hard days. It’d been that way since college. “And maybe tomorrow, when we’re home, we can cook dinner together?” 

He nodded. “Sounds perfect to me, darlin’.” He said gently. “I love you so much.” He’d told Kirk the day he met you that he’d marry you one day. It was love at first sight. 

“I love you.” You said softly. 

Leonard carried another box into your new farmhouse, smiling as he saw you unpacking. He set it down before going to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Hi.” He said cutely. “You look so peaceful right now.”

“I am.” You set down what you were holding and turned in his arms. “This place is so beautiful.” You’d found it on accident while browsing online for a birthday present for your sister. 

“More beautiful with you here.” He grinned and pecked your lips. “Like this place was made for you.”

“For us.” You smiled brightly at him, happy you had your husband back. You ran your hand through his hair, enjoying how he closed his eyes for a moment. “How about we finish getting the boxes in and cuddle for a bit?” 

“Sounds perfect.” He squeezed yo

[westanthewaterman]

Feel You - Dark x GN!DA!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Reunited after a century apart, Dark and the District Attorney spend some quality time together. Or more simply put, love sick Dark -> feral Dark.

Contents: handjobs, penetrative sex, no pronouns or body parts used for reader, standard Dark pet names (dear heart, pet, etc.), mild voice kink, blink and you miss it references to Dark's mind powers

AN: Idk where this came from, but it was fun to write. I'll post to AO3 and add all my usual links later, I should've been in bed an hour ago. If you're still here despite my hiatus, I appreciate you.

This fic is a sequel to 'Tomorrow, Tonight' but can be read as a standalone.

Fic Masterlist - Find it on AO3

         Dark hikes your leg up onto his hip. He relishes in the softness of your skin beneath his fingers, a concrete reminder that you’re here, that you’re together again after everything.

         The new position allows him more space to roll his hips, grinding down against the heat between your legs. You shudder beneath him. He repeats the motion once, twice, and you throw your head back against the pillows.  His hungry, grey eyes follow the column of your throat upwards until they land on your mouth. Your lips part around a whimper and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against them.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you sing for me, dear heart.”

“Damien,” You whine before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think it’s a little late to hide from me now.” He chuckles. “What’s gotten you so shy, darling?”

“You never talked this much before.”

         Dark tenses, a familiar, far-away look in his eyes, one he always gets when the two of you discuss the past. You cup the side of his face, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. He blinks. A melancholy smile settles on his face. You pull his head down so that you can press your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. There are bad memories, yes, but also good ones. In fact, I can recall quite a few memories of us just as we are now, bare in each other’s arms, locked in the throes of passion.”

There’s a wry smile on his face, one that reminds you of evenings spent tucked away between bookshelves, sneaking out of dormitories at the crack of dawn, a rendezvous in the storage closet of a crowded chapel. Your heart aches for all the two of you have lost and can never get back. But despite everything you had been through, the two of you were together again.

Dark presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how your mind races. I think about it too, even now. Almost a century without you and I never stopped feeling your absence. I ached to hold you in my arms, to have you beneath me, to feel you tight as a vice as you come apart around me.”

A thought creeps into your mind and turns your stomach to lead. He had been by himself for so long, sure you were gone forever. You couldn’t blame him or be angry, but still the thought makes you sick.

“Was,” you pause a moment, steeling yourself for his answer. “Was there ever anyone else? In your heart, or your bed?”

He looks at you as if your words have burned him. When he speaks, his voice is firm, unwavering.

“No. My dear heart, there could never be another. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, in love and in death. There could only ever be you.”

“Oh.” You blush.

The intensity of his answer makes you feel foolish for even suggesting such a thing. You drop your gaze, absently picking at the sheets beneath you. It’s Dark’s turn to take your face in his hand and bring your gaze back to him.

“I loved you deeply, but I know my actions did not always convey that. At times, I allowed my responsibilities and ambitions to blind me to how I was neglecting you. You deserved a better man than I knew how to be back then, and I have spent a century regretting it. But now, despite terrible circumstances and the battles still to be fought, we have a second chance, and I intend to use it to do right by you.”

“Damien, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything, dear heart. I know you feel as strongly as I do; I feel it through our bond, and soon I’ll feel it here as well.”

Dark presses a finger against your entrance, pressing it into you slowly. You cry out, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you

“You said earlier that I never used to talk very much when we were intimate, and you were right.” His voice drips with venom as he continues. “The prim and proper mayor, so worried about civility and manners. Too obsessed with his image and what was ‘acceptable’ to truly speak his mind.”

You want to argue, to defend Dark’s former self against his own harsh criticism, instead a moan rips its way out of your throat when two more fingers fill you. Dark’s grin is wicked. He ducks down to press his lips to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a quick tug. You clench around his fingers, earning an amused chuckle.

“I have no such worries. My only concern is pleasing you and, by the way your body responds for me, I can tell I’m doing just that. This little hole of yours is so hot and tight around my fingers, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

A shudder wracks your body and you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh,” Dark purrs. “Now what got that reaction? You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“But what is it that has you so responsive? Is it my voice in your ear? The things that I’m saying to you? Or maybe none of that matters. Perhaps I could say anything, and you would respond just as wantonly, so long as I have you filled with my fingers or my cock.”

“All of it, it’s all of it. Damien, fuck.”

“Dear heart, such foul language. Have I already wrecked you so thoroughly?”

You scowl at him but you both know there’s no mirth behind it. “Fuck you.”

         There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as Dark grabs a handful of your hair, pulling just enough to force your head back and bare your throat to him. Sharp canines scratch playfully against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You should be careful what you ask for, my love. I am a changed man with a century of pent-up sexual frustration. I could take you over and over and over again, never tiring until I have given you every drop of my spend and the only word you know is my name.”

Dark sets a languid pace thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“You want it now, just as much as you did back then, isn’t that right? You wanted the serious, respectable mayor to break. You craved to be taken passionately, for him to make love to you like a man starved.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod frantically, bucking your hips against his hand.

“I have hungered for you for so long, dear heart; I feel almost ravenous with it.”

Dark removes his fingers from you and fists his leaking cock, stroking himself slowly. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion and the way his stomach muscles tense and flex with every stroke of his hand. Your eyes follow a drop of his arousal as it drips down the underside of his cock. You lick your lips. Knocking his hand out of the way, you take him in your own, his length hot and heavy in your palm.

         He groans appreciatively as you stroke him from base to tip, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. You guide his hand to rest over your heart.

 “You’ve spent all this time talking about what I want and how you can please me. What do you want?”

“I want to make up for lost time. I want to give you everything I could not before.”

“But that’s still about me. Damien, what do you want?

He falters. “I…I just want you. I want to feel you. I want to know that you are real, and not just some illusion he made to torment me.”

“I want to feel you too.” You guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “I’m here, my love. I’m real. This is real.”

Dark presses into you in one long, slow thrust that has him buried to the hilt. Both of you moan at the sensation. You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him forward, forcing his cock deeper inside.

“Fuck, my love, I never thought I would feel you like this again.”

You smirk. “Such foul language, Damien. Now who’s wrecked who?”

Instead of a response, Dark grabs your face and presses your lips together in a passionate kiss. So much is shared between you in this single moment of contact, decades of sorrow and grief, an emptiness immeasurable by time. But there is also hope and joy, lust and elation. Most importantly, there is love; a love that has weathered the test of time and survived even the most unthinkable circumstances.

The two of you pull apart, both crying and holding each other like your lives depend on it.

“I love you, dear heart. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, Damien. Thank you for finding me.”

Dark speeds up the pace of his thrusts, breathing heavily in your ear.

“I am afraid it has been too long, my love. I have spent a century waiting to feel you like this again and now I find myself unable to hold back my release.”

“I’m close too. You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum with me now. Let me feel you.”

         He grabs your thighs and presses them back so that he can rut into you, ruthlessly. You cry out at the way the new angle causes the head of his cock to brush against a sweet spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Your orgasm washes over you and you finish with a cry of his name. The tight heat of you bares down around him and the dam holding back Dark’s climax breaks. Waves of pleasure crash over him as he stills inside you, filling you with his release.

         The two of you lay together in silence, collecting your bearings. You think you might fall asleep until Dark gives a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you.

“How-”

He gives you a wicked grin and presses his lips to your ear.

“I told you I was a changed man, dear heart, and we have quite a lot of lost time to make up for.”