#rita writes

A few hours later, you pushed open the door to The Bear, looking around. "Carmy?" you called out when you didn't see any of the normal bustle for this time at the restaurant.

Walking further into the space, you gasped when you saw a candlelit table framed by your favorite flowers. The door to the kitchen opened softly off to the side, and you turned and saw Carmy.

"Uh, hi." he smiled, running his hand through his hair for what looked like the nth time.

"Hi." you echoed, heart warming at the sight. "So, what's all this? Doesn't look like family to me."

"Right, you're, uh, you're right." he spoke slowly, taking a few steps towards you. "But, I, uh, did have some help."

You took a moment to take a closer look at the table. Not only were your favorite type of flowers, but also all your favorite foods. You smiled softly and turned towards your boyfriend. "What is going on?" you giggled. "It isn't our anniversary. It's not my birthday. It's not your birthday. So, what am I missing?"

"Do I need an excuse to treat my girl to a nice dinner?" he asked, pretending to be wounded by your words.

But Carmy pushed forward and pulled a chair out for you. He gestured for you to take a sit, pushing it back in as you sat. After a quick run to the kitchen, he brought out the main course and took the seat across from you.

The two of you ate, laughed, and caught up. Though you saw him every day, opening The Bear had taken a lot out of him. It was nice to just be with each other. No stress, no menus, nothing.

Eventually, Carmy reached out to grab your hand in his calloused run, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. He gave you his signature, nervous grin, his curls falling in front of his eyes. "Hey, you, um, you look really beautiful tonight."

There was no way to stop your face from heating up at his words.

"And I hope you know how much I love you." Carmy continued.

"I know." you whispered, squeezing his hand.

"I'm glad." he took a deep breath. "I know this shit with the restaurant has been crazy recently. And I know I haven't been there as much as I should be." he rushed on so you wouldn't interrupt. "But you're on my mind every second of the day. Even when I should be worried about the menu, or plates, or literally anything else, I'm thinking of you.

"It's been that way since our first date. And I have no doubt it's going to stay that way. I want to be by your side for everything that comes next. Restaurant or not. You're my rock, babe. I don't know what I would fucking do without you." he chuckled.

He reached into his jacket and grabbed a small box before shifting to one knee. Your heart was practically in your throat as you watched the scene unfold before you. It was impossible to stop the tears that welled in your eyes.

"Carmy-"

"Just wait, please? Let me get this out." he paused, only continuing when you nodded. "There's a lot I'm not sure about in my life, but the one thing I'm damn sure about is you. So, y/n, will you marry me?"

There was no need to take time to think over your answer or to worry about being eloquent. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, Carmen Berzatto."

"Fuck, really?" Carmy asked, feeling emotional himself, as if he hadn't expected you to actually agree.

When you repeated your response, he fumbled with the ring, almost dropping it. But he managed to keep hold of it and gentle slid it onto your left ring finger. He took a moment to admire the way it looked there, praying he would never see it off. Looking up at you, he smiled, knowing he was the luckiest man ever.

"I love you." you whispered, pulling Carmy up so you could finally hold him.

"And I love you."

As the two of you leaned into kiss, you yelped in surprise when there was a barrage of cheering and yelling that came from the kitchen. Whipping your head in that direction, your head falling against Carmy's shoulder, laughing as you saw your friends - your family - pour into the dining room.

"I told you I had help." Carmy whispered in your ear, chuckling himself.

L positions you in the way he wants, pulls you up by your throat, long fingers curling around constricting your breaths, until your body is pressed against his, as his hips snap against the fat of your ass causing a “pap pap” sound to echo throughout your room. 

He’s relentless in his search for pleasure, paying you no mind, as his hand begins to squeeze your throat, the other snakes its way to seize your hip in a bruising grip, and hot pants and low grunts escape his chapped lips as they brush against your ear. Your mind turns to mush, no longer able to distinguish pain and pleasure as it creates a sinful mix tricking you into begging for more. All that comes out is a series of babbles, drool dripping down onto your chest, and L smugly laughs at your pathetic self. Too drunk off this moment to say or do anything as he bends you over, forcing your head into a pillow, to hit that sweet spongy spot inside. You let out a scream of delight as if he understood your pleads, and in return clench around his cock deliciously. He lets out another grunt, deep from within his chest, and smacks your ass letting the sting linger before smacking it again with just as much force. It sends your body jolting forward, too much for your broken mind to handle, and you try to squirm from his grasp, but he drags you back to where you belong. Taking his cock like you were made for this, made to be ruined by him. 

Muffled mewls and a feeble excuse of thrusting yourself back on his dick makes his mind lose focus. Normally crippled by the weight of his cases, L kneels taller now, filled with thoughts of fucking you full. He pulls out, just kissing your hole with his flushed tip, until ramming himself back in, setting a brutal pace on your body. You couldn’t be more delighted. 

It was your idea to help him distress. A method, other than eating a concerning amount of sweets, to relax him. 

You picked at the threads on your sweater as you watched him reach for another stack of macarons after downing two boxes. His fingers danced across his keyboard, quickly typing out a report in some language you can’t discern, before he spots you shyly inching over. 

L stuffs a strawberry macaron in his mouth before asking “woul’ ‘o’ ‘ike o’e” offering you a vanilla one. 

“No it’s okay” you say trying to hide a chuckle bubbling its way out. “I was actually wondering how your job is going.”

He continues to violently chew, “ ‘qui’e ‘ell,” he swallows thickly, “why do you ask?”

“Well,” you peer down to your socks, rubbing your toes against the carpet, “I was just worried if you were stressed. You’ve eaten almost three boxes of those.”

“Sugar keeps the brain awake,” he states matter-of-factly as he goes to grab another one.

Your hand stops his, holding it in place, and he looks up to you slightly confused with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth. He’s trying to read you.

“Maybe you should rest a while. Let your brain reset, you know?” His gaze shifts to his laptop. The report is nearly finished, and it has been weeks since he could sleep for more than an hour. He can never fully rest on a job like he can when he’s with you. His mind is plagued by images of known friends and nameless faces calling him, but you keep them at bay. Perhaps resting will do him some good. 

His voice softens to barely a whisper, “that would be good,” until he corrects himself “then I can continue working.”

“I’ll help you distress.”

L starts to get ready for bed, gingerly changing into his pj’s which really only consists of taking off his pants, and begins to slip into bed until he notices your apprehensive self still standing at the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing, nothing,” but you still remain at the door.

His eyes squint in suspicion, letting silence question you instead of him. You quickly relent. “I mean… Well I feel bad now.”

More silence.

You sigh, frustrated at the fact your will power breaks so easily for him. “I was going to ask if you wanted to have sex to distress, but then you were actually going to sleep and now-”

“I would very much like to have sex with you.” 

“-I feel like an asshole- wait what?”

“I said I would like to have sex.”

The air in the room turns thick with the smell of sweat and sex cut by your pornagraphic moans, and L’s harsh pants, and the sound of his heavy balls hitting your ass. 

The position he has you in makes him hit even deeper than you could imagine, leaving you incapable of moving let alone thinking, but no need to think. A pretty little thing like you doesn’t need to think when you have L as your lover. He knows what you need is to be a good little slut and take his cum.

Your hoarse voice says “‘is too much. Can’t take it.” between moans, legs shaking underneath L’s thighs.

He accentuates each word with a thrust. “Yes.” “You.” “Can.” forcing the bed frame to hit the wall. 

He bends over your hunched frame, lips leaving sloppy wet kisses against your neck until he reaches your neck and he whispers “be good for me,” and you cum.

Stars dance around the corner of your vision as a soundless scream escapes you, and your hole tightens around L’s cock making him hiss. He drops to his elbows, succumbing to only shallow thrusts until it’s all too much and he cums filling your hole and pushing it back in with his cock. He stays until he softens and falls out, and his eyes fall on your thighs. His cum is smeared across your inner thighs, dripping down between your ass and on to the bed. He scoops it back up and pushes it in, not wanting to waste a single drop, and you moan at the intrusion. 

He takes his cum covered fingers to your parted lips, already familiar with routine, and you wrap them around his fingers, tongue swirling to get every last bit. You release them with a ‘pop,’ eyes waiting patiently for your reward, and he obliges, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. 

He gets up to get a towel and begins to get you cleaned up, kissing each bruise he left, and massaging your sore limbs. 

“You did so well for me.”

“Would you say you’re sufficiently relaxed?”

“Yes, very relaxed. Thank you.”

Though the sun had technically risen, it was shrouded by dark gray storm clouds, which emitted the conglomerate of flakes. You slowly flutter your eyes open as a sliver of light peaks through the bedroom curtains. With a yawn, you glance over at the alarm clock, which reads 9:01 am. You then gaze to the other side of the bed to see a figure "sleeping" there. In reality, that was just where your dear husband left his lure when he went to bed. There, by your side, lying on his back with his hands clasped over his stomach. He almost looked corpse-like, but you know better as you roll over and nuzzle your forehead against his shoulder. If there was one silver lining about your spouse being tired in the winter, it was that you could wake up with him at your side instead of him being up hours before.

Just then, it's like the whole house stirs, the floorboards creaking, and there's a peculiar but familiar change in the air. The figure you lovingly cling to twitches for a moment, before the eyes open, first showing black voids before being blinked away to recognizable orbs that look your way. With a short, exhausted laugh, Maison rolls over onto his side and gently rests a hand on your face.

"Good morning, my love," he smiles, voice a bit raspier than normal from sleep. In fact, it seems like he's having a hard time fighting off the tired feeling this morning in particular.

"Morning. Did I wake you too early?" you ask, your gaze filled with both adoration and sympathy.

"No, not at all," the REALTOR sighs, face dropping. "It's just the season. Best to not sleep in too late."

You nod at that. You already know how much he hates winter, much like the rest of his species. He hates the frigid temperatures, the ice, and feeling exhausted more often. It seems the only part he actually likes is celebrating the holidays with you.

Your family was nice enough, and he had learned proper real estate terms a long time ago whenever they'd ask him about his "job." Yes, they still believed that “REALTOR” meant the occupation, and not species (though he supposed he could consider it such in the fact that he took any valuables and money from "buyers"). To be honest, he didn’t expect you to ever reveal that piece of info to them. They were already iffy about him due to him being so much older than you, and only really accepted the relationship because he treated you well. But still, they tried to be as polite as they could to the old man, especially with him now being your spouse, and he behaved in turn.

Unfortunately, the holidays had long since passed, and everything would be bleak, at least until Valentine's Day.

You can also tell that something about today has made your husband more miserable than ever. If you have to guess, it must've been the blizzard that had him down. Luckily, your brain is already cranking out ideas of how to cheer him up, at least a little bit.

"Well...we don't have anywhere to be, today. We could just stay like this for a little while longer if you want," you grin again, and reach forward to toy with a long, silver strand of his hair; you loved how long it got in the winter, and could never get enough of playing with it.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful,” Maison says, his lips tugging upwards once more.

With that, you snuggle up closer to him, your arms wrapping around each other. As he rests his forehead against yours, you can feel both his lure as well as his house body relax. This is just what you want, for him to forget the cold and the snow and to just focus on you two.

And you hope your other ideas are just as successful.

--------------------

The day is relatively treated like a lazy Sunday for you and your husband. When you weren't doing one of your hobbies, continuing your cuddle session with him on the couch watching TV, or shoveling the driveway, you decided to clean. You were always told you didn't have to tidy up his house body, seeing that it could keep itself clean, being a living organism, but it gave you something else to do. Besides, you have noticed how he seemed to like it when you would clean, the feeling being akin to what you did to his hair that morning.

As you finish sweeping the floor in the kitchen, you peek your head back out into the living room. The news drones on, going over the blizzard outside, but it was more background noise if anything. Maison still sits on the couch, a book opened in one hand, but he isn't paying any attention to it at the moment. Instead, he's casting a grimace outside as snow continues to fall, even though it has long since gotten dark and was starting to finally thin out.

Eventually, he sighs and goes back to his novel, causing you to pout. Perhaps you should’ve just kept all the curtains shut. You slowly make your way towards him. He senses you approaching, feeling as your fuzzy socks collide with the floor, causing him to glance up at you. Of course, he knows you just caught him feeling down once more, which meant more loving was on the way.

He truly feels flattered by the care you were giving him. It was odd, really. You taking care of him still seems like such a novel concept to him. Even though this wasn’t your first winter together, and you always did everything you could to cheer him up, you are pulling out all the stops today. To the average person, they would think that it was just you both being equal, since he replicated your efforts whenever you were blue as well. To the old man, who often feels happiness when you do, however, it feels like a bonus reward.

You first move over to the window to draw the grey curtains closed; the less he saw of the weather outside, the better. You then move to stand behind the couch and slump down, draping your arms over him and resting your chin on his head, occasionally pressing kisses here and there. That causes the REALTOR to let out a tired chuckle as he takes one of your hands and raises it to his lips.

"Hello again, my dear," he says, amused by your actions. “You know, you really don’t have to do all of this. As you are aware, this isn’t my first snowstorm.”

“I know I know. But it’s the first blizzard where you have someone actually notice how you feel” you murmur, moving your hands upward to massage his shoulders. “I just hate seeing you upset.”

“My love, after all you have done for me today, it’s hard to remember what ‘upset’ feels like,” he teases as his lure once again relaxes at your touch.

“I know…I just…wish I could do more,” you whisper and think to yourself about the other ideas you had for the night as you continue to rub his shoulders. That causes your husband to set his book aside and turn around to face you better.

“Y/N, you have done more than enough today. Please do not stress yourself, I am completely fine thanks to you,” he begins, but still sees uncertainty in your eyes. The gears in your brain are still turning, and he knows they won’t stop until you say so. “But I know you. You’re far too stubborn for your own good, so I won’t stand in your way. In fact, why don’t you tell me what else you’ve got planned for tonight, hm?”

“Well…I’ve only really thought about two things left,” you drawl, your whole body seeming to perk up a bit. One of your ideas is more wholesome, and what you plan on doing first. The other idea…not so much, and better for later.

“Oh? And what are they, my dear?” he pushes, flashing you a tired smile and quirking up an eyebrow. He’s very much intrigued by this change in your demeanor.

“Hmm? I don’t know if I wanna tell you. It might be better if they’re a surprise,” you jest, a sly grin gracing your lips. “But I think I can give you a hint for the first one. It’s almost supper time, and I wanna make your favorite.”

With that, you place a quick kiss to his cheek before returning to the kitchen. As you exit the room, you hear your husband chuckle behind you. You were absolutely silly, and it brought more light into his life than he had ever known in all his years of being alive.

You quickly get out all the ingredients and dishes you need. What was your beloved REALTOR’s favorite outside of "buyers" and fish sandwiches, both of which you absolutely could not get him thanks to the weather? Well, it’s something in a rather similar vein to the latter. You had gotten some nice cuts of salmon not too long ago and planned to cook them up in a tasty honey garlic glaze with a side of asparagus. Out of all the meals you made, that one was by far Maison’s favorite, so why not make it now?

Humming a soft tune to yourself, you mix up your sauce in a bowl while the fish sizzles in a skillet and the asparagus sits in the steam cooker. It doesn’t take long for the smell to waft out of the room and towards the old man’s senses. And it takes even less time for him to recognize it, causing a soft smile to tug on his lips once more. Sure, it isn't as filling as "buyers" are, being more akin to a snack for him, but like most snacks, it provided him with a nice temporary boost of energy. Plus, it sure is tasty.

Eventually, you plate the food and set it at the dining table. As you do so, a funny thought enters your head. If you were to tell someone that you had wed a man-eating house creature and were living in his house body, they probably wouldn't think your relationship would be all that normal (or healthy, for that matter). And yet here you are, serving food for the two of you like a regular housewife from a 50s sitcom. Well, you suppose "house's wife" was a more accurate term, you think with a smirk as you glance down at your ring. The point is, though it has its obvious oddities, your relationship with your husband still feels as natural as any other.

You catch a bit of red in the corner of your vision and lift your head to see Maison standing in the doorway, the grin on his face growing as he locks eyes with yours. He takes his seat as you sit down as well. Though he unfortunately cannot eat with you, that doesn't mean he can't join you like a regular couple should.

"Do you want to know something?" he begins, interlocking his fingers and leaning forward.

"What is it?" you ask, your pulse skipping as you see an all too familiar look of adoration gaze back at you.

"You are something else, Mrs. Talo. Something else."

And just like that, it feels like your heart just exploded.

"You wouldn't have married me if I weren't," you push back with a soft laugh, as your eyes land on the golden band adorned on his left ring finger. It seems like he has never taken it off since that beautiful September day you both were married. The reality of the matter is he takes great pride in your relationship. Every time he looks down at his hand, he can't help but smile as he thinks about you and that wonderful day. Plus, he has also noticed that it makes him seem more approachable to "potential buyers." Being a married man seems to make him seem more normal, especially since he can't help but gush about you a little when the topic of his wedding ring is brought up.

You try to eat as quickly as possible, not wanting his food to get cold. To Maison, however, there is no rush. Any time spent with you is priceless to him. Besides, patience is a virtue in his mind, and one of the reasons he became the number 1 REALTOR in the Uncanny Valley in the first place. You do try to slow down a little, but soon your plate is done, and you take it to the sink to be washed for later with the rest of the dishes.

"Hey, I can step out now if you'd like. I think I should reshovel the driveway, anyways," you say as you turn back to your husband.

"You are not going outside in that dreadful weather again," he instantly replies, before standing and taking his full plate as well. "We can do that tomorrow. You've already done so much today, and I believe the snow was supposed to stop by now. Just go upstairs to the bedroom and rest a while. I'll come get you when it's safe."

To be honest, the bedroom isn't the best place to go when he eats since it still could get quite hot in there, though not unbearable like his food got treated to. It really was a last resort if you had nowhere to go and the weather was awful, much like now. You also know he's committed to this plan, so you won't be stepping one foot outdoors.

"Well...alright. If you say so," you mumble, still thinking that maybe you should go out and shovel again or clean another room.

"I do, now go rest," he says, making his way over to you and placing a kiss to your temple.

That does make you smile a bit before you turn and head up the stairs. As you shut the bedroom door behind you, you head towards the window and peek through the curtains to see the winter wonderland the Uncanny Valley has become. Snow glitters under the lights that line the street, and a peaceful calm has fallen over the neighborhood. Not even a lonely plow drives by to interrupt it, though you suppose it doesn't matter. Maison was right, it has stopped snowing, and the driveway looks fine.

Slowly, you turn your head to glance behind you at one of your dresser drawers. You bite your lip as you begin thinking about your last idea of the night. You had originally planned to do it later, but perhaps now was the perfect opportunity, especially as the room begins to heat up.

You open the drawer and rummage your hand around inside until your fingertips meet the familiar feeling of lace. You pull the two garments out and lay them on the bed, just a cute little set you got for a good price that you hadn't found the chance to wear until now. You carefully pull off your current clothing, knowing that if your husband sensed anything, he would just assume you were just changing into your pajamas. Once completely bare, you put on the soft brassiere and panties, briefly looking down to admire how they look on you.

With that, you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, crossing a leg over the other and posing yourself innocently enough as you eagerly await your beloved REALTOR's return.

Meanwhile, the old man makes quick work of your cooking before heading to take care of the dishes after the living room goes back to normal. The more time he spends, the longer you can have your well-needed rest, he thinks. It also makes your life a little bit easier, having you wake up tomorrow to all the pots and plates already dry. Once that's done, he washes his hands of any remaining residue from cleaning and heads upstairs, unaware of the last trick you have up your sleeve.

"Darling?" Maison calls as he lightly raps on the bedroom door.

"Come in," you reply, voice sickeningly sweeter than usual, causing him to raise a curious eyebrow and enter.

He doesn't get very far into the room before stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of you. There you sit, batting your eyelashes and smiling up at him as if you aren't wearing white lace that leaves little to the imagination.

"Well well, what is this?" he purrs, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Your last surprise for the night. I've already given you my love and care today, so what's left for me to give you...," with each word that drips from your lips, every step you take gets closer and closer to your husband until you can wrap your arms around him and lean in closer to her ear. "Then...well...my body."

"Oh really?" he asks, hands instantly finding your waist and tracing the intricate patterns of your undergarment. "And what exactly can I do with this little surprise of mine, hm?"

"Anything you want," you whisper, before pulling away to gaze into his eyes. Nowhere on your face is there a look of uncertainty; only desire is present in your dilated pupils.

"'Anything?" he parrots, voice dangerously low yet still as smooth as a silk rope threatening to tighten around your limbs. He thinks for a moment, the silence ensnaring you in anticipation. He then glances to the bed before looking back at you. "Why don't you go sit back down on the bed again, my dear?"

You nod and smile, purposely swaying your hips playfully when you turn away as you return to the spot you were prior to him entering. Once you plop yourself back down onto the soft covers, the REALTOR takes the moment to carefully tie his long, gray locks up into a ponytail, something that has you rolling your bottom lip in between your teeth. He lets out a soft hum of approval as he returns his attention to you and sees that eager look in your eyes, like an obedient little puppy ready for more instructions.

Slowly, he closes the distance between the two of you. Like a predator stalking their prey, his steps are careful and deliberate because he knows that the longer he can draw this out, the sweeter you'll be. When he is close enough to you, he slots himself in between your legs, causing you to spread them farther apart to accommodate him. He then leans down, one hand threading itself through your hair.

Gently, he pushes you forward until your lips collide with his, and you contentedly flutter your eyes shut. His other hand finds itself on you once more, first slipping underneath your panties to grasp your hip before moving downwards to massage the soft flesh of your thigh. The grip in your hair then tightens, eliciting a soft whine from you and allowing him to finally plunge his tongue into your mouth. That only draws you into him more as you allow your mind to focus on nothing but this sinfully loving charade.

It feels addicting, it's absolutely distracting, and that's exactly what Maison wants. He moves his grasp to your shoulders and gently drifts it down your arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake until he rests his palms just below your elbows. He peeks his eyes open, briefly getting a glimpse of the bliss on your face as he pushes your arms behind your back and migrates his lips to your neck. Without thinking, you try to break out of his hold to pull him closer, until you realize you can.

You attempt to tug your arms free again, when you finally sense something warm and damp binding them together. You struggle a bit once more and register that they aren't the only limbs bound. You can feel the same sensation around your ankles, keeping your legs spread wide. With a sly smile still present on his face, your husband breaks away from you to admire how good you look, restrained not by his lure, but by the red, fleshy tentacles of his house body.

Oh, so this is the game he wants to play tonight.

Well, that's alright then. If this was what he wanted, then so be it. After all, you know he won't do anything you don't like.

Soon, another one of the ruby appendages is on you, pulling your gaze down to it as it lovingly strokes over your stomach. Your breathing deepens as you watch it slowly gliding upwards until it slips underneath your bra to cup one of your breasts. The feeling is interesting to say the least, almost like having a large tongue caressing your chest. It's not at all unpleasant, however, especially as it runs along the hardened bud there, pulling a gasp from you.

Then another joins the fray, sliding along your inner thigh. Its pace is slow and teasing like the first, building up anticipation before striking. This one moves higher until it begins stroking you through the gusset of your underwear, ruining them even more than they already were. With a shaky moan, your head lolls back, as your body finally adjusts to the sensation; you always need a moment to adapt, whenever your husband has his house body get involved.

As soon as this new tendril zeros in on rubbing circles into your clothed clit, your hips start to gently roll, trying to move in tandem with it as much as your restraints would allow. Each little jolt of pleasure sent through your body had the soft, warm walls of your core clenching and relaxing, making you whimper pathetically. It was all so good, yet still not enough. You don't just want cum, you want to be filled up and fucked too.

You once again glance down at your body, your face growing hotter as you watch the work being done to you. God, it’s such an obscene image, you at the complete mercy of your husband. Speaking of, you feel a tingling sensation in your brain, the feeling one gets when someone or something is looking at them. You glance up, eyes locking with Maison, who has taken a few steps away from you. He still held his grin while resting his hand against his chin, looking more like a museum goer admiring a painting.

“I-hah…fail to see how you’re getting s-something out of this,” you pant, causing him to darkly chuckle.

“Oh my dear, I am getting plenty out of this,” he approaches you once more, before resting a hand on your throat. He doesn’t squeeze around it, instead opting to press his fingers against your pulse point. “Just like I can feel the rapid beating of your heart under my fingertips, I can also feel how your whole body shudders with each stroke I deliver. Besides, am I not allowed to please my wife?”

With his other hand, he pushes your lacy panties to the side. Instead of feeling the tip of the tentacle there going back to rubbing your clit, it decides to go lower, swirling around your weeping entrance. You whine at that, staring up at the REALTOR pleadingly. Unfortunately, you need to answer his question before you get what you want.

"N-No, this is good. So good," you whine.

"I would hope so. You'd think I'd know my wife's body by now, right Mrs. Talo?" this time, he doesn’t need you to answer as the appendage finally pushes itself inside with little resistance. Instantly, your body clamps around it, and your moans of relief fill the room.

It thrusts in and out of you at a steady pace, much faster than before. It seems the old man has had enough of teasing you as he reaches down to massage circles into the little bundle of nerves between your legs, the appendage writhing with each lap his fingertips make. Your cries only grow louder and needier because of that, your peak getting closer than you thought.

“O-Oh…oh God, Maison! I-I’m ah!” you sob out, unable to properly string your warning together.

“Shh I know, my love, I know. I can feel it. Mm, always so tight and sweet for me,” he purrs, switching from holding your neck to petting your hair. “You can let go. I have you.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your whole body starts to shake until you can’t hold back any longer. Your hips continue to move as before, chasing your high while your husband continues to work you through your orgasm. Once the ecstasy has died down, you can feel the red, fleshy tendrils retract, and you slump forward into his arms. Of course, you know this isn’t over yet. It’s never over soon with Maison. At least he’s kind enough to give you a little break though, as he holds you and litters kisses along your shoulder and neck.

“There you go, you did so good for me, darling…,” he coos as he snakes his way up your back until his fingers find the clasp to your brassiere. He makes quick work of the thing, undoing it and tossing it to the floor before removing your underwear next. He's not opposed to lingerie, loving how the different colors and fabrics looked against your skin, but this pair has overstayed its welcome to him. “And I know you’ll do even better now.”

You hardly register his words or him carefully lying you down until your back meets the bed. The REALTOR hovers over you, hand gently stroking your cheek as he waits for your green light. You beam up at him tiredly and nod, placing a soft kiss to his palm. Your body still hasn't 100% recovered yet, but still you tell him to keep going. You must be completely insane, or perhaps all these times you've both been intimate has trained you to crave more.

Perhaps it's both.

No matter, he also sweetly smiles at you and leans down to press his lips to your neck. Feeling a bit playful, he travels to the spot he knows drives you crazy, and lightly sinks his teeth in. A sharp gasp escapes you and you can feel something twitch deep inside your abdomen. It's crazy how a simple bite can restir your arousal so quickly.

Maison amusedly hums at your reaction before descending your body once more, littering kisses here and there as he goes. One to your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts, to one of your lower ribs, above your naval, to your hipbone. And each one has you breathing heavily once more until he's finally kneeling in front of the bed. He quickly glances up at you again, before pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh. Just like with that tender spot on your throat, he plants a bite there too, this time sucking on the small area of flesh.

He then pulls away, a pleased grin on his face as he takes in the blemish he left on your skin. There was something so attractive to the old man about leaving hidden love bites to your body. To him, it was tacky and vulgar to mark up visible areas. Placing them where only the two of you knew about, where you would look down and feel your face go hot as you are reminded about the events that occurred the night prior, is miles better.

Now believing you were rested up enough, he holds your legs apart and finally leans forward and licks a long stripe through your folds. A breathy moan rips through you, matching his groan of pleasure as he picks up your taste. He quickly gets into a pattern of swirling his tongue around your leaking hole to collect as much of your slick as possible. It's controlled, wanting to savor how you taste like a fine wine. Once he has lapped up what was already there, his tongue darts upwards to lick harsh circles around your clit to coax more out. Of course, he knows he can just stroke it at the same time with his fingers like before, but once again, it's just to draw everything out longer. After all, he never likes to rush when he eats.

It's your turn to run your fingers through his hair, using it as a brace while your other hand flies up to grip at the pillow above your head. The familiar feeling of something damp sliding against your arm pulls your attention up, seeing as another tendril wraps around your wrist. It's less restraining you and more so comforting this time as it worms itself into your grasp. It allows you to hold onto it while it gently pets the back as if it were your husband's own hand. Well, you suppose that technically it is.

Though it's short-lived, you let out a soft, breathy laugh at that. There is just something oddly sweet about it, which is fitting. Maison always makes you feel so loved during sex, even when there were a few sessions that got a bit rough. No matter what, there is always his adoration for you there, which is just what you need when facing such overwhelming pleasure.

Even still, your body shudders and squirms with each lash of his tongue. Unlike the slow pace he does when he tastes you, this is rapid and swift, only adding to the overstimulation. At the same time, it builds up your second orgasm, which makes it addictive. Unfortunately, each time you’re at the cusp of your peak, he moves back to lapping at your entrance. You absolutely hate it, losing track of how many times you've had your release ripped away from you. You know you wanted him to do whatever he wanted to your body tonight, but you have reached your limit.

“Augh f-fuck…Maison, come on,” you whine desperately, trying to push his nose closer to your clit to get some kind of relief.

“Mm? Oh, it seems I’ve neglected your needs, hm? Well, why don’t we fix that?” the old man purrs and shifts slightly. He then summons another tentacle to wrap around your knee, allowing him to free one of his hands. With that, he goes back to tonguing your pussy while stroking you where you need him most.

You’re absolutely gushing from the change, your head thrown back and body arching upwards. It feels like your brain has gone completely numb as the only words you can utter are curses and your husband’s name. Your peak approaches quickly, making you sob in bliss. Even as you give one last jolt and a rush of your juices floods over his taste buds, he doesn’t stop until he feels satisfied, only removing his hand so you won’t pass out.

Carefully, the REALTOR pulls away, his mouth completely drenched with another satisfied grin on his face. He pushes himself up to stand and takes you in once more. You, lying there as your chest rises and falls with each heavy pant, and your eyes closed in bliss. You, lost in the aftermath of your orgasm. He truly can’t think of a prettier sight than this.

While you recover, he shrugs off his red coat that has turned a rather bleak hue. Before, he thought that the duller color was a reflection of his mood during the winter. Now that you’re in his life, however, that just wasn’t the truth anymore. Look at all you had done for him today, all you wanted to do tonight. When was the last time he had someone who cares so passionately about him or his woes before you? God only knows. What matters now is you’re here, his dearest tenant, his darling wife. And that is why he takes every opportunity to worship you wholly.

Slowly, he climbs on top of you, resting his forehead lovingly against yours. Your eyes flutter open for a second before shutting once more. You hum pleasantly and another tired smile finds its way onto your face.

“One last one, right?” You breathe, gently pressing your hands against his chest. You know he still needs his relief too, feeling the strain through fabric against your abdomen.

“Is that what you want, my love?” he asks, gently caressing your cheek.

“Yes…I think I can handle my husband well…right, Mr. Talo?” you laugh as you parrot what he said before. He chuckles and nods his head as he moves away to glance at you, properly.

“You are beyond resilient. And you never cease to amaze me,” Maison then sits up, reaching to his belt and unclasping it.

You prop yourself up onto your forearms to take in your own lovely sight of him. His hair pulled up with a few messy strands that came loose (a result of your fingers running through it from before), his arms on display now that his jacket was gone, and now the absolute cherry on top with him tugging his black dress pants down just enough for his length to string free. That is what you feel like you crave more than anything right now.

Though exhaustion still lingers in your brain as well as your muscles, you eagerly lie yourself back down in preparation. His soft hold then finds your hips, giving you one last look over before finally pushing himself inside of you. There's a slight, stretching sensation of your velvety walls trying to accommodate him, making you draw in a shaky breath, but the feeling quickly passes.

As soon as he bottoms out, he leans forward and captures your lips once more. You instantly lock your limbs around his torso to pull him closer. It's said that during sex, one is completely ensnared by their lover, that the whole world just fades away. That can't be any truer for you, because technically your husband isn't just on top of you and in you, but he really is all around you. He is your home, metaphorically and literally, and that feeling has you delightfully intoxicated.

And that feeling only increases as he slowly starts moving, unsheathing his cock from your body before filling you up once more. Again, he sees no reason to hurry things, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just fuck you hard and fast. No, your pussy feels way too good for that, it would be an absolute waste. Just like prior, it's all about savoring you.

Despite this, your legs still tremble and you struggle to keep them wrapped around his waist, a result of all the pleasure you've experienced already. Still you try, because the thought of having him pull away sounds unimaginable. Luckily, he feels how desperately you try to cling to him, your nails clawing at his back. His hands glide down to hold your thighs to his waist. He thinks for a moment, a delicious idea entering his mind, though he'll have to disappoint you for a second.

He sits up, causing your arms to fall away and draw a whimper from your throat. Gently, he moves to rest your calves against his shoulders and gives an experimental thrust to see how he likes the new position. With a sly grin, he leans back down, pushing your thighs against your chest and pistoning his hips forward again. You can't hold back the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you as he strikes that sweet spot inside of you, the new, obscene pose allowing him to reach even deeper.

Fortunately, you're not the only one losing your composure. The feeling of his tip hitting your g-spot has you clamping down on him tightly, causing him to groan and buck his hips a bit harder. Looks like he'll be kissing his patience goodbye, now. That euphoric feeling of your core contracting his dick and the beautiful sound of your cries won't allow him to keep it.

His pace becomes fast but still consistent. If the bed you're on were normal, the headboard would no doubt be hitting the wall. Your hands scramble to his back once more to have some sort of brace. If you thought your mind had melted before, then it was downright gone now as he pummels your insides. Again, you babble out in ecstasy, and that coil in your stomach grows taut like a rope rapidly fraying, and the old man knows it.

“Mmm…feels so good. You’re close, aren’t you, my love?” Maison asks, though he’s not surprised all you can muster is a small “uh huh” in your sea of sobbing. He nods understandingly and places a kiss to your forehead. “Go on, then. Give me one more.”

Truthfully, you can’t hold back even if you want to. Stopping yourself from cumming one last time tonight would be torture. Besides, the REALTOR is beyond skilled at this point and knows your body like his favorite book. He knows just what to do in order to have you coming undone for him.

Just a few more hard thrusts have your eyes rolling upward and your vision going white. You clamp down around him hard and moan loudly as your third release hits you like a freight train. You can barely even process your husband’s cock twitching before painting your soft, warm walls white. You can barely process the whole house shaking like an earthquake had sprung up. You can barely process him moving your numb legs off his shoulders and pulling out of you to fix himself back into his pants. And you can barely feel him holding you in his lap, at least until he starts cooing at you.

“That’s my sweet girl. You did so good for me. You’re so perfect,” he praises in between kisses to your face. Your eyes flutter open and you glance up at him with another exhausted smile.

“You’re…not so bad yourself,” you tease through heavy breaths. You still feel so lightheaded and your limbs still feel like jelly, yet you still feel so satisfied. “Yeah…not bad at all.”

“Do you need anything, my dear? Water? A bath?” he asks, especially as he notices how much time has passed since you both started.

“A bath…a bath sounds nice,” you mumble, resting your head against your husband’s shoulder.

“As you wish, my love,” he replies and carefully lifts you up as he carries you to the bathroom.

Maison makes sure that the lights are dimmer than normal, so you don’t strain your eyes. He then sits you down on the toilet carefully before filling the tub, checking until the water is at a pleasant temperature. Once he thinks it’s to your liking, he picks you up to sink you into the warm water, causing your body to relax even more. You’re honestly surprised you’re not drifting off as he gently massages body wash into your skin and shampoo into your hair.

“How did today end with you still somehow taking care of me?” you laugh as he grabs you a towel, though your voice is a bit hoarse after all the screaming.

“Think of it as a reward for all you’ve done,” he smiles and returns to you, yanking the plug out of the tub to drain it. “For being the most caring and loving wife I could’ve ever asked for.”

With your legs gaining feeling again, you stand to help dry yourself off and continue your nightly routine. As you reenter the bedroom, you see the covers on your side of the bed already pulled back and a cup of water on your nightstand. Your beloved REALTOR is already lying down, his hair out of the ponytail and his coat back on. You happily crawl up next to him and throw your arms around him in a sweet embrace, ending the day how it started.

Robin wanted to get out of Hawkins, Indiana. No, Robin needed to get out of Hawkins, Indiana. She needed to get out of soul-crushingly normal, Smalltown Americana before it devoured her whole and left a husk that she would never recognize.

Her first plan to get out – Operation Croissant, a whirlwind, runaway trip to Europe the summer after her sophomore year – was a complete and utter failure. But it had been a clear turning point, when she went from (hopefully) Invisible, Nerd Robin to Rebel, Loner Robin. She was going to be her true self – whoever that turned out to be – and stop trying to fly under the radar. She couldn’t let Hawkins scare out any of her individuality before she even had a chance to live a real life, to see the real world. And even if that meant there were some big changes in her life, even if sometimes it was scary as hell. It was the best feeling in the world.

She thought Before Rebel Robin and After Rebel Robin would be the only clear division in her life for a while. It was definitely the most significant division in her life up until then. And it was fifteen and a half years in the making. So, she was sure her next before and after would be something equally as life-changing. Like Before (Finally) Getting Out of Hawkins and After; or Before Kissing a Girl (!!!!) for the First Time and After.

But instead, her next big before and after became Before Starcourt and After Starcourt.

Or, just maybe, more accurately, Before Steve Harrington and After Steve Harrington.

God, what sophomore Robin would think if she saw herself now.

Starcourt was just supposed to be another step on her way to getting out, to becoming After-Leaving-Hawkins Robin. It was supposed to be another job to rebuild her depleted Operation Croissant fund. Instead, it dragged her head first into a Russian conspiracy, opened her eyes to the horrifying, other-world existing parallel to their own, and dropped her best friend, her platonic soulmate, her literal other half into her lap in the form of Steve Harrington – previously better known only as her nemesis in the (non-existent) fight for Tammy Thompson’s affections.

There was literally no way sophomore Robin, Before Robin, would have been friends with Steve Harrington. Hell, she had still been a little unsure of their “friend” status right up until he was offering himself up in her place to be literally tortured by Russian secret agents, but she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without him now.

The first time Robin had told Steve about Operation Croissant, they were sitting in the dark in his en suite, a few months after Starcourt had burned to the ground. Steve had been suffering from a migraine he couldn’t kick for about four days and Robin still didn’t know fully how to help, but he never turned away her company. So, she had been calling in sick for him, and whenever she wasn’t already working or in school, she was slipping inside the eerily quiet, empty Harrington house to sit with him and keep the boredom away.

Today had been especially bad, Steve had admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet when she called over the walkie to see if he needed her to call in for him again. (She had been oddly touched when the kids insisted they wanted her to have a walkie as well, but she would never admit that to them. Or how helpful it really was.) And there was something in his voice she picked up immediately, even through the rough connection. Something vulnerable and low that tugged at a feeling in her gut she just couldn’t ignore. So, she called in sick for the both of them, ignoring Keith’s not-so-subtle disbelief, and a few hours later, for the third time in as many months, Robin found herself lying on a bathroom floor having a heart to heart with Steve Harrington.

They were side by side, their heads nearly pressed against the bathtub and their feet separated only by the base of the toilet. Through the door there was the muffled sound of Bruce Springsteen’s The River cassette playing quietly in Steve’s room. Anything much louder was too much for him when he was like this, but he once told her the house was too quiet without it.

She had found him already holed up in the bathroom, hoping the cool tile floor would help combat the uncharacteristic September heat and the pain. And that he wouldn’t have to go very far if the nausea took a turn for the worse. But she also knew that finding him like this first thing in the morning meant he most likely hadn’t done anything to take care of himself first. She refreshed his ice pack and made him take a few sips of both a water and a ginger ale. When he said the nausea had passed enough that he might be able to keep down some medicine, she made him eat a few crackers first, both as a test and so there was at least something in his system. He had rolled his eyes (or attempted to, the movement aborted half-way through when it still hurt too much) and made some comment about being able to take care of himself, but she had seen him smile into the water bottle and when they were sitting up, waiting to see if his nausea had really passed, he slipped down to rest his head on her shoulder. The grounding heat of his body pressed along her side and the reassuring feel of his breath against her neck was nearly enough to lull her back to sleep, and Steve did fall asleep like that, if only for a few minutes.

Eventually, he had to move back to lying on the floor. Robin wasn’t exactly sure when she moved to join him, or how long it had been since they had laid down, when she turned her head to watch him in the dark. The only light coming in was from the crack under the door and a night light plug-in by the sink Steve had had her throw a thin pillowcase over when she came in because it was still too bright for him by itself. He still had the icepack on his forehead and a second towel thrown over his face.

She wondered if that cover was what made it so easy to start the conversation, the same way the stalls separated them back in Starcourt’s public bathroom, the way a shower curtain had let her tell him how afraid she still was in the early hours of the morning after everything when he had snuck in through her bedroom window after she called him in tears because she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop seeing the Mind Flayer climbing out of Starcourt to chase them down, couldn’t stop feeling the phantom weight of Steve going limp against her back.

“I was going to run away to Europe.”

Neither of them had said anything for so long, if she didn’t know better, she might have thought he had fallen asleep, but Steve inclined his head, ever so slightly, to let her know he was listening.

“I had this whole plan. I called it ‘Operation Croissant,’” Steve snorted at the name, but didn’t interrupt her. “That…the same year I realized…about Tammy. I wanted to ask her to go with me.”

Steve’s voice was hardly more than a whisper when he finally responded. “Did you?”

“No,” she sighed, remembering all her grand plans for the trip that would never be. How foolish she felt not realizing what all of those daydreams had meant back then. “I never found the right person to ask.”

“How come you didn’t just go by yourself?”

“I kind of got caught. And then depleted all my funds paying for damages after I sort-of crashed prom last year.”

Steve lifted the towel to look at her. There was a crease above his eyebrow and his expression was still pinched and small in a way that she knew meant he was still in pain, but his eyes were light.

“That was you?”

Robin shrugged, but she could feel the smile fighting to get out. Steve dropped the towel back over his face, but it couldn’t hide his quiet laugh. She was glad, now, his bimmer wasn’t part of the collateral damage. He probably wouldn’t have found it so funny now if she had run her father’s car into his precious baby back then.

“No wonder you don’t have your license yet,” he mused.

“Hey!” Robin smacked his arm, half-heartedly but she was already joining in on his laughter.

She let the quiet settle over them again before she rolled onto her side, inching closer to him. She had to bend her knees to lift her feet past the base of the toilet, but it was worth it to lay her head on his shoulder and feel some of the tension seep out of him with just a touch. Steve shifted slightly under her, and when she glanced down, he had flipped his hand around, palm up towards the ceiling. Her own hand slid easily into the cradle of his, calloused fingers intertwining with her own.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden wave of affection she felt for this boy. Tried not to think about how close she could have been to never having this.

“Hey, Robs?” Steve was the one to break the silence this time, and that vulnerable, low tone was in his voice again. It made Robin want to hold him that much closer, to open her ribs and fit him into the Steve-shaped space he had carved out in her heart until he could soak up all the feelings she didn’t know how to put into words and made it so he never had to sound like that again.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

And, oh. Maybe…maybe it was just that easy to put into words.

“And not like-” Steve was rambling above her, probably a bad habit he picked up from her honestly, but she had missed most of what he was saying. “And not like that, obviously, but still I-”

“Shut up,” Robin said affectionately. She couldn’t seem to cut the softness from her voice even if she tried. “I love you too, dingus.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I wish…” he trailed off, until she squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on. “I wish past-Steve had you.”

Robin turned to glance up at him, but the towel was still over his face, blocking his expression from her. She turned back, tucking her face against his shirt, inhaling his familiar scent. The usual scent of the cologne he liked was faint, he likely hadn’t used any since his migraine started, but comforting. She thought about her fractured Odd Squad. The awkward waves she exchanged with Kate and Milton when they passed each other in the halls at school now and how little she missed Dash. She thought of how prepared After Robin was to be content alone and how that thought now made it feel like a pit was opening in her stomach.

“I wish past-Robin had you too.”

Steve squeezed her hand again. “I would have gone with you on Operation Croissant.”

Robin hid her smile against his shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

Even back then, Steve was already wrapped up too completely in the Upside Down, with the kids and with Nancy. She wouldn’t have been able to pull him away. And even as that thought filled her with a kind of overwhelming, affectionate warmth for Steve’s loyalty and dedication to his friends, she wondered if she would ever be able to pull him away from Hawkins.

Robin needed to get away from Hawkins. She couldn’t stay here forever. She couldn’t let the monster of Hawkins, the real or metaphorical one, consume her. But could she leave without Steve? Could she leave him behind if he couldn’t bring himself to leave Hawkins?

She didn’t know anymore.

“No,” Steve finally admitted. “I wouldn’t have. I would have wanted to, though.”

“I would have wanted you to, too,” she said quietly. I still want you to. “But I don’t think we were ready for each other yet, back then.”

“Yeah, I guess we both had some growing up to do.”

“Well,” Robin dragged it out until he huffed above her, his breath ruffling the top of her hair. “Some more than others.”

Justin traveled to the arena with the Birkholtz clan, but they were separated in the crowds as Justin kept an eye out for Samwell crew. There was easily another hour before puck drop, but the crowds were thick, the arena deafening between the music, vendors, and the sheer number of people trying to move around in the limited space. The Falconers’s popularity had definitely risen in the last year or so. But as an expansion team making it as far as they did in the playoffs the year before, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

He spotted Lardo first, considering she was perched on Shitty’s shoulders and therefore towering over the crowd. The Frogs, all of them, and Bitty were with them. Nursey and Lardo were deep into a conversation he didn’t bother trying to decipher from that distance. And if the expression on Dex’s face was anything to go by, Tango came equipped with his usual arsenal of questions. Meanwhile, Chowder looked ready to vibrate right out of his skin, though he was the first one to notice Justin as he made his way towards them.

“Rans!” Chowder’s exclamation altered everyone else to his presence and the group welcomed him into the fold with high fives, fist bumps, and slaps on the back.

Lardo slipped off of Shitty’s shoulders when security started eyeing their group, and they seemed to take that as a sign to head in. Walking through the stadium seats was just as amazing as it was the first time. Sure, he had been to NHL games before, and had been playing hockey most of his life-but watching the Falconers play was different. He knew this team; Jack did his best to merge his Samwell life and Falconer life. And now…

“Holster!”

The players weren’t on the ice just yet, but the line-up was playing across the jumbotron above the rink. And there he was. Adam Birkholtz. Rookie Defenseman. #4.

“Do his teeth look even larger in that picture than normal?”

Justin, and a number of the Samwell crew, sputtered out a surprised laugh as Holster’s sister sidled up beside them. Justin looked around to find the rest of the Brikholtz family not far behind.

“Maragret, don’t talk about your brother like that.” Katherine scolded, though it sounded as if she was saying in more because she thought she should, rather than actually caring that Margaret had said it. The sixteen-year-old shrugged off her step-mother’s scolding.

“They totally do.” Justin agreed in a conspiratorial whisper.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” Margaret told him through her giggles.

Holster’s family had met the team when they came down for graduation, but Justin ran through the introductions again, just in case. With the “adults” distracted by names and small talk, it was Holster’s youngest sister, Savannah, that finally noticed the team making their way out onto the ice. If they had thought the stadium itself was loud, nothing quite compared to an eight-year-old screaming “Adam” across the ice rink.

Well, it got his attention.

Grinning, Holster skated towards them. Savannah took off, down the stairs to the ice, pig tails flying behind her.

Justin kind of wished he could do the same thing.

It was different seeing him in the Falconer blue, instead of Samwell red, but he looked good. Like he belonged there on the ice. Justin hadn’t really thought he would go pro after college, med school had been the plan since he was in high school, but it was odd to see Holster strapped up and ready for a game, and not be by his side.

Well, something to overanalyze later. For now,

“Yeah, Birkholtz!”

_X_

The game started with a foul less than three minutes in and two fights. Both teams were playing like they had something to prove and their opponent was the last thing standing in their way. Holster didn’t get much ice time in the first period, just as he predicted, but Jack was out there playing hard, and getting slammed into the boards even harder. If he got checked again, Justin was pretty sure Bitty would do something drastic.

Shitty shouted down insults that, Justin was fairly certain, were only as mild as they were for Savannah’s sake. The rest of the Samwell crew wasn’t far behind him.

Halfway through the second period, neither team was on the board, and then Holster was sent out. Their row cheered as he skated out, earning themselves glares from the surrounding seats, but Justin could feel his pulse sky rocket as he watched his best friend join the brutal game. Margaret grabbed his right hand, eyes trained on Holster. Justin squeezed her hand back, and settled in for one of the most stressful nine minutes and thirty-four seconds he could ever remember.

_X_ 

By the final period, the fact that someone hadn’t drawn blood in the game was a complete miracle. The tension was palpable. The opposing center flew down the ice with the puck, Jack and Robison hot on his tail. Just as they closed in on him, he took a wild shot.

After that, everything seemed to happen at once.

Holster dove to block the shot. Their left-wing dove after him. A helmet hit the ice. Snowy caught the puck.

Snowy caught the puck.

Holster’s helmet hit the ice.

Between the two teams, and their position, they couldn’t see much. But that didn’t stop Justin from jumping to his feet in attempt to know what was happening. By the time the refs pulled the brawling players apart, everyone around him was on their feet as well.

Holster was on his feet, but blood was dripping down the front of his sweater and was smeared across most of his face. Others were in similar shape, but Justin couldn’t take his eyes off Holster as they escorted him off the ice.

As if he could feel the eyes on him, Holster turned towards their row. He waved, throwing them a reassuring smile. It might have been more effective if two of his teeth weren’t missing.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Shitty swore a few seats down.

He couldn’t have said it better himself.

_X_ 

The rest of the game passed in a blur Justin couldn’t follow. Holster never returned to the ice and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What was happening? Was he alright? Could that have gone differently if Justin had been down there on the ice with him? He knew it was a useless train of thought, but that didn’t seem to stop that particular anxiety from popping up with frustrating frequency.

The only part of the game he seemed to register was when Tater slammed the guy who knocked Holster down like the big guy was trying to flatten him-Thank God for Alexei Mashkov-but when Jack sunk the winning puck into the net, he was on his feet screaming himself hoarse with the rest of them.

An insistent tugging on his hand dragged his attention away from the celebrating team on the ice. Margaret nodded towards her family as Katherine shoved her way through the crowded rows.

“C’mon, we’re gonna go see him.”

_X_ 

“Maybe we should stay longer.”

Justin sat at Holster’s kitchen table, watching Katherine pace around the apartment. The girls all sat on the couch. They had been watching their mother, trying to convince her otherwise, but had since given up. Savannah was asleep on Margaret’s lap. She had wanted to go lie down with Holster, but Katherine had been worried about disturbing him.

Holster’s step-father, Leo, sat beside Justin. He had put forth a valiant effort as well, but was losing steam.

“I’m going to be here, at least for a few more days.” Justin reminded her. Technically he had a lab on Monday, but not until the afternoon. “And Jack already offered to check up on Adam, or stay with him once we leave if he still doesn’t seem a hundred percent.”

Katherine chewed on her bottom lip uncertainly.

“C’mon, Ma. Justin can take care of him for a couple of days. He’s a med-student isn’t he?” Margaret chimed in. “And if we all leave without you, you’ll have to take the train back and you hate the train.”

“It’s not his first concussion, Kathy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Leo added softly. Justin winced.

“That’s not really comforting, Leo.” Elizabeth muttered.

Katherine sat down at the table as well, resting her head in her hands.

“You’ll take care of him, right, Justin?”

“Of course.”

She nodded, though she looked extremely unhappy to be doing so. “We’ll just be in Boston for the night, with Leo’s parents, so if anything happens,”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

It took another hour and half for the whole family to be packed up and ready to go, but in the end they did actually leave. Once the apartment was empty, Justin headed towards Holster’s room. The blond laid spread eagle on his bed, in the dark, but Justin could tell right away that he was still awake.

“They actually left?” He asked.

“It was a little touch and go there for a while with your mom but they wore her down.”

“Mm.”

Justin sat on the side of the bed but after a moment Holster shifted to make space for him and he climbed fully onto the bed.

“You doin’ okay, bro?”

Holster gave a slight nod. “It hurts, but I don’t even think it’s the worse headache I’ve had, honestly.”

“Hangover after freshman year epikegster?”

Holster laughed, though it ended in a grimace. “Holy shit yeah. That was definitely the worst.”

“So, not quite as ‘great’ as we predicted.” Justin mused as they laid in the dark. He felt more than saw Holster’s shrug.

“I mean, we won. And I didn’t start the fight. Plus, nobody died, so pretty good.”

“When was the last time someone died playing hockey?”

“1968.”

Justin shook his head. “Of course, you knew that.”

Holster grinned, showing off the dark gap in his teeth. Despite himself, Justin smiled too. He held up a fist. Holster’s fist knocked soundly against his own.

Through it all, Jack had been a trooper, going out to shovel each evening before his shift. However, as the sun slowly began to rise in the early morning, you stood in front of your window, frowning. More snow had fallen overnight and completely covered your driveway again. Still not home yet from his shift, you knew you had to do something or else be late for work.

With a soft sigh, you zipped up your coat, pulled on your gloves, and bundled up with your hat and scarf. Stepping cautiously outside, you grabbed the shovel and got to work. Your car was parked on the street and had been completely covered. Even worse, all the snow plowed from the middle of the street had been banked along the side of your car.

Nearly thirty minutes passed and when you paused to look at your progress, you had barely made a dent. You couldn't help but groan, wondering how much longer it would take to clear all the snow. You also wondered how much longer it would take for your fingers and your nose to freeze off. Not to mention, it was difficult to feel your toes through your boots.

In all your focus, you hadn't heard the sound of Jack's truck pulling onto your street. It was only the call of your name that had you pause the shoveling and turn your head.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" Jack called out, rushing to get you without slipping, all bundled up himself.

"I'm trying to get my car free so I can get to work." you answered as if were the most obvious thing in the world. "I told you last night I had to go in to work today."

Jack sighed and grabbed the shovel out of your hand. Placing it to the side, he reached up and cupped your cheeks in his hand. It was hard not to melt into his touch as his thumbs gently brushed back and forth against the apple of your cheeks.

"Yeah, you did, but that was before all this snow fell overnight. Please, go back inside. You're already frozen solid, and I don't need you getting hypothermia too."

"But my car-"

"Forget the car. If it's really that important you get to work, I'll shovel you out." he spoke softly, trying to push you back towards the warm and inviting apartment, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "That's my job as your boyfriend, isn't it? Taking care of all car maintenance?"

You didn't say anything, but his words warmed your heart. Even after twelve hours in the ER, Jack still wanted to take care of you.

He must have assumed you would just walk back into the house because you quickly heard the scraping of the shovel against the pavement. Curls dusted with snow and eyes determined, Jack tried to make progress on freeing your car. You watched him lift the snow with ease, like he wasn't also aching and tired.

"Jack?" you called out after a moment.

He paused and looked up at you.

"The car can wait, come inside with me? Please?" you requested sweetly, adding on before he can protest. "I'm gonna call in, tell my boss I'm still snowed in."

Jack moved to protest, then caught on to what you meant. He chuckled and walked towards you, propping the shovel against the side of the apartment.

"That sounds like a great fucking idea, sweetheart."

Finally, Shen and the nighttime security guard rushed in and took Jack's place. Without a second thought, Jack pivoted and knelt next to you on the floor. His hands, always so sure and steady, now shook as they hovered over you. For the first time in a long time, Jack felt unsure in his response as a doctor.

It was different when it was a John Doe trauma that was brought into his ER. He could switch off his emotions to focus on the task at hand. But now that it was you, the person he loved more than anyone else in front of him, he couldn't act. His mind screamed at him that this was his fault, that he should have been faster, more attentive - anything to keep you out of harm's way.

Your pained whimpers brought Jack back to the present and his hand finally made a decision, gently brushing the tears off your cheekbones. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here, I've got you." he whispered soft enough for only you to hear, making sure you stayed on the floor until you were all cleared.

"J-Jack..." you tried to speak, but he cut you off.

"Shhh, just stay still for a second. I'm going to make sure you're alright."

He quickly reached into the pocket of his scrub top and pulled out his penlight. Jack's eyes were trained on your pupils' reaction as he shined the light back and forth. His breathing slowly started to even out as he asked you to squeeze his hand back and to move your feet for him.

"One last thing, then you're golden. Where are we right now?"

"Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center." you mumbled.

For the first time since he had heard you go down, Jack allowed himself to the smallest of smiles. "There you go."

Slowly, he helped you to your feet. Together the two of you made your way to a private examination room. Jack didn't care what looks the rest of the staff gave either of you. He'd tell them where they could shove it if anyone decided to make any remarks about the way he reacted to taking care of you.

Once you were situated on the examination table, Jack turned to shut the door, close the blinds, and dim the lights for you.

"Thank you." you murmured, reaching your hand out desperately for Jack's touch.

Though Jack offered you his calloused hand, he couldn't help the frown that settled over his face. "What the hell happened, y/n?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as even as he could.

"I-I don't know. When I was trying to explain his options to the patient, he-he just snapped and-"

He let his anger get the best of him. "Why the fuck were you in there alone with him?"

Your face faltered at Jack's question. "Well, I mean Shen went in there with me, but then that consult came in. No one else was available. He tried to tell me to wait for him, but I said I would be fine." you explained, voice growing softer as tears welled in your eyes again. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"No, you don't need to be sorry." he sighed, standing up. Pacing the room, Jack angrily ran his hands through his hair. "God damn-it! You shouldn't have to be worried about going into a patient's room to do your job."

He continued to pace, muttering another rant under his breath. It wasn't uncommon for Jack to go on this issue, but it was normally in the comfort of your home, not after you had just been attacked. Giving him a few moments, you eventually reached out again, brushing your fingers against his calloused hand.

"Jack, please." you whispered.

One look into your soft, pleading eyes and Jack melted. He sat on the rolling chair next to the exam table and gently grasped your hand. Looking down at your marked wrists, Jack couldn't help but rub his thumb soothingly against your skin. A physical reminder of the way he had let you down. A reminder that neither of you were invincible.

When you took another step forward, you crumpled to the ground, crying out in agony when you landed on your ankle wrong. You reached out to grab the, now swollen, joint, shrinking in on yourself to avoid being trampled. The pain radiated, and that coupled with your fear of being shoved again kept you on the ground.

"Fiyero!" you cried in a last-ditch attempt to be heard.

Just as you were about to abandon hope, a pair of arms lifted you up and pulled you against a solid mass. It only took a moment for you to recognize that scent of cedarwood and leather - Fiyero.

Your arms wrapped around Fiyero's middle, clutching tightly as if you would never let him go. His hands rubbed up and down your back, whispering words that didn't register in your mind. He finally pulled back and cupped your cheeks in his hands.

"We have to go, now. Are you able to walk?"

You nodded determinedly and took a step forward. An iron flavor filled your mouth as you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The pressure on your ankle caused you to limp, but Fiyero clocked the motion and pulled you against him. He took the brunt of your weight as the two of you hobbled through the halls of Shiz to find a safe place to figure out your next move.

Since you were headed in the opposite direction of most students and staff, it wasn't too difficult to navigate. But the occasional scream and loud bang caused you to flinch each time. Finally, you came across and empty classroom. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Fiyero helped to settle you on top of a desk. Face and shoulders full of tension, Fiyero pushed a chair under the doorknob just in case.

Once satisfied with the makeshift barricade, Fiyero knelt down, looking up at you. His sparkling, brown eyes were filled with worry and a hint of guilt. Wordlessly, he reached out to gentle grasp your ankle, examining the extent of your injury.

"I'm sorry." he whispered at your whimper of pain. "I'm so sorry."

The way he spoke sent a pang of emotional discomfort through your veins, wanting to wash away his fear and doubt. "It's okay, I'm okay. Really, I think I'm just more shocked than anything else."

"I don't think it's broken, which is a relief." Fiyero hummed more to himself.

There was nothing else he could do without ice, bandages, or any other medical equipment. Reverently, he pressed a gentle kiss against your skin, right above the swell of your ankle. He stayed there for a moment before he carefully let go of your leg. Your heart pounded furiously at the action, and your hand shot out to grip his.

As Fiyero stood to his full height, he used his free hand to cup your cheek, swiping his thumb across your skin. "We'll get a healer to look at your ankle as soon as we can." he promised.

"What is happening? Do you think Elphaba and Glinda are okay?" you worried, eyes glassy.

"I-I don't know." Fiyero sighed, wishing he could offer you more comfort. "All I know is that I'm not going anywhere." he pulled you closer to his chest, shielding you from the chaos of the outside. "I'm right here."