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thesvnandthemooon · 1 day ago

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𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: reread this and realized how much i missed these two </3

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: cheating, mentions of alcohol

word count: 7.9k

…part 2, part 3, part 4…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A FAMILY DIVIDE —

It's no secret that your in-laws don't like you.

You're not entirely sure why — you've never done anything to sour their opinion of you. You've always stayed respectful, friendly, always did your best to fit right into this social circle of privilege and wealth they've created. You're supportive of Ethan, but not in a way that makes them think you're hogging him for yourself. You're a good, hands-on mother to Nina, you regularly send them pictures of her, you visit at least every few months.

Still, they can't seem to get over the fact that you're apparently undeserving of Ethan. You suspect that it's because of your background, which is rather modest compared to theirs. Nurses instead of surgeons, cashiers instead of insurance agents, librarians instead of lawyers.

They don't know the struggle of sitting in front of a pile of bills, scattered across the dining table, your father's head in his hands as he stares down at them. They can't imagine wearing the same outfit twice in the same week, let alone two days in a row. They think that anyone can be rich like them — as long as they're willing to put the work into it.

You can't deny that your upbringing, so different from Ethan's, sets you apart a little. It's only natural, since you're not used to the kind of life they lead. Even now, over five years after getting married to him, you still don't know how to act sometimes.

How do you host a dinner party? How do you decide what art to hang in your home? How many seasonal homes does one family actually need?

They're questions you don't dare ask. They swim around in your head whenever you spend time with the Baileys, making you feel increasingly uncomfortable and outcast. Even if it's something as simple as brunch together, they'll manage to make a bunch of question marks appear in your head.

But despite it all, they're still Ethan's family, which technically makes them your family, too. They're Nina's grandparents, her aunts and uncles and cousins, and you can't imagine keeping her away from them just because you struggle to feel at home with them.

As every year, her great grandmother's birthday is the reason the entire family (including you, of course) gathers in their antebellum-style home in South Carolina.

Manicured gardens, featuring rose bushes, hedges and a large koi pond. A grand fountain, with a marble statue of a woman pouring water out of an urn, right next to the driveway. You keep Nina cradled in your arms as you take it all in, feeling the cold feeling of dread wash over you.

Ethan shuts the door of the car before walking up to you. He puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he gazes up at the house appreciatively.

"I missed this place", he says. "So much nicer than New York."

"It is beautiful", you agree, not able to resist the charm of the estate. It's ridiculously huge and almost too perfect, with its towering columns and black iron gate. Even though it's gorgeous, it's short of a certain sense of warmth and individuality. Not a home, just a house.

"Granny Bee!", Nina squeals, squirming. You put her down on the floor as Ethan's mother approaches, her lips curling into a small smile. She gives Nina a hug, her manicured fingers swiftly adjusting the little girl's jacket.

"My, my, did you grow!" Beatrice cups Nina's face before looking at you, her smile turning just a tad less warm. Not unfriendly, but lacking familiarity. "Y/N, hello. Ethan, my dear, I haven't seen you in so long. Let me see you! Oh, handsome as always."

"Hey, mom", he says, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where's dad? Inside?"

"You know how he is. The cold weather makes him grumpy. He misses golf", she says, her voice turning a bit quieter as she tells him that. "With the knee injury..."

Nina pads back to your side, her hand swiftly grabbing yours. You exchange a smile with your daughter, not noticing that Beatrice has shifted her attention back to you. Her eyes scrutinize your outfit — simple jeans and a sweater, elegant but not as polished as the rest of the family, apparently.

"You look lovely, Y/N. Still keeping things simple, I see", she says and you look up. "It's refreshing, really — many of us overdo it, don't we?"

"I wouldn't know about that", you say politely, plastering on a smile. A kiss on each cheek, her hands briefly squeezing your free one. "We aren't late, are we?"

"No, right on time. Come on, everyone else wants to see the child", she urges you, starting to lead you into the house.

You step onto the marble floor of the grand entrance, still holding your daughter's hand. You circle the double staircase and make your way to the hallway that leads to the living area. Inside, you're welcomed by about a handful of people — seems like most of the guests won't arrive until tomorrow.

You shake hands with Dean, Ethan's brother, hug his wife, say hi to all the kids that are present. Then you look at Margaret, the matriarch of the family — 90 years old, but still as elegant and witty as ever. She's the only one in this family you truly like, even if her sense of tradition and proprietary is as strong as everyone else's.

"Say hi to Grandma Maggie", you tell Nina. She nods, making a beeline for the oldest family member. Margaret welcomes her with open arms, her face softening with genuine affection as the girl clambers onto her lap.

"There you are! Aren't you adorable. Did you draw anything for me?"

Nina smiles and starts chattering, her hands clumsily brushing strands of hair away from her face as she does so. Having ensured that your daughter is comfortable, you finally allow yourself to relax a little.

You mostly sit quietly and observe as the conversations start to flow. Ethan blends in seamlessly, of course, laughing at something his father said or cracking jokes with his brother. His parents are constantly fussing over the children of the family — seven of them in total, which makes it all the more odd that the atmosphere is still somewhat quiet and collected. Seems like the Baileys have everything under control.

. . .

One of Ethan's hands is on your lower back, the other is holding Nina's.

The birthday party is in full swing. Guests are roaming the parlor, chatting amongst each other and sipping ridiculously expensive champagne from just as ridiculously expensive flutes. Waitstaff weave through the room with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres. Elaborate arrangements of ivory roses, china patterned with intricate floral designs, the white centerpiece cake multi-tiered with gold accents.

A gleaming backdrop, one that makes you feel like you're sticking out like a sore thumb. You shift in place, smiling politely as some of his relatives approach you.

"Aunt Vivian", Ethan says, not being too delighted but hiding it well. "What a beautiful dress. Where's uncle Andrew?"

"He's over there, talking to your mother." Her gaze trails from Ethan to you and then to your daughter. "You have a lovely family. Such a cute thing, a Bailey through and through — and you're Y/N, right?"

Of course, you think, forcing a smile and shaking her hand. It's not like you've met me about a dozen times before, you old shrew.

"Yes, that's me. Nice to see you again, Vivian."

"Still a little housewife?", she asks, her smile saccharine. The words land like darts, making your grip on Nina's hand tighten. "Must be such a blessing, having all that free time. How do you keep yourself busy? I mean, I would just lose my mind. I get bored so easily!"

"Oh, I manage well", you reply simply, glancing at Nina. "She still needs quite a bit of attention."

"No nanny?"

"No", Ethan says, pulling away from you as his eyes dart to another person in the room. He quickly adjusts his tie. "Y/N insisted on handling it herself. Said she wanted to be hands-on or something. Would you excuse me?"

Off he goes, approaching one of his uncles. You sigh, looking at Nina as Vivian leaves as well.

"What does 'hands-on' mean?", she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"It means I want to be there for you", you reply, trying to make it graspable for the little girl.

You start navigating the room, still holding onto her hand to make sure she doesn't get away. Not necessarily because you're worried you'd lose her — it's a big house, but she's used to it by now —, but rather because she's the only person bridging the gap between you and Ethan's family at the moment. It feels pathetic, to be relying on your daughter like this, but she's still young enough to not mind that at all.

"Nina! Oh my, look at you."

You turn around rapidly as you hear Beatrice's voice behind you. She appeared out of seemingly nowhere, her coifed bob looking as flawless as always. She swoops in and picks Nina up, not bothering to ask either of you.

"Let grandma fix this mess", she says, fussing over her dress and hair. She briefly turns to some woman who can't be much older than you, yet her makeup and outfit make her look at least 50. "Children need a bit more refinement, don't they? Especially at this young age."

"Thank you", you say, trying not to let your frustration show. This isn't unusual behavior for Beatrice, but it still manages to grate on your nerves. "Didn't even notice."

"Of course not, dear. It can be hard looking after a child all by yourself. I don't know how Clara does it, with her three little ones — however, she does have a nanny."

"Good thing I only have Nina", you say curtly, grasping your daughter's hand again and leading her away. She follows without complaining, but she glances at her grandma over her shoulder.

"Mommy, are you mad?"

"Not at you, honey."

"At granny Bee?", she probes, making you smile faintly.

"I'm not mad", you lie, squeezing her hand. "Just a bit tired."

"I'm not tired. Can I go play?", she asks, subtly sneaking a peak at her cousins.

Stifling a sigh, you nod. You don't blame her for wanting to escape the attention of the adults. You wish you could escape, too. Escape to a place — a person — that's too far away for your liking.

"Of course, sweetheart." You gently nudge her forward and she runs off, quickly finding her way to her favorite cousin.

You watch her for a few seconds, then turn around and grab a glass of wine. You've estimated how many hours you have left before you can retreat to the guest suite without coming across as rude, and the result is chastening. If you're going to be stuck here for the next four hours, you'll need at least a bit of alcohol in your system.

You keep fiddling with your necklace, playing with your wedding ring, checking your phone for new messages. Every time you glance at the screen, you secretly hope you'll spot Natasha's name on it. You haven't stopped thinking about her since that day at the park, and not being around her is killing you.

If only she was here. She always knew how to spot your 'tell' — that nervous little gesture you did whenever you were uncomfortable, the one that signaled her to get you away from wherever you are. You know that if you were here with her, she'd have pulled you outside into the gardens about a half hour ago already.

But nope. You keep suffering.

You find yourself standing with a group of people — Ethan's uncle, brother, a few distant relatives. You nod politely as you sip your drink, trying to stay engaged with a conversation about the estate's history. The Bailey family takes pride in their legacy, which is something you don't fully understand.

Again, you feel isolated. It's not their fault, at least that's what you keep telling yourself. They shouldn't have to adjust their topic of conversation just because one person can't relate, should they?

"It's just interesting, isn't it?", Vivian remarks, her gaze idly sweeping across the room. "How many generations have lived here. And so many more to come."

"This, right here — it's our family's legacy. Every single inch of this house, of the property outside. It's been in the family for more than a hundred years", Dean says, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She smiles, leaning into his side. Must be nice — Ethan ditched you two hours ago and you haven't spoken to him since. "It'll be ours one day."

"Your brother's first in line. Him and his family", their uncle Andrew remarks, slowly turning his head to look at you. There it is again: that look of genuine curiosity, mixed with a hint of condescension. "You're married into the family now, so it's yours at well."

Please shut up.

"Oh, well..." You smile stiffly, glancing at your almost empty glass of wine. "It's not my priority."

"No? Well, it must be such a change for you. Quite different from what you're accustomed to."

You bite the inside of your cheeks before answering, briefly holding your breath to avoid snapping at the man. His temper definitely surpasses yours — if your patience snaps now, it'll end in a fight.

"I've had time to adjust", you say, sounding clipped.

"It has been quite a few years, yes", Vivian says, nodding. "Ethan is such a good boy. You should've seen him when he was a kid — smart and cheeky. There's this story...I'm not sure if you've heard it, it happened when he was in middle school. He tricked his teacher, his science teacher. He should tell it himself." She looks around, not seeing him anywhere. "Where is he, anyway?"

You feel a light flush rise to your cheeks. "I'm not sure, actually."

The woman gives you a disapproving look. "You're not sure? He's your husband. Come on, he has to be somewhere-"

"Yes, he's my husband", you cut her off, a faint glare on your face. You've officially had enough of these subtle jabs, these microaggressions that are being thrown your way. "Which doesn't mean I need to know where he is at all times. Now, if you'd excuse me for a moment."

You put your glass down with a little more force than necessary, then you spin on your heel and make your way out to the porch. A few people are standing outside, quietly talking in the afternoon sun. You keep walking until you reach an empty corner, one where you're alone, and lean against the railing.

Your mind is spinning, you feel sick to your stomach, you can feel a headache slowly starting to announce itself. Every part of your being wishes you were somewhere else, somewhere you'd feel less isolated.

Red hair appears at the front of your mind, accompanied by green eyes. A little arrow, combat boots. Laughter, low and private, drawing you in instead of pushing you away. Kisses that felt searing, still burned into your mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts to go away.

It's not right. None of it is.

Your hand clenches around the railing in frustration, the chilly November air feeling like ice on your skin. You didn't remember to put on a jacket, but you're too exhausted to go back inside. Plus, you'd most likely be confronted by Vivian or Beatrice. If that happened, it'd probably result in you slapping someone.

"Y/N?"

Startled but not surprised, you look over your shoulder — Ethan. The smile on his face is tight, his expression cold. The way he's looking at you isn't too different from how his family does.

"Yes?", you ask, doing your best to mask how irritated you are.

"What are you doing out here? Everyone's asking where you are."

"Oh, really?" You turn around again, staring into the distance. Wide landscapes and bare trees, hedges and stretches of farmland. The sunlight feels thinner and softer now, promising an early dusk. "I didn't realize talking to your family was a full-time job."

He blinks, his neutral expression shifting to one of slight disbelief and irritation. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously!" You look at him, not hiding your feelings this time. You've been considerate enough. "I'm tired of it. I've been explaining and defending myself the entire fucking day, but it's useless."

"It's not 'useless'", he begins, stepping closer. "It just takes some effort, Y/N. And you hiding from them makes me look bad."

"I've been making an effort — which you would've known if you hadn't ditched me as soon as the damn party started!" You go silent, then mutter: "And I really don't care how it makes you look."

He pauses, taken aback. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs. "Look, can't- can't you just try? For Nina's sake?"

The mention of your daughter is enough to quiet your retort, but not the anger curling in your chest. All you expected was at least a bit of comfort from Ethan — a few reassuring words, maybe a promise that he'll stay by your side for the rest of the party.

What did he do, though?

He started scolding you like a child.

"I've tried enough", you finally say, stepping away from the railing. "I'm done here."

He frowns. "What?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving. I'll pack my stuff and leave", you say, your mind made up.

"You're being ridiculous", he snaps, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do, huh? Storm off and leave Nina here? That's mature."

"Yes", you say bluntly. You feel a tangled mix of frustration, exhaustion, deep-seated bitterness — you're fed up. "Exactly that. It's not like it'll make much of a difference, anyway."

"'Not much of a difference'?", he echoes, his sharp voice reflecting his bruised ego. "You think this is all about you?"

"Maybe, maybe not! I don't care!"

"Fine! Run, leave! Let Nina wonder why her mother can't even stick it out for her own family!"

His use of Nina as a weapon stings. Your face is pale but set, your jaw tight, as you stare at him. "I'll be sure to let her know her father had more time for his little art project than her", you say coldly, a deliberate steadiness in your tone. You can't allow yourself to crumble.

You turn around and leave, weaving your way through the party and hurrying upstairs. You grab your suitcase and start throwing your stuff into it. Usually, you'd make sure the clothes are neatly folded, but now you don't care. All you want is to disappear from this place.

Downstairs, you look for Nina. You find her with Ethan, holding his hand as they talk to one of his uncles.

"Nina", you say, making her turn. She smiles widely and runs up to you, instantly forgetting about everyone else. You scoop her into your arms and press a kiss to her cheek.

Nina looks at the suitcase next to you, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home a bit early", you explain, brushing some hair out of her face. "I'm not feeling well, baby. You'll be okay here, with daddy and granny?"

The girl frowns. "Are you sick, mommy?", she asks, her voice soft with concern. "I can take care of you. I make you tea!"

You smile and shake your head, the ache in your chest growing worse. God, you hate leaving her here — but you don't want to make matters worse.

"That's so sweet of you, honey, but I'll be okay. I just need to rest at home for a bit. You'll have so much fun here, okay? Daddy and granny Bee love you so much."

She pouts, her little hands touching and playing with your necklace. "I want to go home, too."

"Nina", you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll go home soon. In two days. I promise."

She looks at you, her head tilted. "Two days?"

"Yes, two days."

She hesitates again, chewing on her lip. "Can you call me?", she then adds.

"I'll call you. Pinky promise", you say, holding out your pinky. She interlocks it with hers and you squeeze it gently.

"Pinky promise", she whispers. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Come on", you say, putting her down.

Ethan immediately steps forward, briefly kissing your cheek and mumbling something along the lines of "get well soon." Pure formality, that much is clear — he's still pissed, but he can't let his family know. They have a certain image of your marriage that he needs to uphold, after all.

They watch you leave as you get into the taxi, standing in the doorway. Nina waves at you, still chewing on her lip nervously. You wave back until you can't see them anymore, then you sigh and slump into the seat. The muffled hum of the car engine seems to amplify the silence, pressing in on you.

Your eyes flicker to the window, but the scenery — a blur of autumn foliage and elegant driveways — fails to register. Your mind is elsewhere.

You instinctively reach for your bag, your hand brushing against your phone. For a split second, Natasha's face flashes in your mind, unbidden but undeniably clear.

Why Natasha?, you think, but the answer comes easily.

Natasha's steady. She's dependable in ways Ethan could never be. She doesn't push, she doesn't judge. Somehow, she always seems to know what you need. She's the only person you can think of who will understand without needing a full explanation, who will listen without offering hollow reassurances.

With her, it was simple. You loved her, she loved you.

Doubt creeps in as your fingers hover over the screen. You can't decide whether this is selfish, whether you'll just end up bothering her.

But the alternative — being alone with your spiraling thoughts — feels unbearable.

You unlock your phone, scrolling to Natasha's name. Before you can second-guess yourself, you press the call button and lift the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Your heart thunders as you worry that she won't pick up.

But then, Natasha's voice — steady and familiar — cuts through.

"Y/N?"

"Natasha", you say, something inside you loosening. A shaky breath escapes you. "Are you busy?"

. . .

— SOMETHING LIKE HOME —

Shopping carts clink, checkout registers beep, plastic bags rustle.

You push your cart through the aisles of the grocery store, eyeing fresh produce and holiday-themed items. Natasha's next to you, one hand on the handle of the shopping cart.

This was Natasha's idea. She sensed how emotionally drained and uncertain you were when she picked you up from the airport, so she offered a way for you to unwind and take your mind off whatever you're thinking about. A run to the grocery store seemed perfect: a mundane task, detached from the drama of the day.

"Anything in particular you're craving?", she asks, an underlying current of concern audible.

"No", you say absently, scanning the shelves. You grab a box of cereal, showing it to her. "You think Nina would like this?"

Natasha inspects the box. Frosted Flakes with a cartoon character on it, its unmoving mouth grinning at her. "It is pretty sugary", she says, looking at you. "But kids seem to love that."

You nod and toss the box into the shopping cart. Normally, you don't let Nina have too much sugar — but after you basically abandoned her, you want to make up for what happened. A special sweet treat sounds like the perfect way to do that.

"You could also get this", Natasha says, grabbing a jar of peanut butter. "Go the full indulgence route, you know? Really spoil her."

You see through her with ease. She's trying to keep things lighthearted, which you're immensely grateful for.

"For you or for her?", you ask teasingly, reaching for the jar. Your fingers brush against hers, lingering.

She gives you a sly grin. "Both?"

"You're impossible", you say, but put the jar into the shopping cart anyway.

"I'm just saying —", she says, taking over the shopping cart, "if I ever need to bribe her to stay on my side, I've got the perfect plan."

"I don't think that's necessary. You've already got her wrapped around your finger."

"Well, I do have my charm."

"Yeah", you agree softly. You're all too familiar with her 'charm'. It's always had a hold on you, whether you wanted it to or not. No matter how many times you tried to fight it or push it aside, Natasha always seemed to slip into your mind at the most unexpected times.

You watch her as she puts more items into the shopping cart — a jar of pasta sauce, some pasta, lettuce. She looks so perfectly at ease in that moment, effortlessly casual, as if she's right where she belongs. It's not always been that easy for her. You know that better than anyone else.

A part of you, a part that's always adored Natasha, even when it was impractical to do so, starts to soften again. Just being with her like this makes it feel like you're stepping into an old, familiar rhythm, one that you don't know how to escape from.

"How does cheesecake sound?", you ask, grabbing one from the fridge. "For dessert."

"Love cheesecake", she mumbles, reading the ingredients of a salad dressing. She looks up to briefly catch your eye, then continues looking at the label on the back of the bottle. "You seem calmer", she says, a softness beneath her voice. "More like yourself again."

"Being around you helps", you admit quietly. "You've always had this ability of making everything feel less...heavy. Even just standing there like that. It's almost unfair."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, lowering the salad dressing. "I don't think I've ever been accused of making anything less heavy", she says with a small smirk that quickly mellows into a smile. "But I'm glad it's different with you."

You smile, then clear your throat. Her reaction makes you feel both heavier and lighter at the same time. A sense of safety and relief — feelings you haven't experienced in a while — floods you.

"We're getting sentimental again", you joke, hoping to maintain some sense of distance — even if it's futile. There's that pull again, subtle but undeniable, making you yearn for something you can't quite grasp.

You're not even sure what you want, or how much you're allowed to want.

You probably want more than what's appropriate, and that thought makes you take a step back.

Natasha gives you a curious look as you she notices you creating some distance. She decides not to comment on it and instead continues pushing the shopping cart, her fingers absentmindedly drumming against the handle.

You fall into step beside each other again, the silence between you heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. You pick up a few more things as you go — chocolate-coated raspberries, some pretzels. Natasha nudges you, the brief touch feeling like an electric shock.

"What's next on the list?"

You reach for your phone to check the list. "Uh...wine?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, the lighter expression on her face pulling you both back to safer ground. "Now we're talking."

The moment allows you to forget about the tension for now, but just because it's unspoken doesn't mean it goes anywhere — it simmers beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for the right moment rise again.

. . .

The lighting in Natasha's apartment is softer, its only source a lamp in the corner. The remnants of your late dinner sit on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the wine you now sip. Quietude, rare and delicate, lingers in the air.

"Cozy here", you comment, your legs crossed and your posture much more relaxed than it's been all day. Your eyes lazily take in the space around you — clean, minimalistic, yet without a doubt Natasha's. There's a part of her in every nook, every detail, and it's making you feel warm and fuzzy.

"You think so?", she asks, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, amused smile. "Cozy enough for you?"

You give an almost imperceptible shrug, not bothering to make a big show of it. "I like it. It's just so...you", you say, your words simple but honest. You quietly wonder if you could ever feel at home in a place like this, and you find you could. A thought you won't voice out loud, but one that seems like a weight on your chest. It's too unattainable.

Natasha hums, the sound getting lost in the noise from the city outside. She swirls her wineglass in her fingers, watching the bordeaux liquid slosh around.

"I've been told it's the perfect mix of 'comfortable' and 'pretentious'."

You laugh softly, watching Natasha settle deeper into the couch as her finger traces the rim of her glass. "Well, I could get used to it."

"You've always been good at finding your place", she says after a few seconds of silence, setting the glass down. Just like that, the ease of the moment is gone, vanishing like smoke. It fades with your smile, making Natasha frown.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore", you say, chuckling weakly.

A small silence stretches between you. Natasha watches you for a moment, and the weight of her gaze makes you fidget slightly. You tap the side of your glass, shifting on the couch.

"You okay?", she eventually asks, her voice losing all of its usual sharpness.

"I don't know", you respond honestly, putting your wineglass aside. "I've been...feeling out of place, lately."

Natasha doesn't press. Instead, she leans back, her silence encouraging you to go on.

"It just feels like I'm stuck", you continue, looking at your hands in your lap. "Stuck between two worlds. I don't know what I want anymore. It's all very confusing."

"Sounds heavy."

You wave your hand dismissively, not wanting her to worry too much. Ethan's tendency to nurture this picture-perfect image everyone's supposed to have of your family seems to have rubbed off on you.

"It'll pass, just like everything else", you say, trying to convince both her and yourself. "Just a phase, right?"

"Y/N..."

"I mean", you continue, glancing at her, "things have been difficult, sure. It's hard to feel like I'm going down the right path sometimes. But there has to be a reason why I'm here, right? In this...life."

Natasha can't bring herself to say anything. Your words, heartfelt and sincere but also so damn vulnerable, hit her right in the chest. She's always felt protective over you, even though she knows she shouldn't. Hearing you like this — all confused and frustrated — makes her entire body ache.

"You're not alone", she finally says. You look at her, a lump forming in your throat. "Maybe it feels like you are, but you're not."

You nod, inspecting your fingernails. Not perfectly manicured, with the nail polish chipping off and the cuticles pushed back unevenly.

Why do you always feel the need to distract yourself instead of focusing on what's in front of you?

"It's why I called you", you admit, daring to meet her eye again. She smiles faintly, softening her sharp features in a way that makes your heart stumble.

"I figured", she says gently. "But I'm glad to hear you say it."

"Is it?" You let out a quiet laugh and avert your eyes. "I don't know. It feels like I'm unloading on you."

"You're not unloading", Natasha says quickly, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting on her knees. Your eyes meet, momentarily making the guilt in your chest fade away. "You're reaching out. There's a difference."

Her words wrap around you, reassuring you in a way you didn't know you needed. But you did need it. You craved it, sought it out, all whilst never receiving it from the one person who promised he'd be there forever.

You feel foolish. You married someone who could never fill the spaces in your heart, someone who was maybe never interested in those spaces in the first place. You deliberately ignored the fact that you already had someone who was willing to follow you to the ends of the universe.

"You make it sound so easy", you say quietly.

"It's not", Natasha admits. "But it's worth it."

Your breath catches as you look up, meeting those impossibly green eyes that always seem to look right through you. There's no pretense, no agenda in Natasha's gaze — just honesty and that familiar kind of adoration.

"Natasha..." Your voice falters.

"Don't overthink it", she says. "You don't need to have all the solutions. Just let yourself be here."

"Here", you mumble, feeling yourself lean into the moment — into her warm presence, into the comfort of her home — and suddenly, your world feels a little less heavy. You grab your wineglass and take a small, steadying sip. "I don't even know what 'here' means anymore."

She smiles faintly. "It can mean whatever you need it to. Right now, it just means...this."

You look up, caught by the simplicity of her words. "This?"

"You and me, sitting here. No expectations, no pressure." Natasha tilts her head. "Us."

"You make it sound so easy", you repeat — but this time, there's no trace of doubt in your voice. You set the wineglass down with a soft 'clink', Natasha's eyes tracing your movements. She leans back, her own glass forgotten.

"It can be", she says in a way that makes your pulse quicken.

You swallow, hesitating for a short moment. The ring on your finger suddenly feels impossibly heavy, like a weight dragging you down. You decide to ignore it.

"It should be", you say softly, and it's all the permission Natasha needs.

She leans in, giving you the space to pull away. But you meet her halfway, feeling her hand on your cheek, her breath on your face.

Her lips brush over yours, feather-light and tentative, testing the waters. You lean in more as you allow her to deepen the kiss, feeling her mouth press against yours with a little more urgency.

First soft and gentle, now more desperate and hungry. You try to satiate the need you're feeling, but it seems impossible. Your hands grasp at Natasha's sides, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt. Her thumbs press into your cheeks, keeping your face close and your lips locked with hers.

You can barely breathe at this point and you're not sure why. All you know is that the lack of oxygen is making you feel lightheaded and that the knot in your chest has loosened, allowing you to melt into her.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, gently toying with the soft hairs at your nape. You make a soft noise and pull away, your breathing as ragged as hers.

"Dammit", you curse quietly, your body slumping into the pillows behind you. Your face is flushed, just like hers, and your breath is coming in quick pants.

"Y/N", she starts softly, despite the ache she's feeling deep in her soul. "Talk to me."

You shake your head and run a shaking hand through your hair. There's a glimmer in your eyes — of fear, regret, something you aren't quite ready to name.

"I shouldn't have-" You take a deep, unsteady breath. "I need a minute", you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch and taking a few steps away. Natasha stays where she is, her eyes following you.

"Take your time", she says quietly, her hands balled into fists — holding herself back is an effort.

You pace a few steps, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. You stare at the far wall, your mind racing in circles. Ethan, Nina, your marriage, your carefully constructed life that seems like it's been falling apart — and now Natasha, and the kiss, only further solidifying your belief that what you have won't last long.

"I just- I-" You shake your head and look at her again. Your voice is laced with frustration. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I came here to...I don't even know anymore."

"You came here because you needed someone", Natasha says simply. Her green eyes are unwavering, as steady as you've known them to be. "And I'm glad you did."

Your lips part as if to argue, but no words come. Your chest is falling and rising unevenly as your gaze flits to the floor and then back to Natasha. "It's not fair", you say quietly.

"What isn't?", she asks, frowning slightly.

Your movements are tight, almost defensive, as you gesture between the two of you. "This. You. Us. The way it makes me question everything."

"Y/N", she says slowly as she gets up from the couch, her movements hesitant. "You're allowed to question things. You can't always figure everything out immediately."

"No", you snap, your entire body tense. "I chose this mess. I made my bed, and now-"

"And now you're allowed to get up", Natasha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. "You don't have to be stuck in it forever."

"It's not that easy", you say weakly. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know what to do."

Natasha steps closer, her hand hovering above your arm for a moment. Then she pulls back, her gaze finding yours.

"You'll figure it out", she says softly. "You always do."

The kiss was a release of emotions you've been bottling up for way too long, but it also made your need to be close to her even more apparent. You crave the safety she provides, the passion, the knowledge that she — unlike Ethan — will always care.

Being with her soothes something raw inside you. It's something you've been feeling more and more lately, and you're tired of holding back.

Without another word, your hands fist the front of her shirt. Her lips meet yours in yet another kiss, one that's messy yet grounding.

There's no hesitation, no holding back this time. Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you close, drawing out the kiss until you're both breathless. You pull away and rest your forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

"Still need a minute?", Natasha murmurs, smiling faintly.

"Yeah", you mumble back, an amused, halfhearted huff escaping you. Your hands smooth down the front of her shirt, straightening away the small creases. "I should go home", you say, your tone somewhere between apologetic and guilt-ridden.

Natasha just nods, her thumbs rubbing your sides soothingly. "Take your time", she repeats, this time a bit more sincerely. "Take a few days off, now that you've got the house to yourself."

"I will." You slide your hands up to her face, cupping it, and then give her a quick goodnight-kiss.

When you leave, it doesn't feel like a goodbye. Not this time.

. . .

— THE QUIET BEFORE —

There's a reason why Nina spends most of her time with you.

He's never been paternal, or nurturing, or great with kids. They're cute, he has to admit that, and he likes the idea of having a descendant. He's awkward in moments where Nina needs reassurance or comfort, he doesn't know how to talk to her without feeling like he's downplaying his own intelligence, and the lack of emotional connection is apparent.

He lets you handle basically everything child-related — and it shows.

It's only been a few hours of Ethan being alone with his daughter, and he's already about to lose his mind. The girl was chatting nonstop during the flight already, and now, sitting in the back of the car, she still won't stop. It's like she's got an endless reservoir of words she needs to use up as quickly as possible.

He's not used to this chatterbox of a child. He knows she can talk, but damn it, she sounds like a broken record. It's so bad his head has started to pound. Not even work stresses him out like this, despite it being fast paced and demanding.

"Okay, honey", he interrupts her, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, "we gotta make a quick stop at my office, yeah? I need to grab some stuff."

Nina nods, her hands toying with the tiny sweater her teddy bear is wearing. It's one her other grandma — your mom — knitted for the stuffie.

"Are we going home to mommy?", she then pipes up.

"Yes, yes, we're going home soon. I just need to check something."

Ethan pulls into the parking lot behind the office building and parks the car. He briefly registers the presence of a few other cars — not surprising —, but what really makes him pause is the unfamiliar Jeep parked across from him.

After a few seconds of just staring at it, he decides he's being paranoid. He turns around to face Nina, his hand on the side of the passenger seat.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave the-"

"Mommy's friend!"

He frowns as he's cut off by a suddenly ecstatic Nina. "What?"

She keeps bouncing in her seat, eagerly waving at someone outside. The girl clearly has no idea she might be getting Natasha, or you, into trouble — she's just happy to see the nice lady again.

Ethan turns his head and follows her gaze, spotting a red haired woman as she makes her way towards the Jeep. A black blazer and a matching skirt, her hand loosely clasping a file.

I knew I haven't seen that car before, he thinks.

"That's mommy's friend", Nina repeats excitedly. "She was at the gallery. And we played in the park."

"Oh yeah?", Ethan says, his mind starting to race. He knows you haven't expanded your close circle of friends during the past few months; surely, you would've informed him in some way. Finding out that this unknown woman has met Nina twice doesn't sit right with him, for some reason.

But then again, it's not like he's too involved in your or your daughter's life — he's a busy man, after all, working overtime and constantly on the run. Even when he's at home, he's working on things.

He debates confronting you about it, but ultimately decides against it. If this stranger is connected to you, it could mean trouble — trouble he doesn't want to call attention to. He tries telling himself it's no big deal, that it's probably just a big coincidence.

Despite his best efforts to convince himself that everything will be alright, he feels his paranoia grow as the Jeep pulls out of the parking lot.

"Daddy?", Nina interrupts his train of thoughts. He turns around with a slight start. "I want to go home."

"In a minute."

. . .

"Hey, baby!"

You smile as Nina runs straight into your arms. It's only been a few days, but you missed your daughter more than anything.

You pick her up with ease, her entire body slumping into your embrace.

"I missed you", she says sincerely, her warm breath sweet like apple juice.

"I missed you too", you reply, rubbing her back. Your eyes flit back to Ethan, who's carrying two suitcases into the house. Oddly enough, it seems like he isn't mad at you for leaving anymore. He actually seems pretty unruffled, which is a surprise — after what happened, you'd expected him to be more than just pissed. "You okay?"

"I'm good", he says, glancing at you. He smiles faintly. "Kid missed you. Guess there's a reason why she prefers you."

"No kidding", you say, cracking a smile, and follow him into the house. He puts his suitcase next to the staircase. "You're not taking that upstairs?"

"No, actually", he says as he makes his way to his office. "There's a work trip coming up. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

You pause, taken aback. Of course, work trips aren't anything unusual in his line of work. He frequently travels to other cities or countries to meet clients, attend networking events, pitch new investment opportunities — this, however, seems abrupt.

"Oh", you say slowly, gently putting Nina down. "Okay."

"I'll replace a few of the clothes I packed. Care to grab me that one gray suit? The one from Italy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." You nod absentmindedly and follow him upstairs. He disappears into his office, shutting the door behind him, and you round the corner and enter your bedroom.

You step into the walk-in closet and rummage through his collection of suits until you find the one he asked for. Then, just to be nice and make it easier on him, you open the drawer with his shirts. As you start to organize a few, your fingers brush against a folder of documents hidden underneath the clothes. It's barely visible — clearly, he tried to hide it, but not well enough.

For a moment, you consider letting it be. Spare yourself the trouble, forget about it, pretend it doesn't exist. But your curiosity gets the better of you, so you gently pull the folder out from underneath the shirts.

You open it and scan the first document.

A financial statement, outlining a series of transactions from an unnamed offshore account to Durant Enterprises. Ethan's name — Consultation Fee: Ethan Bailey — appears in the memo line of one transaction for $50,000.

What confuses you the most is the handwritten note, in neat, feminine script, underneath:

"All set for the Zurich project — talk soon.

- Isabelle."

Your shaky fingers struggle to push the document aside and reveal the next one.

A partial draft of a business agreement between Ethan and Durant Enterprises; the text is mostly filled with jargon, but it hints at a high-risk, high-reward investment opportunity that would require discretion.

At the bottom?

Ethan's signature, right next to Isabelle's.

Then, an email.

Subject Line: "Zurich Timeline Adjustment"

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hi Ethan,

As discussed, the timeline for Zurich needs to move up for next month. I've already made the necessary arrangements on my end, but I need confirmation from you that everything is good to go.

Let me know if you'd like to discuss this further — dinner next week, maybe? Same place, same time? I'll make the reservation.

- Isabelle.

It's the final nail in the coffin. Your unease shifts into something sharper, almost unbearable. Your eyes start to burn, but no tears seem to come. But why cry, anyway?

It's not like you've been faithful, either. But for some reason, what you did feels different.

Stop — you've kissed Natasha, you've wanted Natasha. If he's guilty, then so are you. You can't ignore the paralleles between what you did and what you suspect Ethan might be doing.

'Suspect' being the keyword here. You have no clear evidence yet. All of these documents point in the same direction, but none of them confirm any of your suspicions. As far as you know, Isabelle Durant could be a business partner.

You barely manage to tuck the folder back under his clothes when you hear someone enter the bedroom. You look to your right with a start, then relax once you see it's Nina. It's a relief to see her instead of Ethan. She won't ask questions as to why you're digging through his stuff.

"Mommy? Can we go play?", she asks, clumsily running her hand over her messy hair.

You smile and crouch down, gently pulling her closer.

"In a minute", you promise, kissing her cheek. "I just have to help daddy pack."

"Okay", she says, giggling at the kiss. She frees herself from your loose hug and rushes off, her tiny feet pattering down the hall. She leaves you in the quiet of the room, the weight of the documents still pulling at your thoughts.

Finally, you straighten up.

You'll have time for this later. For now, you'll focus on your daughter.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #x reader #fanfic #wlw #marvel #fluff #angst #moon’s fics

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leyavo · 2 days ago

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| I am my fathers daughter |

💖Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader.

PART NINE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2.6k+words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship/ mentions of drug use

Previous parts of -> [Series Masterlist]

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

The first of November, you stare at the bank balance on the cash machine. Is this the amount the Captain was sending your mum each month?? No wonder she never gave you a penny. If your mum gave it to you growing up you wouldn’t have struggled so much. Maybe even left a lot sooner than you did. Not that you dared asking for that money, she claimed it was just enough to cover a roof over your head and food in your belly. Never mind the latest man she sponged off and didn’t need to pay rent.

She seemed to always have cigarettes, never going without, whereas you did go without. You had to beg her to buy you new clothes or shoes for school and even then you had to earn it. Going with her to her early morning cleaning job before starting school. You could still smell the bleach on your hands through out the day no matter how hard you scrubbed them in between lessons.

It’s your third day at your new job, every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday you’re in the office inputting data. Staring at a computer screen and typing numbers into software. Easy enough with a little training on your first day. You still needed to wait to get paid on last Friday of the month, joining after the cut off date to get the three days you’re working this week. So the money from the Captain would come in handy with buying some new clothes for work till you got your first pay.

Maybe even give him back his tired old jacket that still hung from your shoulders.

You pry your bank card out of the machine and tuck it back into your purse, then your handbag. The Captain helped you set up an app on your phone to check your money, but you still couldn’t believe the amount and had to look on the machine around the corner from work. A second look doesn’t hurt.

It’s dark, the street lamps dull as they warm to a golden hue. You’d stayed behind an extra hour to sort through some data and take the pressure off the team you’re now part of. It’d be foolish to withdraw money in the evening, especially on your own.

So you circle back round the building, halting at the figure standing beside your dad’s old truck. Your mother checking her reflection in the window, fingers wiping the smudge of lipstick on her front tooth. You wonder if there’s enough time for you to retreat, find the nearest bus stop and go back that way.

Luck has never been on your side though as her head snaps to you. Her hands waving above her head as if you couldn’t see her, you wished it were just a mirage.

“There’s my girl.” Yeah when it suits her. When she wants something.

Lena Marston, your mother. If only you could divorce her too like your father.

She’s tall, slim build thanks to her diet of cigarettes and cans of coke. Her eyes rake up and down your form and you know exactly what she’s thinking. How you’ve filled out, cheekbones no longer sharp but now full, healthy.

“What do you want, Lena.” You don’t bother calling her mum, she doesn’t act like one. If anything you're the one caring for her, picking her up whenever she's decided to kick the latest guy to the kerb. Putting her to bed when she's drunk, laying next to her incase she chokes on her own vomit. Or worse flushing the little baggies of drugs down the toilet and convincing her she already had it all.

Least she’s not twitching, no bloodshot eyes or hurried movements. Her speech controlled, no slur.

She pulls the lapel of your jacket, well your father’s old brown cord one. “I remember this,” Lena says, twisting the thick fabric in her grasp and you closer. You try not to wince, glancing to the passerby's who are glued to their phones as they walk. She won't do anything now. Her hand digs into your pocket and the truck keys dangle from her pointer finger. Lena's signature sharp red nails scraping against the inside of your wrist as you try to snatch them back.

"I'm really not in the mood," you regret the words as soon as you say them, her tongue clicking and head shaking.

Rookie mistake, say nothing and just do whatever she asks. It’ll be over a lot faster then.

Lena shoves you towards the passenger door, “get in sweetie,” she says and you cringe internally at the rare term of endearment she throws at you. A smile playing on her lips as she bats her lashes at the man looking your way. Nothing a pretty face wouldn’t fix, she always said that beauty lets you get away with a lot of things. Shame you don’t have it - also her words.

“You’re not insured…” you muttered under your breath, knowing she wouldn’t listen to reason. You sidestep the door as she opens it for you.

She leans on the truck, “you either get in or I take it. Can’t imagine it’d be nice for you to explain that to the Captain.”

You don’t want to get in, but you do to make it easier for the Captain not you. Can’t have his beloved truck taken away or worse in a ditch, you wouldn’t put it past Lena. You’re used to going along with what she wants to make life easier, but it doesn’t seem like it is for you.

Lena slams the drivers door, truck shaking and all you could hear in your head was the captain yelling don’t slam the bloody doors. The engine stutters to a start on the third try and you lurch forward in your seat as she speeds off down the road.

“Phone.” Lena orders, in a tone that suggests she’s now in charge, she’s the Captain and you better do as she asks. She’s already rummaging in the bag on your lap, other hand on the steering wheel. The contents falling down to the footwell, car swerving as she tries to catch it.

“Just drive!” You yell, pointing to the road in front. She swats you away, stinging slap to back of your hand. You lean down, collecting your notepad and purse, lip balm stuffing it back into your bag. The screen of your phone lights up as you picked it up, Kyle texting you to remind you about tomorrow.

“Of course he got you a new phone, bet he made you keep the location on. Classic captain controlling everyone around him - turn it off.”

Shit, had you really let your guard down that much? Was he checking his phone now and seeing if you were on track, you should be halfway to the house by now. You’d always toggled it on and off, never leaving it on for too long. Even your mum didn’t know where you were ninety five percent of the time.

You turn off the location, eyes flitting out the window at the trees blurring past. The industrial town you were only just starting to memorise gone and you had no idea where you were going now. Your hand clutches the panel of the door, the speedometer on the dashboard pushing higher than you thought possible for the old relic. If she doesn’t crash the truck, you’re sure she’ll run it into the ground.

Lena chuckles, “I warned ya’ what he’s like. Never listen eh.”

You don’t bother answering, knowing either way you’d piss her off. Best to let her ramble on, she likes the sound of her own voice. Hopefully she’ll finally get to the reason she’s ambushed you too. The damned phone location royally screwing you over with both of your parents. You’ll leave that turned off from now on.

“And you wonder why people lose their patience with you. Maybe if you listened you wouldn’t be in this mess,” she said, as if this instance is the excuse for every little thing she’s thrown at you.

Mess, you’re not sure which part of your life she’s talking about or how the conversation managed to turn round on you. A teaching moment that has you leaning as far as you can away from her.

“What da- the captain?” You nearly slip up, but Lena’s too sharp and the corner of her lip tugs. She’s got you now.

“Are you really that dense?” Lena tuts, “I’m talking about Tyler, that boys done nothing but be there for you and you can’t even apologise.”

You scoff. “Apologise? He’s the one -,”

Lena shakes her head, indicator ticking in sync with the click of her tongue. She pulls into the lay-by on a country road. Nothing but the lights of the truck shining the way. Her seatbelt unclasps and she flings it over her shoulder, shifting her body in the seat to face you.

“You’ve always been so difficult you know that?” She hums, plucking your shiny new phone out of your grasp. You don’t fight it though, never worth it. “Tyler knew how to handle you, so what he drinks a bit.” A lot, he drinks a lot.

You’ve said the exact same thing to her, sobbed at her that she’s difficult and only makes your life harder, but it’s normally when she’s in a drunken haze. Even as a kid she told you that you were difficult to love, why else would the Captain leave you behind? Leave you with her.

“I’m not going back.” - you don’t even want to think about what would happen if you gave in and went back to him, if you went back with her. Sometimes you do find yourself wanting to though, it’s easier when you know what to expect. And you’re still trying to figure out the Captain, least you know what you’re getting when it comes to Tyler.

“That’s why I’m here, you don’t want him coming around?” She says tapping away at your phone, reading another of Kyle’s incoming texts. “Gonna cost ya.”

Of course she’s not here for you, she’s here for that monthly stash of cash. Expected the Captain to give it to you without a second thought. Probably why she’s been flooding your phone all week trying to get you to come home on the weekend. Because you’ll have that money she so desperately relies on.

A wave of nausea rolls in your stomach, the worn leather seat creaking as Lena inches closer. Fight or flight, no you freeze like every other time.

“Come on, it’s always been mine.” She leans forward and drapes as arm around the back of your seat. “I’ll even stay out of the Captain’s way. He’ll only disappoint you sweetheart,” she says, her hand tracing your cheek and smoothing your hair back. She doesn’t stop there though, no her fingers tangle in your hair and she pulls you closer, scalp aching at the sudden tug.

Another tug and you squeeze your eyes shut trying to breathe through the pain. “Okay, okay. You can have it,” you snap, exhaling a trembling breath as she releases you from her hold. Pathetic really, how you folded so quickly. You can see it in the way she looks at you too.

You transfer the money via your phone, Lena instructing you on how, as she starts the car up, she removes a cigarette from her pocket and lights the end. The car swerves as she leans forward to spark it up again after her first failed attempt.

"You can't smoke them in here," you snap, knowing that one whiff and the captain would know that your mother had been in the car just by the lingering minty scent her of menthol cigarettes. Doesn’t matter how many air fresheners were tucked away in the glove box, none could mask the smell.

"John smokes like a chimney, leave them in here and tell him they're yours. I don't care what you do." Lena tosses the crumpled empty package in the centre console, blowing the smoke in your direction. She got what she came for and it wasn’t you.

There’s no small talk, no questions. Lena detaches from the role of mother, quick to take from you without giving. Not that you’d want anything from her anymore. Deep down you wished there were an inkling of caring, but even that comes at a price for you. Something to earn or use against you.

Lena parks outside your work again, lighting yet another cigarette before she unfastens the seatbelt and pushes the door open.

She’s half way out of the truck when you dare to ask, “was I a mistake?”

“Of course ya were.” She throws her words over her shoulder like it ain’t a devastating blow.

The door slams and it feels like it shakes you to your core. You drive back in silence, the static of the radio drowning out the thoughts in your mind, but you’re numb. Time isn’t something you’re aware of either, you seem to blink and then you’re waiting for the guy at check point to hand back your pass.

It’s late by the time you get back, you sit in the truck outside the residential house, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. There’s only one light on downstairs, you wonder if they’re all crowded in living room watching some sort of sport on the tv. You don’t think you have the courage to face the Captain. To plaster on a forced smile as he asks you about your day.

There’s no Captain though as you kick off your shoes in the porch and step into the open plan living room. No Kyle or Johnny, but there is Simon standing in the small kitchenette stirring the teabag in his cup. His gaze locks with yours and you swear he can sense the anxious ball of energy thrumming through your body. Like he knows that somethings off, a chemical off balance or some sort of explosion. There might as well have been when it comes to Lena Marston.

Your phone rings and it’s like another kick to the gut. Angie Price’s name lighting up the screen. Reminding you that you are a mistake, your little brother planned not you. You’ve never answered one of her calls and don’t plan to.

“Everthin’ alright?” Simon asks, blonde brow raising beneath the hood covering his mess of hair, skeleton teeth of his mask shifting with the move of his lips. The spoon clinks to the side of his cup as leans to the side to open the fridge and grab a carton of milk, all whilst his molten brown eyes trail your body as if looking for a problem. No he must see it, clear as day written all over you.

You avoid his gaze, “yep, just fine. A little tired,” you rambled on, rushing to the stairs before he can press any further.

In the Captain’s room however you catch your reflection in the mirror and now know why Simon asked if you were alright. Your eyes bloodshot, face puffy from the tears you’d shed on the drive home. That and the torn scrap of fabric, the gaping hole just beneath the lapel of the old cord jacket. Exactly where Lena had grabbed you by earlier.

You’re not sure why you wear the old thing. Like some sort of weighted blanket that keeps you grounded. The oversized jacket keeping you warm, a tiny part of your dad clinging to the fabric too, but it’s tainted by Lena’s minty cigarettes. That even now you don’t get to have something for yourself. Not money, nor your dad.

Mum reveal and their mother/daughter dynamic - Lena still trying to influence her daughter and plant some things in her head to make her question the Captain’s motives 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101 @bluebarrybubblez

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ladylooch · 20 hours ago

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Something should be studied about the way that I react to the idea of DRAMA in a mob universe. Like wtf. All they’ve decided to do is go on this trip and my heart is already pounding.

Omg reader making friends with a Devs girl 😭 I’m emotional!

You had the conversation, the one where you asked him if that was a hard no for him and for this life. And he told you it wasn’t, that if it was right and something you both really wanted, you’d make a plan together. Make sure you could provide a safe and secure life for a child. <- can you hear me swooning? Like what is it about this tough boss becoming soft at the prospect of a kid with the love of his life. Like, you want it? I’ll find a way to make it happen. K. Yes sir.

“I have a plan for us, in every universe I have a plan for us.” <- pause for this line again because… rukiddingme.

“Mhm,” you nod, feeling Timo watching you. You will yourself to look fine, nonchalant even. <- love Timo’s protectiveness of reader. The way they were introduced to us, I came away with the perspective that Timo did it because he knew what reader meant to Nico. But it’s evolved into something so much better and stronger. I LOVE their relationship.

Noooo!!!! Luke being so worried has my hackles up. We ride!!!

Stop I’m fucking tearing up at Nico telling Luke he has their back. WTF!!!!

THE STARE DOWN WITH QUINN. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE COMMENT.

Reader absolutely refusing to comply to any sort of mob formality or even Nico’s preference in this entire first interaction with Quinn is sending me.

Though he really has no right to feel that way about you. <- this.

I know Luke’s reaction is concerning but can we talk about Jack here for a sec???? Like the over-happy, hyped interaction because he’s desperate for something from Quinn. Ugh! My heart!

Oh *groans deeply* I’m not okaaaaaaaay.

a part of you wonders if Nico saw them outside the Rock, trapped in circumstance, and thought of himself. He had the money to change his situation. Luke and Jack had only each other. <- stab me harder. Omg.

Even before him the Canucks have never been any serious threat, somehow always in a rebuild. <- this made me LAUGH.

“We are,” you promise, “but in the off chance we can’t, you pick them.” <- absolutely begging for this scenario with their future children.

What. The fuck. QUINN. WHAT THE FUCK!

Because no matter what he did, no matter how much Quinn hurt Jack and Luke, you know it’s not enough. They’ll always love him. They’ll always ache for him. “You can fix it,” you say and his head snaps up to look at you. “Not anytime soon but you’re right about one thing. You’re their brother. If you decide that means something though, it’ll be them or the Canucks. You can’t have both.” <- I don’t have words for this. Just noises of me being strangled by my own fucking tears.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDD 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

I cried more in this chapter than I am willing to admit. That's a lie. I cried a lot. Like A LOT. But in a way that I enjoy.

Him and I - Quinn Hughes

Mob Boss Nico Hischier, Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: angst, blood, violence, guns

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A/n: I apologize in advance for the amount of lore dropped in this chapter xx

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~~~~

What do we do?

Thanksgiving comes and the question doesn’t get answered. Jack and Luke remain almost the same, albeit a little more observant. You can feel them always looking to you and Nico when no one’s paying attention, mentally willing you into having an answer.

But you don’t.

Then Christmas comes, the house filling with lights and Christmas trees, snow building up outside and you and Nico still can’t answer it. Not when you’re driving around town looking at the lights on houses, not when your sifting through hoards of gifts, matching wrapping paper and bows together, and not when your laying out gifts Christmas night, tucking candy into Luke and Jack’s stocking. You both share an uncertain look, knowing the best gift you could be putting in there for them would be an answer.

And yet it’s not there. And it’s not there when you’re drinking champagne on New Year, kissing Nico at midnight with the spoken promise that you can’t wait to spend another year loving him.

The answer isn’t there on Nico’s birthday either, when you tease him for reaching the downward end of his twenties, tell him to start investing in his retirement. When he laughs and kisses you, jokes that you’re a grave robber but the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

A week later though, the holidays and birthdays are over, the rush winding down and you’re lying in bed, tracing your finger over the embroidered logo on Nico’s t-shirt. The sleep timer on the tv had gone off a while ago, leaving the two of you in the faint glow of the night light across the room.

“We have to go,” you whisper, and Nico shifts, the pillows rustling as he looks down at you curled up against his chest. He’s not startled, not surprised by your decision. You’ve both known it was the only possible answer.

Even if the last trip out of the country is still fresh on your mind, if your head still aches after a particularly hard workout with Timo, if sometimes you wake up in the middle night scratching at Nico’s arm too hard, your brain still stuck in that moment right before he got there to save you.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his hand moving to hold the back of your head. There’s not much else to say. You both have to go. For Luke and for Jack. Both boys who have and still would do anything for you and Nico. For the two boys that walk into your house like they own the place, sit at the dinner table and call Nico papa to annoy him, even if he secretly likes it.

Your boys. That’s what they are. Yours and Nico’s boys.

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he says, tenderly massaging his thumb into the crown of your head. “Schedule the flights and everything.”

You’re not sure if you should ask for the request on the tip of your tongue. Nico will understand, will know what it means. He’ll know why you’re asking him to do this. And you don’t want him to worry, don’t want him thinking you’re not ready.

But it’s Nico, who you’re always safe with. If Switzerland taught you one thing, it’s that you have to tell Nico everything, even if you think it’ll put him on edge. Because it might be worth the little bit of anxiety in the long run.

“Will you tell them?” You implore, “The boys? Will you tell them without me?”

Nico sucks in a breath, his fingers flexing in your hair and you hear the way his heart jumps. “Yeah,” he says though, his words certain. “Of course I will.”

You curl up further into his chest, force him to wrap his arm around your head even tighter and shut your eyes. Finding the hand resting on his stomach, you wrap your fingers around his thumb, squeezing tightly.

“We’ll be ok,” you murmur, and Nico tucks his chin into the top of your head. You’re not sure what to worry about, if you should be concerned about the intention of the invite, of what this will all mean to Jack and Luke, what you and Nico will do if something goes wrong.

“Yeah,” Nico whispers, “we’ll be fine baby.”

~~~~

“I might be dying.”

Groaning as she reaches for her banana smoothie, Nola’s face scrunches in discomfort as she lifts her the straw to her lips, and it worsens as she leans back in her chair.

“Yeah that’ll last for a bit,” you say sympathetically, stirring around the pistachio syrup in your matcha. A week and half into her joining you and Timo for pilates and yoga and the occasional five mile run, and it’s clear this newfound regimen Nola’s put herself on is starting to hit her. Hard.

“It’s been two weeks,” Nola exclaims, holding up two fingers at you and Timo. She narrows her eyes at him. “I blame you. This is your workout plan isn’t it?”

Your best friend laughs, holding up his hands in innocence. “I do what I’m paid to do.” He nudges you with his elbow. “You should’ve seen her when she first started. Crying to Nico almost everyday when he got home. I’ve never seen someone get so many leg massages.”

“Hey!” You cry, offended. Maybe you were a bit dramatic for the first few weeks of training with Timo, but in your defense, he’s crazy. For days on end you were walking funny because your thighs and butt were so sore. Lifting your arms to wash your hair was like torture. So yeah, you complained to Nico. After all, he was the one asking you how it was going, how you were feeling.

“Weren’t you already training with Nico for months before that?” Nola questions, wincing as she reaches for her drink again.

“Well yeah,” you shrug, “but that was different.”

Timo looks all too amused when he adds, “Nico took it easy on her. He caved every time she whined.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed but you can’t argue with him there. You know Nico took it easy on you, knew he was still worried about unhealed injuries from Philly, both physically and mentally. That was the whole reason you’d switched over to Timo being your trainer.

“I’m really starting to see how this relationship works,” Nola smirks, pointing a knowing finger at you. “You call all the shots and Nico pretends he does, huh?”

“No,” you laugh, but she’s not far off if you’re being honest. “He’s the head of the house of course. I just-am the neck. And the neck can turn the head any way it wants.”

Both Nola and Timo snicker, you giggling to yourself as you fiddle with the wrapper of your straw. Nola calls something to him in Swiss German and your head shoots up, frowning as you flick some of the wrapper at her.

“Hey that’s not fair! No Swiss with me.”

Her and Timo both share a look, Nola pursing her lips in apology before she flicks the wrapper away from her, it sliding across the table. “Sorry, sorry, I just said that you and Nico go good together.”

Your cheeks go warm at the compliment, the sincerity of her words making you beam with pride. You’re definitely not perfect and Nico isn’t either, but somehow the wrongs in both of you do make a right.

“Anyway,” you say, changing the subject back to Nola “Give it like another week and you’ll stop being sore. It’s just the beginning that’s brutal.”

Almost nervous, Nola taps her finger against the plastic lid of her drink, making the bubbled plastic crack as she pops it in and out.

“Yeah I hope so,” she says casually, “especially since I’ll have to keep my routine pretty steady with the baby and all.”

It takes a moment for you to hear the words, for them to actually ring in your brain. In the weeks following your engagement party, you’ve grown close with Nola. Jonas’s schedule is often the exact same as Nico’s so the two of you slowly started turning those hours without your men into hours of getting together, with Timo of course.

It was a slow process at first, you nervous to really tell her anything. You hadn’t made friends in a while and it seems the practice of it is not like riding a bike. Having Timo there to break the ice definitely helped though you’ll never admit out loud that you needed a crutch. Today though, you think you could fully say Nola is a real friend. Your friend.

Even so, her just blurting out the news of a baby like that has you astounded, jaw dropped open as you stare at her. Timo chokes on his iced coffee, hiding his face in his elbow and Nola laughs as you pat at his back.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, “with the what now?”

“The baby,” she says, moving her hand to hold it over her stomach, and even though there’s no physical evidence of a baby being in there, she smiles almost giddy, something tender settling in her gaze.

“You’re having a baby,” you finally say, a huge smile breaking out across your face. “Oh my god you’re having a baby!”

You jump out of your seat, rounding the table and she laughs as you awkwardly crouch down to wrap your arms around her from behind. Her hands hold onto your arms, curling in like she’s hugging the limb back.

“Congrats, oh my god,” you breathe, and Timo smiles at the two of you, his voice still a little raw when he repeats the sentiment. Giving her one last squeeze, you return back to your seat, heart still racing from the excitement.

“So,” Timo sighs, a teasing look on his face. “Out of wedlock huh?”

Nola scoffs. “Oh shut up you.”

The cafe worker at the counter starts calling out order numbers, and you shove Timo off to collect the tray with all of your lunches.

“This is so crazy,” you say in disbelief, shaking your head. “I’ll get to say I have a friend with a baby. I don’t feel like I’m old enough to be saying that.”

Timo returns with your food, distributing your dishes before stacking the tray off to the side. Nola gives you an unimpressed look.

“Oh come on,” she waves you off, “as if a wedding and kids aren’t coming at you and Nico like a freight train.”

The thought makes you pause, fingers digging into the bread of your BLT as you stare at her in horror.

“Oh no,” Timo mumbles, “you’ve done the forbidden.”

Nola frowns, looking between the two of you. “What is the forbidden?”

“Mentioning any kind of plan with Nico and family to her.”

Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you glare at Timo, forcing yourself to take a bite of food. You need some time before having to answer him anyway. The forbidden. Any kind of plan. Sure you and Nico don’t have any crazy plans, no timelines for anything really but that’s ok.

You both know that if the day comes and you want kids it’ll be decided then. You had the conversation, the one where you asked him if that was a hard no for him and for this life. And he told you it wasn’t, that if it was right and something you both really wanted, you’d make a plan together. Make sure you could provide a safe and secure life for a child.

And that was it. No timeline. No urge to marry and have kids as soon as possible.

“We like to be spontaneous,” you defend. It’s worked for you and Nico so far. You started sleeping with him having no idea where it’d go and look how that turned out.

“You do,” Timo says, “everyone knows Nico always has a plan. Sometimes he doesn’t even mean to have a plan but he does.”

Maybe Timo is right you think. You’re the one that just decides things, will just jump in when you feel it. Or more likely, when Nico suggests it.

“I have a plan for us, in every universe I have a plan for us.”

Nico’s words all those weeks ago, spoken to you in the privacy of the bedroom, when you asked if he’d give you up. If it was what you wanted, would he let you go. He’d answered immediately, no hesitance, no second thought. As if he’d already been thinking about it, about what it’d take to keep you if the Devils were no longer safe for you. He already has a plan for something you’d never considered until then.

“S’not like I’m scared of having a plan,” you finally say, “I’ve just never needed one.”

Timo raises an eyebrow. “Because Nico always has one.”

“Yeah I guess,” you shrug.

“Mmm,” Nola hums, “so the head does do his own thinking.”

You give her an unamused look. “Yeah but I seriously doubt that head is thinking about kids right now.”

She stabs at a piece of fruit from her parfait, wiggling the piece of pineapple at you. “Are you sure? Because he seems like a 5 year plan guy.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, glaring at her as you eat. It’s not that you don’t think you’ll never want children, it’s just that as of right now you don’t. You like sleeping in on the weekend, like waking up to lazy kisses from Nico with no plans for the day. Him and Moose are your world, everything you could ever need right now.

And what about work? Nico just made the Devils legal and signed it all over to you. Between getting that running and him still managing the rest of the boys, there’s no time for kids.

“He’s not,” you say, “we’re a little preoccupied anyway with Jack and Luke right now.”

Nola perks up. “So you’re actually going? To Vancouver?”

“Mhm,” you nod, feeling Timo watching you. You will yourself to look fine, nonchalant even. He doesn’t need to know that you’re worried about this trip. Nico already knows anyway and that’s all that matters. “We leave this weekend.”

Timo’s hand finds your knee, squeezing reassuringly. “You ok?”

You take a deep breath, shrugging. You’re definitely not happy about Quinn’s sudden interest with his little brothers but you’re ok going out there, ok doing this for Jack and Luke.

After all, Jack was one of the boys to go get you in Philly, when you were still new, still just a girl hanging off Nico’s arm.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you promise, “I just don’t want this to go wrong for Luke and Jack.”

Both Nola and Timo give you sympathetic sounds of agreement, her head tilting sadly as she watches you pick at the rest of your food. You don’t even know what else to say.

All you know is that you’re so tired of the people you love being hurt.

~~~~

Jack is the chatterbox on the flight into Vancouver. Any and everything he can think to say comes out of his mouth, even if most of the time the conversation is with himself. It’s obvious he’s excited, not closing his eyes once on the nearly 6 hour flight.

You spend almost the whole trip curled up in Nico’s seat with him, head laying on his shoulder as you lazily hum and nod at Jack as if you’re actually listening. Most of what he says is lost on you though.

Nico doesn’t even bother pretending, eyes glued to the movie you put on half way through the flight after he decided he just couldn’t sleep.

Luke doesn’t really have any reactions. He sits in his seat, naps, picks through the snack bag you packed. He sleeps for a bit, plays his switch for a bit too. You don’t push him to say anything knowing it’d be futile. He shuts down when he doesn’t know what to do with himself, will just go blank. So there’s no point.

But when the jet lands and the crew pops open the door, he perches on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees and you watch, worriedly, as he sucks in deep breaths.

He’s gone pale too, the purple bags under his eyes looking a shade deeper than they did earlier.

He’s gone be sick you think, shooting up from your seat. You perch on the arm rest of his seat, running your fingers through his flat curls, pushing them off his damp forehead.

“I’m ok,” he pants, voice rattled.

“You’re ok,” you repeat soothingly, pressing the palm of your hand to his forehead. His skin is cold and clammy.

“It was the snacks, maybe.”

Unconvinced, you hum. “Maybe.” You both know it’s not the snacks, it’s the fact that standing just outside this jet is the oldest brother he barely knows.

“Moose?” Jack questions in that protective tone only an older brother could have. “S’ok. You’re with us, remember?”

He ducks his head down to try and meet Luke’s eyes but the younger boy curls in on himself even more.

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs, the words coming out rattled. You don’t know if it’ll work, if Luke is spiraling in that way you often do when feelings become too much. Even so you move your hand to the back of his elongated neck, stroking your thumb over the knobs of his spine and then you press your fingers down, applying pressure to the side of his neck.

Your hands aren’t as heavy as Nico’s or as big, but it must be enough because his back rises with a deep inhale, the huff he lets out after steadier.

He doesn’t move to get up though and you can feel Jack watching him, unsure of what to do with himself, how to help his baby brother. Helpless, you shift to Nico, find him already on his feet. He’s looking at where your hand is holding onto Luke, trying to ground him in that same way Nico does to you.

You reach a hand out towards him and he moves forward, you ducking around him so he can take your place next to Luke.

“Luke,” he says firmly, squeezing his fingers around the boy’s shoulders. Loyal to his core, Luke lifts his head to meet Nico’s gaze, eyes a little dazed. “I told you all those years ago that I’ve got you, remember?”

As if on autopilot, he bobs his head.

“You and Jack, I’d always have your backs. And I still do. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen, you know that right?”

“Yes,” Luke croaks.

“You trust me?”

Luke nods again. “I trust you.”

“Then we’ve got this, yeah?”

He sucks in another breath, blinking a few times as he comes back to himself. The color still hasn’t returned to his face but he no longer looks like he’s going to puke as he gets up from his seat, grabbing his carryon and the snack bag from by his feet.

“Got this,” Luke affirms, and Nico claps him on the back. Jack rises to his feet too, both of them looking to you and Nico expectantly.

Nico links his fingers through yours, squishing around you in the aisle to lead you to the front of the cabin. Dutifully, Luke and Jack follow behind you, the three of you hidden behind Nico’s towering shoulders.

Descending the steps with your hand still locked in Nico’s, you follow his lead as you cross the tarmac to what awaits ahead. And even though both Hughes boys clear your height easily, you walk side by side with Nico, the two of you shielding the boys as much as possible.

Quinn Hughes looks exactly like a Hughes boy, though you weren’t expecting much else. Luke and Jack could pass for twins if they wanted, and you mentally line up Quinn alongside them, picture three boys with the same pale eyes and long faces, hair unruly.

His gaze falls on you first, the sun catching his eyes just right that they look almost clear as they look you up and down. Funnily, he doesn’t look at Nico as you come to a stop a few feet from him, refusing to concede in this unspoken staring contest.

Finally, he meets Nico’s gaze instead and you take in the man standing before you. Even from here it’s obvious he’s shorter than Nico, just as he most likely is his brothers, but his build is stockier than them, full where Jack and Luke are lanky.

It’s petty, you looking for a reason to dislike him more than you already do, but you’d imagine it has a little something to do with their lifestyle growing up. Quinn here in Vancouver, being trained and well fed while Luke and Jack fended for themselves.

“Hischier,” Quinn greets, friendly as he reaches out a hand and Nico engulfs it in his, veins in his forearm flexing as he shakes it.

“Hughes,” your fiancé greets, not as friendly and you can’t help but smirk with at least a little satisfaction. Nico’s never been known for being warm and fuzzy, at least not by anyone but you, and you’d imagine he’s definitely not aiming to fix that for the sake of Quinn Hughes.

The eldest Hughes, offering a crooked smile, offers his hand to you. “Quinn,” he introduces and because you can, because he’s not your brother, not a fellow mob boss to you, you ignore it.

“I thought it was Quintin?” You say overly polite, locking your free hand around Nico’s bicep, as if it weren’t already obvious that you have no interest in touching him.

“Oh uh yeah,” he clears his throat, awkwardly dropping his hand and his whole face seems to droop sadly. “It is but I’ve just always gone by Quinn.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you look him up and down. Subtly, Nico’s hand flexes around yours, not warningly but not lovingly either. If you weren’t so determined to make Quinn uncomfortable you’d spare a glance at Nico, see what’s he’s trying to tell you but you don’t.

“Jack and Luke tell you that?” He ask, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “The Quintin thing?”

“No,” you shrug, because they didn’t. The files in Nico’s office, the ones on every boss in North America, did. You’ve never actually sifted through it but you figured the name thing would be off putting enough.

Quinn nods at you. “You gonna let me see ‘em or what?”

Unimpressed, you narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe if you were taller you’d be able to see them yourself.”

His jaw ticks in that same way Jack’s does, the expression almost a perfect mirror and it makes your heart clench. It’s hard, hating a man that looks so much like the boys you love.

Good thing you’re determined and stubborn and known for being bratty.

An amused huff comes out of Nico, the arm holding your hand maneuvering until it’s over your shoulder, your hand still hanging from his and he pulls you to the side.

Quinn’s face immediately lights up at the sight of his brothers, lips curling the same way Luke’s do when he’s trying not to smile too wide, holding back how excited he is. It annoys you, that he’s allowed to look like them, be anything like them.

That’s probably not a detail he even noticed in himself, a similarity he shared with Luke.

“Look at you two,” Quinn jests, “private jets and your own personal body guards huh?”

Jack’s face breaks into a smile, that giddy energy he had on the flight launching him at his brother and they embrace tightly, smacking each others back and sharing similar teasing remarks about their hair, their stubble, Jack’s height.

Luke stares at Quinn like a deer in headlights when he finally pulls away from Jack, knuckles going white where he’s holding the bags from the plane.

“Moose,” Quinn laughs, “I guess the name fits well. What are you, 7 feet tall?”

He makes a move to hug Luke and he flinches back, dragging his heels back a few inches and you jolt forward to grab Quinn, ready to yank him back. You’re held still by Nico’s arm restraining you.

If Quinn is offended by the action, he doesn’t show it, smiling just as effortlessly as he slips his hands back in his pockets.

“6’2,” Luke replies, eyeing Quinn with unfamiliarity. “What are you, like 5’2?”

Nico’s hand releases yours, clamping over your mouth just in time to stifle your snort and you grab at his forearm in protest. His fingers squeeze your jaw in warning before shifting back to hang by your shoulder, and you link your fingers with his again.

“Yeah alright,” Quinn laughs lightheartedly. “Gonna have to teach ya about the Canadian Charm. They don’t lie when they call us overly nice.”

Almost bored, Luke blinks. “I’m from Jersey. They call us assholes there.”

This time Nico is the one to stifle a laugh, hiding his smile in your hair and Luke meets your gaze over his brother’s shoulder, a little smile rising on his lips when he sees your amusement.

“I’d agree but I think that one back there would pull a knife on me,” Quinn jokes, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at you and Luke laughs a little at that, knowing that that’s very plausible.

“I’m more of a gun person,” you deadpan, “but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to learn that.”

Jack shoots you a petulant look, shaking his head and you sigh, giving him a nod of concession. Luke is the one to move on from this stalemate.

“Can we head to the hotel? I’m tired.”

For just the second time since arriving, Nico speaks up. “Yeah we can,” he nods towards the signature black SUV he always rents for trips, your suitcases already loaded into the back by the jet crew.

The slick silver sports car parked next to it chirps to life, Quinn motioning to his own vehicle. “Your hotel is pretty close to Rogers Place so you can follow me. Got some work to do while you all rest but I’d made dinner reservations downtown for later if that’s ok?”

“That’s perfect!” Jack says, chipper. “We can all walk over together.”

Nico walks you to the car while the boys say their brief goodbyes to Quinn, Jack’s far more enthusiastic than Luke’s. You slip into the front seat, lifting your arms when Nico tugs out the seatbelt and reaches over to click it for you. The belt tightens, sitting snug on your chest and Nico takes the chance to catch your lips in a kiss, his hand squeezing your thigh.

He pulls back, nose still brushing yours and his eyes shift over your face with admiration. “You’re so sexy, ya know that?”

A sly smirk lifts your lips, eyelashes fluttering as you glance down at his mouth. He chuckles, pecking your lips once more before leaning away from you.

“Jack, Luke,” he calls sternly, “car. Now.”

Giving you a wink, he shuts your car door as Luke and Jack make their way to the backseat. Quinn pauses in the open door of his own vehicle, meeting your gaze through the windshield and something heavy settles on his features, morphs them in to this pathetically sad expression.

Lifting your chin and straightening your shoulders, you stare back at him until Nico is slipping into the drivers seat, Quinn sifts a hand through his dark hair as he too climbs into his vehicle.

Nico shifts the car into gear and Jack pokes his head into the front seat, eyes zeroing in on you in annoyance.

“Are you serious?” He says “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Grumbling, Nico shoulders him back into the backseat as he starts driving and you turn to look at him and Luke, take in the way the younger boy is slumped against the door with that far away look on his face.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you reply, shifting to look out the windshield again. Nico’s hand falls to your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles through the fabric of your pants.

Jack huffs but doesn’t say anything and then ever so gently, a pair of fingers are poking at your elbow through the crack between your seat and the car. Silently, you slip your hand back, the angle a little awkward but you ignore it when Luke threads his fingers through yours, squeezing twice as if he were saying thank you.

~~~~

“So how’s Vancouver?” Jack asks, hunched over his plate of appetizers at dinner. “You gotta tell us everything.”

Quinn, stabbing at his dinner salad, swipes his napkin across his mouth before he does in fact tell them everything.

That he loves Vancouver, loves the city. The people and the culture are amazing. That the old Canucks leader, Horvat taught him a lot. He leaned on him a lot when he first got here, when things were still really hard, when he missed home. Horvat taught him everything, helped him grow into a man.

It’s an odd way of telling that story, too vague to actually mean anything and it puts you on edge. Quinn is proud as he tells it and it’s wrong, this whole thing is wrong. He’s acting like they’re fine. Like they’re all normal brothers.

Oblivious to the fact that while Horvat was turning him into his great man, his own flesh and blood was forced to turn to strangers for help, Jack forced to beg on his knees for anything Nico could offer him, Luke forced to live in that house alone until he was legally allowed to join his brother under Nico’s protection.

His plan for them. Because he always has one. He always cares enough to have one.

You look around at the three brothers, how Jack is almost too eagerly listening to Quinn, crowding his space and chattering on and on. Luke, quiet and somber as he silently devours two main entrees and then finishes off your truffle fries. Not speaking, not asking follow up questions for Quinn, never offering more than a couple words when Jack tries to drag him into the conversation.

It’s almost like he’s not even here at the table with you all. Exactly how he retreats into his head when emotions overwhelm him, when something from his past won’t for the life of him come to mind, when he watches overly sad movies and instead of crying, his gaze just goes hazy.

Checking out, unable and unwilling to address that he can’t feel things right.

Maybe Quinn is the same. Maybe he acts like this so the boys won’t notice, won’t know if he thinks he messed up leaving them. Maybe he does feel guilty and this facade is the cover up.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s got every resource in Vancouver available to him and Jack and Luke couldn’t even count on a birthday card from him.

It also doesn’t change the fact that he invited them out here with no explanation and instead of offering anything substantial or significant to them, he’s sharing impersonal tidbits of his training and life here.

“What about you guys, huh?” Quinn nudges Jack. “Tell me about Jersey!”

As if looking for permission, Jack looks to you and Nico questioningly. Next to you, Nico shifts, his knee pressing into your thigh as the spreads he legs out. You wonder what he told Jack and Luke when he told them you’d come with them. Things they couldn’t say, things Quinn has no right to know.

“Jersey is awesome,” Jack finally says after Nico gives him an encouraging nod. “We live in this sick loft with some of the other guys, and it’s huge. You’d love it. We all just get to hang out and chill, go to work together. And it’s really close to Y/n and Nico’s house so we go there a lot.”

“Y/n huh?” Quinn says, giving you a pleased smirk. “Good to finally put a name to the face.”

For the sake of Jack you don’t say anything, unaffectedly taking a sip of your wine as you hold his stare. Nico, knowing you’re biting your tongue, slips his arm over the back of the booth, dipping his fingers into your hair soothingly.

Not that it matters really.

“Hischier,” Luke corrects, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re not in the Devils. So you call her Hischier, not y/n.”

Not so subtly, Jack kicks at Luke under the table, making him wince before he kicks back. Quinn clears his throat, that smirk falling from his lips and he nods.

“Yeah, course. My bad Lukey.” He waves a hand between you and Nico. “I didn’t realize you too were…”

You’re not married, not yet but the low lights of the restaurant catch the diamond of your ring, glinting prettily as if proving Quinn wrong.

“She’s a Hischier,” Nico confirms, catching your left hand in his and tracing his thumb over the back of your hand, showing off the band on your ring finger.

Jack jumps back into the conversation. “Yeah sorry we call her that so I didn’t think to-“

“All good Rowdy,” Quinn assures, taking a sip of his beer. “Now come on, there’s gotta be more than just a sick loft. How’d you end up in Jersey?”

Under the table, Luke nudges his foot against yours. He doesn’t look at you as he stretches his leg over yours as if trying to lock your shoes together. Unsure of what to do with the action, you flex your foot up into his but don’t make him move. Then you lean into Nico’s side, resting your intertwined hands on his thigh and listen to Jack tell the story you’ve never fully heard.

They had a neighbor in Michigan that had been in a mob business once. A pretty big name, Jack says. When he was just seventeen and working a job of tearing tickets at the movie theater after school, Jack had decided it wouldn’t be enough. Their mom was still working to pay off hospital bills and even when she wasn’t, she wasn’t right. All she did was lay in bed. A sickness you were familiar with, one that still fills with you dread when you think about how lifeless you felt then.

You want to blame their mother, at least a little bit, but you can’t. You think about how you felt then, how Nico was the one to keep you going, keep you breathing. You can’t imagine going through that without him, not having the support of someone who loves you. And on top of that, having three little boys relying on you, needing you for things you can’t provide.

Jack couldn’t provide them either, not entirely. So he’d gone to the neighbor that had been out of the game for almost 20 years and was still set for life, him and his family.

Jack needed names, a phone number, a connection. Anything. It goes unsaid, but you all know the connection he should’ve had through Quinn was severed. The neighbor told him he’d reach out to someone in Toronto, ask if he knows if anyone is recruiting some younger guys.

The only catch was that Jack had Luke, and he wouldn’t go anywhere without him. Over the next year Jack talked to four other bosses, all of which were either hesitant to take an almost 18 year old jack and downright refused to take 16 year old Luke. He was too young. He needed to finish school. He needed a parent. None of them seemed to understand that Jack was that parent.

Two months before his 18th birthday, the boss of Detroit told him about Nico and the Devils. A fresh group, not inherited by Nico but built. They were small and probably needed guys, could maybe make some deal with Jack about Luke since they needed as much man power as possible.

He gave Jack Nico’s full name and the address of the Rock. Him and Luke, on summer break paid for a trip to Newark. Between buses and trains it wasn’t too bad and they showed up at the Rock, unable to even get in without an ID. But they waited outside all night until the bar closed and Nico came out to the two kids sitting on the curb in the back alley.

It was late and they were all tired, but he heard them out for five minutes. They told him they came all the way from Michigan, that they wanted to be a part of the business. Nico took them to their hotel, made sure they got checked in and put his card on file for them. Told them to sleep and order room service and he’d come back in the morning.

Which he did. He sat in the cafe attached to the lobby with Jack, Luke still asleep in their room, and Jack plead their case. He doesn’t go into details, but he does say that he told Nico all he wanted was to be able to stay together with his brother.

That was the kicker. Nico would take Jack but until Luke was 18 he couldn’t bring him to Jersey. He couldn’t put a child in danger like that and even Jack’s young age was pushing it. But he could make a deal with him. They both home for the summer, Luke will go back to school in the fall and Jack will come to Jersey. Jack will get his earnings and benefits of being a Devil, and Luke will graduate high school. All the while, Nico can offer Luke smaller wages, sent to him monthly so that he can feed and take care of himself. It’s a loop in mob law, Nico doing this, but he can make it work if he claims it as recruitment funding.

So that was it. The two boys went home the next day with Nico’s phone number in their phones and two plane tickets back to Michigan, courtesy of the Devils. And they spent the summer together just being teenage boys until Jack packed a suitcase in September and moved out to Hoboken. Luke finished high school, spent his last summer in Michigan with his mom who was starting to get better. And then in the fall he moved out to Jersey too, only a little delayed because the Devils were still recovering from Philly.

“Now we’re with each other all the time,” Jack finishes up, “and we send mom money and stuff sometimes, talk to her. We haven’t really gone to see her but she writes letters so that’s cool.”

Quinn’s eyes go wide, looking at them in disbelief. “You guys talk to mom?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, nodding his head towards you. “She talks to mom too. That way she knows we’re ok and all that.”

“Thank god,” Jack huffs, “She threatened to come out to Jersey and see if we were actually ok a few times. She trusts her and Nico though. I think all that keeps her at bay is know we have…”

“A real mom watching out for us,” Luke finishes, knocking his shoulder into yours. Heat crawls up your neck and ears, a loving smile taking over your face as him and Jack both give you those signature Hughes smirks.

“She just likes me because I can talk about you two for hours,” you admit “which is a big deal compared to the monthly texts Nico used to send that just said ‘Jack and Luke are alive’.”

You and the boys all laugh at Nico, your fiancé rolling his eyes but he’s fighting back a smile of his own. “Seems like a good enough update to me.” He defends.

“You guys are close,” Quinn mumbles, a little sadly and you’re unsure if he’s talking about the four of you or the boys with their mother. “I haven’t spoken to mom in years. Not since…”

“Since you left,” Luke fills in, “once you got in here and stopped talking to all of us.”

Quinn sighs. “Come on Lukey-“

“Luke,” he interrupts gruffly “it’s just Luke. Not Moose, not Lukey.”

The whole table looks taken aback by his tone, the hardness of it. Because Luke is never like that, never angry or mean or hateful. He’s always been sweet, always been nothing but appreciative for the things everyone has done for him.

You’ve heard him like that before. Nico and Jack had gone on a weekend work trip and Luke stayed home with you. He was off almost the whole time, not as chipper, not as easy going, and worst of all, not hungry. Nico was the one to tell you about it when you called him that morning for your daily FaceTime.

“It’s the anniversary,” he explained when you expressed your worry about Luke “of their dad’s death. It’s today. Jack is acting a little off too.”

You’d remembered then about how Luke told you he never remembered it. What happened, if they saw their father before he was taken from the hospital, if they saw him at the funeral. He doesn’t even remember who was there, what car they took, if his mom drove.

So you’d taken Luke to the only place you could think would help. A rage room, under the guise that you had always wanted to try it. But Luke exploded the moment you started egging him on, smashing dishes and furniture with a bat like a man gone mad, screaming things you couldn’t even understand.

That was the first and only time you’d ever heard him sound like that.

Hearing it again has you sitting up straighter, pulling away from Nico in preparation to reach out for Luke, to push Quinn away.

“I’ve never called you that, Moose,” Quinn argues, “it’s not that big of a deal-“

“Luke,” you correct him, stretching your arm out over him protectively. “The last time you called him Moose to his face he was still wearing Darth Vader pajamas-“ you don’t tell him that Luke and Jack still wear Star Wars pajamas to this day. “So if he says it’s Luke, you’re gonna call him Luke, capisce?”

The table has gone silent, and you can feel the eyes of your three boys cautiously looking between you and Quinn. But the two of you glare at each other, unwavering in the clear disdain you both hold for each other.

Though he really has no right to feel that way about you.

“Alright Hischier,” Quinn mutters, “I get that you’re their new mom or whatever, but I’m their real brother so-“

“Real brother?” You laugh coldly, “As if you were ever there for them. Tucked up here in Vancouver with all the money and protection in the world, never once bothering to make sure that they had food and a house and safety of their own. That they were even still alive. I don’t see a real brother sitting across from me, I see a stronzo that abandoned his family when they needed him. All you ever did was fend for yourself.”

Quinn scoffs. “Whether you like it or not I’m real family, me. Not you. You’re not their real-“

“Enough,” Nico barks, silencing the words you already know were coming out of Quinn’s mouth. You’re not blood, not a Hughes. You’re not their actual mother, not on paper at least.

His hand locks around your bicep, tugging you out of the rounded booth with him. Towering over Quinn, Nico jabs a finger into Quinn’s shoulder, pressing him back into the pleather seats.

“I didn’t come here to fight you Hughes, but talk to her or any of them like that again and it won’t be her gun you’re worrying about.”

Luke follows you up from the booth, pressing his shoulder into yours and Jack gives his older brother one last fleeting glance before following.

“Dinner is on you.” Nico spits, then he’s taking your hand and pushing you in front of him, away from Quinn, away from the restaurant. The four of you walk in silence back to the hotel, Nico’s arm over your shoulder, Luke’s hand in yours, and Jack’s elbow brushing his brothers.

~~~~

Everyone is still on edge when you get back to the hotel, lingering around the living room of the suite because no one really knows what to do now. You know you’ve upset Jack, probably even more than you had at the airport. And he’s probably upset with Nico too for threatening Quinn far more clearly than you had. Most shockingly though, he’s upset with Luke.

“Luke, really?” He asks tiredly, slumping into the couch. “We’ve called you Moose since you were a baby. That’s what he knows.”

“That’s all he knows,” Luke argues, falling into the recliner across from his brother, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only thing he knows about me is my name and he’s acting like that’s all he needs to know.”

“And you two!” Jack huffs, pointing his finger at you and then at Nico. “You said you had our backs! And all you’ve done is fight with Quinn and all you’ve done is ignore him and then threaten him.”

You can feel Nico go tense, the bicep brushing your arm going rigid. He’ll do a lot for Jack, has done a lot for Jack. And he’ll let a lot slide with him that he wouldn’t the other boys. When it comes to you though, standing up for you, it’s a different story.

“Shut it Jack,” Nico snaps, “I do have your back, but I also have to have Luke’s and I really have to have hers. And you don’t get a say in how I go about that. End of discussion.”

Jack shoots Nico a mean look, lips curling into an angry snarl but Luke cuts him off.

“What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head in disgust, “Did you not hear the way Quinn spoke to us? To her? You told him all about how shitty are lives were after he left and he didn’t even react. He didn’t care that we still talk to mom, didn’t ask if she was better or anything. He doesn’t care about us!”

Fuming, Jack rises to the edge of his seat, face going red and splotchy. “Oh shut up Luke, you think he would invite us out here if he didn’t care? You’re not even giving him a chance to show it, to say anything. And you made it worse by forcing him to let us bring them, surrounding him with people he doesn’t know.”

“It’s us!” Luke screams, “he doesn’t know us! We’re the strangers too! All he’s done since he saw me is poke fun, is tease. And then he disrespected her. Did you hear him? He was trying to say that this isn’t real, that our family isn’t real! It was real to me when Nico was picking us up off the curb and into his car. And it was real to me when y/n was tucking us into bed and fixing every cut and holding us together!”

It’s that same yell, that same edge he’d used when speaking to Quinn, when he was wailing in the rage room. And now, in the freedom of the overly large hotel room Nico rented and amongst his actual family, he doesn’t cut back. Not even with Jack slack jawed in front of him, stunned by his brother’s words.

“I get to be angry. I don’t care if you’re not but I get to be. Because I wasn’t allowed to be angry when dad got sick. And I wasn’t allowed to be angry when he died. And I wasn’t allowed to be angry when Quinn left. Or when I had to live in that house by myself for two years! I was never allowed to be angry because then I would be difficult and ungrateful, undeserving.

“But I get to be angry now! Because we finally have a family Jack! An actual one, one that loves us more than he ever did. So I’ll be fucking angry when he tries to tell y/n that she’s not our family because she is and you know it!”

Luke’s gotten to his feet now, pacing back and forth wildly in front of his chair and tangling his hands in his messy curls. Nico makes a move to step towards him, knowing how you explained Luke’s rage as explosive once, but you stop him, locking your hand on his wrist.

Because Luke won’t make a move towards hurting anyone, you know that. These are words you know he’s been holding for years, ones that have weighed heavier on him than anyone could’ve thought.

“Of course she’s family Luke,” Jack murmurs weakly, terrified. You’re not sure if it’s directed at his brother or for him. “The Devils are a family, but especially us-“

“Then why are you on his side?” Luke’s demands, his voice cracking. “How could you sit there and let him say those things?”

“Because it’s Quinn,” Jack says lifelessly, a look of pure desperation taking over his face. “It’s still Huggy and I know you don’t remember but before dad, he was the best. He did love us and he wanted us. And if he did it once before he can do it again.”

Luke takes a raspy inhale, his pacing slowing enough that he starts to resemble a sane person again. “You don’t know that Jack. We fixed things with mom and she still doesn’t want us, not really. She never asked us to come home. She may care that we’re safe and alive, but she doesn’t want us. Why would Quinn?”

A lump has formed in your throat, so big it threatens to choke you when Jack’s watery blue eyes find Nico, pathetic and pleading. “He could want us again. Tell him Nico, you did it. You got your family back-“

“Jack,” Nico sighs sadly, his shoulder slumping. He wishes he could tell Jack what he wants to hear, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t have his family back. Things are better, but they’ll never be the same. And Nico never got any part of his father back.

It’s devastating to watch the way Jack’s whole face crumples, eyes filling with tears and he shakes his head, hooks his fingers into the collar of his hoodie like it’s choking him.

Finally, move towards Luke, press your hand between his shoulders blades in a calming way and he turns to you, nose scrunched in pain.

“It’s ok,” you whisper and he collapses forward, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he clings to you. “It’s ok, Luke,” you promise, “and you’re right, you get to be angry. Because none of this is fair to either of you.”

Rubbing his back, you give him a moment to just breathe, watching over his hunched shoulders as Nico moves towards Jack. Pressing his hand to the top of Jack’s head, he ruffles his hair a bit before perching on the arm of the couch, throwing his arm around his shoulders.

“Come on babe,” you murmur, “let’s sit down, yeah?”

Luke lets you guide him back into the chair, shoulders hunched in on himself as he stares sadly at the coffee table. You run your hand through his hair, careful to not yank on any knots as you do.

“It’s ok for Luke to be angry,” you say firmly, to both him and Jack this time. “And it’s ok for you to forgive Quinn, Jack. But at the end of the day, you two are more than brothers. You’re both family inside and outside of the Devs. So you have to be on the same side.”

Jack sniffles, eyeing Luke sadly. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking, what the revelation of this whole new side of his brother has done to him.

“It’s always been you two together. Jack you’ve always refused to leave Luke’s side, don’t start doing it now. Not when you two need each other the most. Nico and I can hug you and promise it’ll be ok but only you two know what you’re going through. So stick together, even if you want different things.”

Luke tilts his head up, meeting Jack’s gaze and they share this silent look, this silent conversation of agreement.

“We don’t know him,” Jack mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re right Luke, we don’t know him anymore. So even if he doesn’t really want to talk about it, let’s just spend the rest of the weekend getting to know him again, ok?”

Petulantly, Luke counters, “I won’t call him Huggy.”

Jack laughs a bit, flashing those pearly white teeth at his brother. “You don’t have to. And I’ll stop him if he calls you Moose or Lukey.”

It’s Luke’s turn to laugh, chuckling as he mumbles a thanks and you tuck your nose into the top of his head, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“It’s late and you two barely slept on the plane,” Nico says, clapping his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Go get ready for bed, yeah?”

You let them go, Jack easily tugging Luke down into a headlock as they squeeze through the doorway into their room and kick the door shut. Then you wait a moment, listen for the sounds of suitcases unzipping and the bathroom sink turning on.

Letting out a huge breath, you lean all your weight into Nico as he engulfs you in a hug, pressing a smattering of sweet kisses to your hairline. You cling to his arm, eyes slipping shut as you let tension of the night seep from your body.

Nico pecks a kiss under your ear, his breath hot on your skin when he whispers, “I would do ungodly things for you, ya know that?”

His beard tickles at your neck when he ducks down to kiss you more nipping kisses and you scrunch up at the feeling, giggling.

“Haven’t you already?”

His mouth finds yours. “I could do worse,” he promises. “And I would’ve tonight, if we were anywhere else but the middle Canucks territory.”

You know that, know if for some reason Quinn had spoken to you like that in Jersey, Nico would’ve done actual damage. Hell, he probably would’ve stopped Quinn as soon as the man looked at you the wrong way.

“You did enough,” you assure, cupping his face but he’s already shaking his head in disagreement.

“I didn’t. Not when he said that you’re not their mom.”

You flinch, eyes squeezing shut as the words hit you. It’s obvious all of you know the truth, that Luke and Jack don’t agree with what Quinn was trying to say but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“He was a little right,” you murmur, “I’m not their blood mother, no matter how much I try to be.”

Nico shushes you, running a hand through your hair and tucking your head into his shoulder. “That doesn’t matter,” he insists, “blood doesn’t matter. Biologically they may not be your sons, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re still yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? Did you not see Luke today? There’s only one person that could’ve made him that sassy. And Jack? Who do you think taught him to have such an open heart? To care so much?”

It’s funny, you think, that Nico sees you in Jack and Luke so much, especially within the traits they exhibited today. Because all you saw was Nico. Protective, biting, and somehow so loving.

He presses another kiss to the top of your head before pulling back, cupping your face softly. “Come on, let’s go get changed.”

~~~~

The next morning is grey, thick clouds pressing down on the city through the window of your top floor hotel room. You lay, sprawled out across the rumpled white sheets, hand laying in the dip of the mattress that is still warm from Nico slept all night.

The door to the room clicks as it opens, Nico toeing off his shoes at the entryway as he balances a tray with two drinks in his hand. You don’t make a sound, burrowing into the blankets and just admiring him.

Still in the athletic shorts he wore to bed last night, a wrinkled t-shirt on his chest that reads I Raised Hell in Newark, NJ with the logo of the Rock underneath it. It’s one those stupid ones the boys would give out as prizes on trivia and karaoke nights.

His feet drag on the carpet floor as he places the tray down on the TV stand, a cup of bright green matcha in one holder and a small hot coffee in the other. Yours and his favorite order.

Lifting his head, his eyes fall on yours and a lazy smile takes over his face. “Hey,” he greets quietly, coming back to his side of the bed and sitting down “You’re up early.” You lay your head on his thigh, yawning as he dips in his fingers into your messy hair.

“My body pillow had gone missing,” you tease, slipping your arm over his legs, the fuzz of his leg hair tickling your fingertips.

“The body pillow brought drinks though,” he sings, tucking your hair behind your ear. You smile, pressing a kiss to his thigh in thanks before returning to gazing out the window, taking in the new city.

After a moment, Nico gently tugs on your hair. “What are you thinking about?”

He knows the real reason why you’re up so early. Not because you felt him slip out of the bed this morning or heard the door clicking shut as he left. But because you couldn’t stop thinking.

“I didn’t know you did all that for Jack and Luke,” you admit, that they actually went out to Jersey to meet you.”

Nico hums, his fingers coming to a halt on your temple and you peer up to find him also looking out the window. “You should’ve seen them,” he begins softly, gaze unfocused on the view. Like he’s elsewhere in his mind.

“I thought Jack was like 16, he was so small. And Luke, oh my god you wouldn’t believe me. He was just as tall then as he is now, his knees practically in his face while he sat there. I could tell right away they needed help. Luke looked like he hadn’t eaten in days which he probably hadn’t. And Jack just started babbling at me, throwing Larkin’s name out and saying he would do anything just to talk to me.”

It’s an easy thing to picture, the two of them pressed together outside the Rock. You bet Luke didn’t even get a chance to stand up before Jack was talking, tripping over himself to get a totally clueless Nico.

“I couldn’t just leave them out there. All they had with them were backpacks. And in the car,” he lets out a soft laugh, a dimple slowly sinking into his cheek “Jack was pressing every fucking button he could reach. The seat warmers, turning the air temp up and then back down, checking all the lights. And Luke ordered about a week’s worth of room service in two nights.”

He sounds so fond as he recalls it, like Jack and Luke were the best thing to happen to him. You can’t help but smile seeing that look on his face, the way he lights up.

“So he’s always eaten a lot, huh?” You laugh and Nico snorts.

“He’s just always hungry, never had enough growing up I guess,” he murmurs, and his fingers resume they’re fiddling with your hair. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to keep them there, both of them. I didn’t have a lot of details on their mom or their home but I could see it on Jack, when I said Luke was too young. He panicked, he almost freaked on me.

“But I was already pushing it with letting Jack after he turned 18 and I knew if I broke any rules for Luke and someone found out, I’d have every eastern mob org at my doorstep.”

“You protected them,” you whisper, “even if it hurt them at the time.”

Silently, he nods and you realize that while Jack and Luke are your boys now, they’ve been Nico’s for far longer. Even before Luke could actually be a Devil, Nico loved him. He was barely an adult himself and a part of you wonders if Nico saw them outside the Rock, trapped in circumstance, and thought of himself.

He had the money to change his situation. Luke and Jack had only each other.

As if on autopilot, the same question that’s been on your mind for years spills out. “How could Quinn ever leave them behind?”

There’s no answer, at least not one that will make the situation feel any better. So you press another kiss to Nico’s thigh, nuzzle into the cool fabric of his shorts and wait for Jack and Luke to get up for the day.

~~~~

“You run everything out of a hockey arena?”

There’s an awe to Jack’s tone as he says it, peering up out of the tunnel with wide eyes, him and Luke both spinning in a wide circle.

“The sport of Canada,” Quinn says proudly, leaning against the bleachers, watching his brothers with a closed smile.

You’ll admit, it is impressive. You’ve been to your fair share of sports arenas around Jersey and New York, sat court-side at a Knicks game with Nico, propped up your feet in his suite as the Jets played, sat in overly stuffed seats behind home plate at Citi Field. They were all fun, all incredible things to see.

But Rogers Place, with its thousand of seats and its banners, packed tightly around the sheet of ice, well it’s a whole new sight in itself. You don’t ooh and ahh over it like Jack and Luke, and neither does Nico.

For the both of you, it’s got nothing compared to the ice Nico taught you skate on, your laughter hanging in white clouds in the night air, bundled in winter clothes as he kept you steady and smooth.

“You’d be surprised by how easy it is to do business out of here,” Quinn says, nodding to Nico. “Big enough we don’t need to run money through anywhere else. The league security on top of our own is perfect. The games are good covers for deals.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect, you think. How nice it is that Quinn Hughes life turned out to great, so easy. Him in his big arena that provides everything he could ever need to be successful.

“I bet,” Nico replies casually, not all that interested. Luke and Jack have wondered up close to the ice, crowding against the doors and then they’re clanking open the locks, a gust of cool air breezing through as they tug open the panes.

Jack toes at the ice, staring out at it in childlike wonder. Luke takes a full step out into it, let himself slide a bit in his shoes and chuckling happily.

“You guys wanna skate?” Quinn offers, his brother’s heads snapping to look at him. “We’ve got skates down here you can borrow. Some sticks and stuff too if you really want.”

Which is how you end up in a back room with one of Quinn’s men, a tall and lanky blonde guy, his hair close cropped and eyes even bluer than the Hughes boys. He’s sifting through rubber made boxes of hockey skates, swiping the nail of his thumb across the blades questioningly before handing them off to Jack and Luke.

“Thanks man,” Jack tells him, and the man smiles before turning to you and Nico expectantly.

“The Hischier’s,” he says in greeting, voice thick with a familiar accent. He holds out a hand to Nico, “Elias but the boys all call me-“

“Petey,” your fiancé supplies, shaking his hand. “Good to see ya man.”

Elias or Petey or whatever, nods politely. “You too, Jesp tells me things have been good out there?”

Jesper, you think and you’re finally able to place the accent, the easy smile and energy of him. He’s Swedish, obviously a friend of Jesper’s, enough so that he’s somewhat familiar with Nico and the Devils.

“Yeah we’re all doing good,” Nico nods towards you, “this is my wife, y/n.”

A friend then, you decide if Nico is letting him call you by name. Or at least someone trustworthy to Nico, whose judgment has always been pretty impeccable.

“Ahh the Mrs. Devil,” he says lightheartedly, glancing to the door behind you before leaning in. “Holtzy’s favorite gal, huh?”

You startle, not only caught off guard by the mention of the boy not with you, but also by the secretive body language of Petey, the way he keeps glancing at the door.

“You know Alex?”

A fond expression settles on his face. “Yes I do. We were friends when we’re younger. When everything happened Jesper called, was hoping I could help but that’s not how things work here. I was going to just take him in until he turned 18 but then you and Nico got him.”

You don’t know what to say, what to think about this odd man before you but you know you like him. Probably the only other person in the world that was willing to accept 17 year old Alex, to go against the rules the same way you and Nico did even though he didn’t have the same pull and influence you and Nico did.

“He’s doing ok, right?” Petey whispers, “he’s safe.”

“Yes,” you promise, “he’s perfect. I didn’t know or I would’ve brought him or-“

“It’s ok,” he interrupts, holding out a hand to you. On his bicep, a traditional Chinese tattoo is inked into the skin, the perfect shape of the letter C but the top end morphs into a whale. You gently wrap your fingers around his, squeezing tightly. “Just let him know Petey says hi, ok?”

“I will,” you smile, letting his hand go and he returns to his full height, sharing an easy grin with Nico before motioning back to the box of skates.

“What size Hischier’s?”

Jack and Luke are already zipping around the ice when you and Nico get back to the open tunnel. You pause, shoes hanging from your fingertips and just watch them. They skate like it’s easier than walking, shifting this way and that, switching edges and leaning around corners.

They’re passing a puck back and forth, the rubber clacking against their sticks and echoing throughout the silent arena. The only other noise accompanying it is their laughter, happy and full of life.

“You think in another life you all played hockey instead or something?” You ask Nico, recalling the trophies in his childhood bedroom, the synthetic ice in one of the shacks on his parents estate, the way he lead you around the rink that night with grace.

Nico hums, smiling a bit as he piles his shoes with Jack and Luke’s. “Maybe,” he says, adding yours to the pile. Then he’s taking your hand, walking you to the edge of the ice and stepping out. “You’re definitely on the team with us though.”

You laugh, the toe of your blade barely grazing the ice and he waits patiently, a little amused as you simply hold his hand and stand there.

“Not on the team, I run the team,” you correct and he lights up as if that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, as if you could ever tell them what to do in a hockey game. You, still stranded just off to the ice.

“You hitting the ice or what boss?”

It’s Jack, that taunting lilt to his voice as he juggles a puck on his stick, slowly skating towards you guys. Childishly, you stick your tongue out at him before reaching for Nico’s other hand and letting him help you out into the ice.

The first step is a little wobbly, the fresh sheet of ice slick under your skates but Nico is just as solid as he always is, hands holding yours with a comfortable strength.

“Don’t play damsel this time,” he tells you, “I know better now.”

“I really didn’t know last time!” You defend, letting go of one hand now that you have your bearings. Nico does a slow loop around you, his finger rotating in your fist as he goes until he’s at your side, offering the crook of his elbow to you.

“Quick learner then.” He says, effortlessly moving forward with you, just as he did the first time he took you skating.

“Good teacher maybe,” you counter and he makes a happy noise, glancing down at his skates shyly.

Feeling more comfortable, trusting the bend of your knees and adjusted balance, you push off your left foot, pulling Nico forward, and then your right.

He laughs under his breath, easily catching up to match your stride. Jack and Luke come zipping by you, each parting to either side until the meet in the middle in front of you, swiftly turning until they’re skating backwards.

“You got pretty good form,” Luke compliments, watching your feet stay in perfect time with Nico’s.

“I’ve had some practice,” you admit, squeezing your fingers around Nico’s elbow as you glance at him.

Jack scoffs, “You and Nico went skating without us?”

You’ve all slowed to a lazy pace, more caught up in each other than the fun of whipping around the ice. Even so, Jack and Luke still glow with happiness, cheeks red from the cold air.

“We do a lot of things without you,” Nico replies, making them both pout dramatically. You shush him.

“It was after Philly,” you admit, “just me and him. The Met deal had gone through and he had access to the stadium now so when they put the ice in…”

Luke and Jack both go a little somber at your words, those dramatic pouts straightening into a look of sympathy.

“You never talk about then,” Jack murmurs quietly, and suddenly you can’t look at them, too overwhelmed by they’re imploring eyes. Trusting Nico to keep you from hitting the boards, you drop your gaze to your feet, watch the white ice pass under the blades.

“I know,” you nod, “to be honest I don’t remember a lot of it. But I remember skating on the field, with those big lights on. And it was so quiet, just us out there. Nico practically carried the first flew laps around because I was so scared of falling.”

More of falling and not being able to get back up, if you’re honest. Nico knew it too, had seen the way you came out of therapy earlier that morning, like everything in your body was just too heavy, too hard to carry. It all felt lighter when you were skating in the dark with him, under thousands of unseen stars. You still worried though, not wanting to slip up and have everything hit you at once, end up in tears in the middle of MetLife with him.

“I think she was faking,” Nico says, cutting through the heaviness that had settled between you two and you can’t help but snort, looking up to find him grinning. “You should’ve seen her wobbling like Bambi.”

It had been his joke that night, when you clearly weren’t having fun at first, plastered to his body for safety. He’d teased that if you wanted to touch him so badly you didn’t have to pretend to be scared. He was all yours to grab at.

A lame joke maybe but it made you laugh for the first time all day, unlocked your knees and eased your tensed shoulders. And yeah you kept a hold on him all night still, but the skating was smoother, the fear gone.

“Didn’t help that it was so cold I was shaking like a leaf,” you defend and he hums, unconvinced still. Jack and Luke are watching you in silence, a soft look on their faces but you and feel the lingering of Luke’s eyes and know immediately what he’s latched onto.

The same response to fear he has. The forgetting. It was something he only ever admitted to you, the knowledge only passed onto Nico when you couldn’t keep it to yourself.

You don’t even know if Jack has realized it.

“We’re not kids anymore ya know?” Luke says, “you could talk about it if you wanted. If anyone kinda understood, it’d be us.”

Because of their mom, who went through the same thing as you just different circumstances. They were just kids for that, unable to understand what was happening but it’s different now. They know the truth, know that’s it an almost unstoppable illness. They get it now.

“I’m fine now,” you swear, though the sentiment is sweet. They’ve got your back the same way you have theirs. But in your eyes, they are still kids, they’re yours and Nico’s kids and everything that drug you down after Philly doesn’t need to be brought to light.

Not just because it’s them but because it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re all better. You haven’t needed meds in over a year, you stopped going to weekly therapy, you stopped feeling like everything was slowly trying to suffocate you. And you don’t want to drudge up that mess, relive it for the boys.

They both give you a hard stare.

“I swear I’m good, I don’t need to talk about anything. It was a long time ago.”

Jack looks you up and down through narrowed eyes, “Well if you ever need a pretty face to share all your troubles with, M’here.”

“I have Nico’s pretty face.”

He scrunched his nose, sharing a mischievous look with Luke. “A prettier face then,”

Nico slips his elbow from your hold, taking a few quick strides until he’s practically nose to nose with Jack, bumping him with his chest.

“Stop hitting on my wife,” he grumbles, no real heat to his words and him and Jack begin lightly scuffling with each other, shoving and jabbing playfully.

You skate slowly behind them, smiling softly as Luke jumps in and starts wrestling with them. How they manage to stay up right while grabbing at each others necks and hair, you don’t know.

Together they manage to pull Nico to center ice where they’d abandoned their sticks and a bucket of pucks early. You decide to stop by the benches, perching yourself up on the boards, skates hitting the plastic as your legs sway.

You watch as Nico swipes at Jack with his a stick, smacking him in the thigh so hard he yelps. Then they’re off to the races, Nico flying down the ice with his stick in one hand, cradling the puck and the other holding Jack at arms length as he tries to poke at it with his stick.

Last minute, Nico gets a better grip, manages to slap the puck in the top corner of the net with a loud ding off the post, even with Jack jabbing at his shot.

“Ooo silky Schao,” Luke calls out teasingly as they loop back to center ice, Nico’s dimpled cheeks blooming with color at their jesting.

The sound of skates hitting the boards pulls your attention away, looking over your shoulder to find none other than Quinn Hughes there. You two stare at each other for a moment before you turn back to the ice, choosing to enjoy the view of your family horsing around rather than fight with Quinn.

He comes to stand next to you, far enough away that you couldn’t hit him if you tried but you can easily hear when he speaks in a soft tone.

“I can see you love them, so is there a reason you don’t want them around me?”

You don’t look at him, instead letting your gaze roam around the empty seats, up at the rafters. “I don’t want to fight you Quinn. And I don’t want to keep them from you either. But it’s been two days now and we still don’t know why you bothered to hit them up in the first place.”

That’s when you see the first flash of bright blue fabric, directly above center ice.

You can feel him still watching you, studying your body language as if that would give away something, a weakness maybe. He forgets you’ve been trained by the best, taught to not show anything. The same detached, cold personality that Nico pulls off so well is also engrained in you.

“You ever think that maybe I didn’t have a real reason? Maybe I just missed them and decided to do something about it?”

You look back at the seats, spotting the dark shadows sitting all the way in the top where the stadium lights don’t reach. Now that you’re looking for them, it’s easy to see.

Quinn Hughes is smart, you think. He had to be to get himself here, to survive. He somehow got himself to the top rung of the Canucks ladder, is leading a Canadian based mob when he himself isn’t even Canadian.

Which means he has tactics and plans, ways of bullying himself into places he shouldn’t be.

“No,” you answer truthfully, because you don’t think Quinn did this out of the kindness of his heart. He wants or needs something from Jack and Luke. “I know there’s always a reason, but I have no intention of getting in the way of that. I’m just here to make sure that intention doesn’t get my boys hurt.”

He raps his knuckles on the boards. “That’s that then. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Luke and Jack are juggling pucks on the blades of their sticks, laughing and hollering as Nico flips more and more of them into the air, trying to see how many they can keep in the air.

Behind them, the shadow of someone lingers in the dark tunnel of the stands.

“Deal,” you tell Quinn, “but if your way involves stepping on them to get where you’re going, then you’re tenure here in Vancouver is going to be a lot shorter then you wanted.”

He lets out a low scoff, almost a laugh and you can feel him lean in closer, dropping his tone to a whisper. “You’d be the one hurting them then,” he says, amused. “Like I said, at the end of the day, they’re my brothers.”

You think of the way Luke and Jack had screamed at each other last night, how they fought over being loyal to their family in Jersey or the family they grew up with. The sweet way they looked at you earlier, the way they’re the happiest you’ve ever seen them with Nico around.

And there’s no rattle to your voice when you finally turn to Quinn with a confident smirk. “Maybe you should go bond with your brothers,” you sneer, “after all that’s what we’re here for, right?”

He doesn’t say anything before stepping out of the bench and onto the ice, skating just as gracefully as the others to center ice.

Unsurprisingly, Nico is the one to break from the group, handing his stick off to Jack and nodding towards you. Then he’s crossing back to you, thighs straining in his already tight jeans with his each stride and you unashamedly stare at him, a sly grin on your face by the time he comes to a stop in front of you.

Parting your legs for him, he runs his hands up your thighs and to your hips until he’s standing flush against you, your arms slinking around his neck.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” He murmurs, leaning in to leave a tickle of a kiss to your temple.

“Watching,” you reply, “watching Jack and Luke look like they’re finally having fun. Watching the way my super hot fiancé really fills out those jeans,”

He lets out a snicker, eyes crinkling sweetly.

“And watching the way every Canuck in the building is watching us.”

Almost immediately his smile drops, eyebrows pinching together in confusion but you stop him, reaching up to cup his face and pressing your thumbs to the wrinkles, smoothing them out.

“Unguarded,” you remind him, not wanting his expression to raise any alarms. He softens, squeezing your hip gratefully and you watch as he subtly looks into the stands behind, eyes alway moving as if he were just trying to take in the arena.

“Two behind you,” he mumbles, on the second level.

“More up top,” you say, “in the walkways around the Jumbotron.”

Nico hums, letting his gaze fall back to your face, watching you search the side of the arena behind him. Not that you need to. There’s only one figure there, the same shadow in the tunnel, his only distinguishable features being his bright blue eyes, the ones that have been watching Nico.

“Someone directly across,” you say, looking to Nico before the pair of eyes can notice you. “Watching just you, this whole time. Can’t see his face but he’s got blue eyes. They like reflect the light of the ice.”

“Petey?” He asks, though he sounds unsure. And you are too. That’s not Petey, there’s something different about the gaze. It’s doesn’t hold the same friendly nature Petey seemed to have.

“No,” you say, certain. “Someone else.”

“How long have they been there?”

They could’ve been there longer, while you were all skating. Coincidentally Quinn only came out once you were alone. Meaning he either has impeccable timing or he was waiting for that moment.

You trail your thumb down the bridge of his nose, unalarmed when you say, “I don’t know. Noticed them when Quinn came out.”

Nico sighs through his nose, looking nothing but sweet and curious as he grumbles, “what did he want?”

It’s cute how can he manage to keep his face so adoring like that even when his tone is the exact opposite. You know he has to do it, has to act like whatever threatening behavior you’ve picked up on is still unknown but it endears you every time.

“For us to stay out of his way.”

Like you, Nico doesn’t have any visible reaction. The comment from Quinn definitely didn’t make you hate him any less but you’re not scared of him. Even before him the Canucks have never been any serious threat, somehow always in a rebuild. You doubt in his first year as boss that Quinn has made them the heavy hitters they need to be to get through Nico.

Something like amusement shines in Nico’s gaze. “If that’s what he really wants,” he agrees and you can’t help but smile in relief, grateful for the beautiful, overthink brain in his head that always has a plan, always knows what to do.

~~~~

“Ew did you two shower together?”

Mouth full of French fries, you freeze at the sight of Jack and Luke in the doorway, their hair messy and eyes still swollen from their naps.

They look almost amused watching you and Nico sprawled out on the bed, snuggled in your matching white hotel robes and towels twisted over your wet hair. You look to Nico, take in the way a strand of damp hair has fallen out of his towel and across his forehead, and you decide yeah this is funny.

Nico, still watching the movie you rented off the tv guide, answers them. “Do you want the real answer or the acceptable one?”

You have to choke down your bite of fries around the giggle that bubbles up from your chest. Both Jack and Luke make a face of disgust, looking to each other in horror at the implied activities that you and Nico partook in while they were resting.

“I don’t want an answer,” Jack finally mumbles, crossing the room to sit on the desk chair, the wheels of it creaking under his weight. Luke stays in the doorway, looking almost sad as Nico digs his hand into the takeout bag of fries in your lap.

“There’s more in the microwave out there,” you say, realizing that he thought you and Nico had the audacity to order food and not think about him. Not that that has ever happened before. If Luke is around, you always know to have extras waiting for him.

“Rented cartoons, bath robes, and takeout on a Saturday night,” Jack says conversationally. “You sure you two aren’t married yet?”

“Didn’t you just wake up from a nap?” Nico says dryly. “Who naps on a Saturday night? What are you, five?”

Smiling with amusement, you nudge Nico’s calf with your sock clad toes, your mirth only growing when he looks to you, the towel on his head tilting sideways at the abrupt movement.

“No,” Jack says moodily, “I was actually coming to ask you two spa princess if we could go out.”

Nico frowns, sitting up on the pillows to look around you and at Jack. “Out? Where?”

Jack shrugs. “Quinn said the Nucks have this bar they go too. I guess most of the guys are on a job tonight but him. Thought maybe we could all hang out?”

“Alone?” Nico presses.

“No with you two of course,” Jack says, kicking his feet up onto the mattress by your legs. “We know to stick with you guys.”

You press your toes harder into Nico’s leg, eyebrows pinching together questioningly. “And Luke wants to go?”

A proud smile takes over Jack’s face, sitting up straighter and with an air of superiority he says, “yes we talked all about it. United front and all that.”

Quinn’s last minute invite isn’t your favorite thing in the world, especially after everything you saw at the rink today. To be honest, it feels more like bait, wanting all of you to show up at a bar, defenses down and ready to drink. And he included the detail that the Canucks men wouldn’t be there.

Why would you car if they’re there or not? You wouldn’t, as long as they were no threat to you. Which means Quinn has a plan for his guys tonight and whether or not that includes you all is unknown.

But likely. Apparently you’re not the only one thinking that too because Nico grabs your hand, squeezing your fingers to get you to look at him. When you do, he tilts his head just a bit, brown eyes boring into yours with a stormy look.

The same look he gets before a deal.

A look that says be ready, be on your toes, be a Devil.

“Yeah,” you call back to Jack, “yeah we can go.”

~~~~

The Canucks bar for some odd reason is no where near Rogers Place.

You suppose they keep the distance for alibi reasons. If anything about a deal going down at the arena gets out, the bar tenders can cover for them, claim they were here. And with the distance between this place and their actual place of business, the time stamp would be enough to clear their names.

They also have more room here, the western territories not bleeding into each other as closely as they do on the East Coast. Nico’s said that California’s does, the three families they’re pressing in on each other like they do in New York and Jersey. It’s different though. There’s no old school rivalries out here, not like they are at home.

Even so you don’t like having this much space between the bar and the hotel, between you and safety. You’re not worried about rival gangs attacking, you’re worried about the man leaning against his sports car, smiling all too welcoming.

Jack and Luke jump out of the car as soon as Nico has shut the engine off, slamming the doors shut behind them. Taking advantage of the last moment of privacy you have, Nico reaches for your thigh, pushing your skirt up just enough Tom for him to slip his fingers under the straps of your holster, tugging on the taut fabric.

“It’s good,” you say, knowing if he tightens it anymore your leg might turn purple. Which it already might with how fucking cold it is tonight. A skirt in Vancouver in the winter isn’t ideal, but it was the safest way for you to get a weapon in without being caught. And in the event that Nico can’t reach the one in the back of his waistband quick enough, yours is handy for him and you.

“I know,” he says, giving your thigh a light swat and you wince at the sting, shooing his hand away. “Eyes peeled, ok?” He reminds you, laughing to himself as you pout and yank your skirt back down, concealing the pistol.

“I know,” you mock his tone, unbuckling your seat belt and reaching for the door. He squeezes your knee to stop you, gaze serious when you look to him.

“Be safe baby.”

You swallow, nodding. “You too,” and then because you have to be sure you add, “and keep them safe Nico, ok? Even if it means them over me-“

“No,” he shakes his head, “no I’m not going to be tracking you down from some abandoned house again. We’re all getting out of here safely.”

“We are,” you promise, “but in the off chance we can’t, you pick them.”

Annoyed, he huffs through his nose. “Even if I did, you know they’d pick you. Then what?”

That’s the point though isn’t it? You and him know Jack and Luke’s gut reaction would be to get you to safety. That’s what they were trained to do. Even if it was at the expense of themselves. So they pick you, and you pick Nico, and he picks them, everyone should get out fine.

“Then we’ll all be covered, right?”

Nico shakes his head in disbelief but time is running out and you two have to get out of the car now, before it becomes suspicious.

“Fine,” he agrees, “but only because they’re unarmed you got it? Every other time it’s you.”

Heart warming, you lean over the console to kiss him. “I know Schao.”

The air is biting when you slip out of the car, raising goosebumps on your exposed legs and stinging at your eyes and cheeks. You quickly round the front of the car, Nico awaiting you with his arm outstretched. You tuck into the warmth of his wool coat, looking to the Hughes boys.

“Alright,” Quinn says, “let’s go.”

The Canuck’s bar goes by the name of Fin’s, a large red and yellow neon sign boasting the name alongside a depiction of a whale standing on two legs.

It’s smaller than the Rock, no big open space for dancing or live music. Just the bar in the far side when you enter, booths and dark wood tables filling the rest of the space. And like Luca’s bar in Switzerland, two pool tables sit dead center.

“Are bars like the first investment every business makes?” You mutter to Nico as Quinn leads you all to a large table near the back, near the restrooms and back hallway.

He chuckles, moving to slip off your jacket for you. “Yeah,” he says, taking the chance to lean in close and whisper in your ear. “Think about what we do at the Rock. Why everyone has one.”

Then he’s ducking back, draping your jacket over the back of your chair before removing his own. You sit at the round table, Luke to your right and Nico to your left, leaving you in sight of the back entryway while he gets perfect sight of the front door.

A round of drinks gets ordered, yours and Nico’s going mostly untouched though no one comments on it. The same empty conversations from that first dinner fill in the space, the three boys sharing vague mob tales with the occasional chiming in from Nico.

You spend the night observing, playing the quiet and docile girl Quinn told you to be. Staying out of his way. And he does the same with you, no passive aggressive comments or taunting looks. He’s the perfect host, waving over more drinks when one runs low, a bowl of pretzels is offered for you and Nico to snack on but you decline that too.

Instead you smile, lay your head on Nico’s shoulder and pretend you’re simply listening the boys talk, fondly admiring them bonding with each other. Nico, broodingly sits and listens too, looking almost bored when you glance up at him. Like always though, he softens at the sight of you, his eyes going all moony and eyebrows drooping in that same sweet way a puppy’s would.

A couple hours into your bar night is when you notice a shift. The man that had been bartending when you arrived is swapped out, the newcomer immediate going about laying out clean glasses. That’s when you spot the tattoo on his arm, in the exact same area as Petey’s had been. You can’t make out the details from here but the shape is clear.

A letter C.

You want to turn to Quinn, grab his right arm and yank the sleeve of his Henley up. If you were a betting girl, you’d guess that Quinn also has the same tattoo.

It’s their mark, their pendant. More permanent and more serious than the necklace and ring you all wear in New Jersey. Higher stakes to get in and even higher ones to get out. Which means getting entry into the Canucks requires a lot more sacrifice.

A sacrifice as big as flesh and blood.

Your hand on Nico’s thigh, you squish just once to get his attention. Instantly he’s leaning forward, stretching his other arm across your lap and you grab at his forearm. Under the guise of simply petting at your fiancé, you trace your fingers over the soft hair on his arm, giving him a tender smile as you draw out the letter C.

After a few times, he seems to get it, ducking down to press a kiss to the side of your head and relaxing back into his seat.

The bar steadily fills up, the Saturday night crowd filtering in for rounds of pool and beer pitchers. Jack tells Quinn about his rookie year in Jersey, animatedly telling a story about getting into a scuffle in the Rock, one that left him with a separated shoulder and he spent most of the time on bouncer duty at the bar after that.

In with the crowd comes a couple more men with the same C tattoo on their arms. It’s ironic too because even with such a big indicator of who these men are, you maybe wouldn’t have noticed them. Except for the fact that they all keeping looking at your table. And not in the way people stare and look at Nico and the boys when they realize who they are. This is like they’re waiting for something.

A sign.

Nico is the one to realize it. You don’t know what it is, if it’s the way Quinn begins to fiddle with his ear lobe, if it’s the sound of broken glass coming from behind the bar, or something else.

Suddenly, Nico is shoving his chair back, his hand locking on the back of yours and he yanks you back. You get just enough time to catch the sight of reflective blue eyes, the same pair that watched him from the stands early today, and then you’re lunging for Luke, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and yanking him down.

“Down!” Nico yells as you cover Luke, flinching when the table gets flipped over to its side, the thick wood acting as a shield as the first couple bullets sink into it.

Nico has one hand on the back of your head, his body crouched over Jack’s but you can see him reaching for his own gun.

You’d spent enough time staring down the back hall tonight to know where to go. “Second door, move!” You demand, and Quinn being the closest takes off. Nico rises next, still guarding Jack with his body as he moves and you follow behind, doing the same with Luke.

The bar has turned into chaos, drunken Canadians stumbling for the front doors, shrieking and panicking and while it’s a little pathetic, it provides a cover.

The Canucks are unwilling to shoot their own.

Nico however holds no reservation, pausing at the intersection of the bar and hall to fire a shot straight down the hall. It meets the target with a grunt and the wet sound of wounded flesh.

Eyes still watching the patrons scramble to the front doors as the Canucks attempt to push in the opposite direction to you, Nico fires a few warning shots at the flooring, waving you and the boys to the back door.

“Y/n, come on!” Luke exclaims, rising to his full height and taking a hold of your wrist. His legs move quick, strides bigger as he yanks you down the hall.

Quinn goes crashing through the door first, an ear chattering horn noise erupting throughout the bar. Jack follows behind him and then you and Luke, stumbling into a gravel lot. Trusting Nico to be close behind, you take a moment to look around.

There’s no way of getting to the cars you arrived in. It’s a whole new lot, blocked by a large wall of hedges and the bar, a few oldie cars in the lot. You spot an old black one, still slick and well cared for, windows tinted.

“That on, go!” You shove Luke towards it and he scrambles forward with the others. You get to the passenger door, yanking the hoop out of your ear and shoving the long end into the lock.

The lock releases with a click and you yank open the door, unlocking all the doors for the boys. The three Hughes pile into the backseat as Nico bursts through the back door of the bar.

You’ve already thrown yourself over the bench seat of the car, clawing at the compartment under the wheel to get to the wires. They spring free and you strip them with your nails, unable to feel the sting on the bed of your nails even though blood blooms from underneath them.

Something metal crashes to the ground as you twist the wires, manipulating the ignition wire to the battery wire.

“What are you doing?” Jack calls frantically from the back seat, “we have to move!”

You don’t bother shushing him as you hold the bare copper of the starter wire to the others, flinching when the sparks burn at your hands.

The car sputters and you try again, holding the wires tightly in one hand and stretching the other out to press the gas. The car rumbles to life, headlights and radio flickering on and you scramble up from the seat.

Nico is in the doorway, looking down at you with wild eyes and panting. You slide back, making room for him to get in but he pauses.

“I can’t drive stick,” he says, glancing over his shoulder and letting out a “fuck, we gotta go.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “passenger seat, go.” You shove him away, slamming the driver door shut. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast, your hands shaking and breaths coming out too quick as you shift the car into reverse.

Nico fires a few shots as he scrambles around the front of the car, aiming for the last few in the lot. The tires you realize, that way you can’t be followed.

He’s barely flung himself into the seat before you backing out of the spot. “Seatbelts, all of you!” You bark, and through the windshield you notice that Nico’s has thrown something in front of the door, a large hunk of metal that had been in the back alley and it’s enough to delay the men trying to get out.

Arms peek out, clawing and shoving at whatever it is he found to show them down. Nico reaches over your head, getting a hold of your seatbelt and yanking it across your chest as you peel out of the lot, sending him flying back into the leather seats.

“Who were those guys?” Luke asks from the backseat, breathless and frantic. You don’t get a chance to answer him, flinging the car out of the alley and down the road, pressing the clutch in to quickly shift up to second gear, then third.

Behind you, headlights shine into the rear windshield, flickering as the car recklessly bounds over the road and you know immediately it’s unwanted company.

“Nico,” you warn, getting cut off by the dinging of bullets hitting the back of the vehicle. In the backseat Luke and Jack duck down, hiding their heads behind the seat and covering each other.

You can’t see Quinn not that you even care too. He wasn’t in your protection plan tonight, not that he’d need it with his own men being the perpetrators. Yet here he is, perfectly safe in the backseat of your getaway vehicle.

After offering no help, no assistance to his brothers. His supposed family.

Nico cranks his window open, shoving the top half of his body out and you want to reach out, to grab at his leg to offer some sort of safety but you can’t.

All you can do is drive. The single lane road turns into the four lane drive you came down when you drove out to the bar. Faintly, you can hear Nico firing shots of his own back towards the vehicle but you’ve joined Saturday traffic now, cutting between cars to weave your way through traffic.

Nico wobbles where he’s perched on the window, slipping back into the seat when it becomes clear he can no longer fire into cars full of citizens.

“How many of them?” You ask as he anxiously looks through the mirrors for the car trying to match your driving, following you through red lights and scraping by cars you pass on the shoulder.

But they’re slower and bulkier, unable to keep up enough.

“Just the one,” he pants, “I think your losing them-“

A bullet hits the front hood of the car, ricocheting into the windshield and splintering it. Nico flinches, makes a move to dive in front of you but stops, knowing he can’t block your view.

Just ahead, coming at you straight on from the other side of the overpass is a silver SUV, the barrel of a gun sticking out the passenger window.

Gripping the wheel, you hit the gas harder, yanking on the gear shift. Barreling at the oncoming car, Nico braces himself on the dash, glancing at you worriedly.

“Baby you can’t win a game of chicken when they have a gun,” he exclaims but you’re not trying to. You just have to beat them to the overpass of the highway.

You don’t know if they’re stupid or caught off guard by you heading straight for them, but the shots have ceased, at least for the moment and by the time they have their bearings back, your yanking the wheel to the left, just barely scraping past the SUV as more bullets ping into the side of the trunk.

Nico slides into the side of the door with a thump, the boys in the back letting out exclamations you can’t even understand as you ramp the car across the median and up the ramp.

“Holy fuck,” Nico gasps, and you weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns as you try to put as much space as possible between you and the two vehicles before they can get flipped around and join you on the highway.

You glance in the review mirror, find Jack and Luke both turned around and peering out the back windshield. Nico, chest heaving is watching his side mirror, knuckles white on his gun.

“Do you see anyone?” You ask Nico, still barreling down the left lane of the highway at 120.

“No I think you lost them at the highway. At least for now.”

You shifts down, slipping over into the next lane, steadily making your way until you’re cruising in the right lane. Then you take the next exit, running the yellow light as you direct the car down a commercial street, the buildings compact and streets narrow now that you’re nearing downtown.

Finding a public parking sign, you yank the car into a parking garage, tire squealing on the cement. You stay on the first level, navigating to the back far corner where you pull in between two cars, hoping they’ll hide your damaged one if they somehow manage to track you down.

Throwing the car in the park, you cling to the steering wheel, fingers numb and arms jittery. The boys don’t move either but you can hear them all taking deep breathes, no doubt trying to calm their racing hearts the way you are.

You slump forward, the horn letting out a hunk when you rest your head on the steering wheel. The sound makes Nico jump, his knee hitting the dash and he winces but it seems to shake him out of his stupor.

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into the tense muscle and you’re thankful your hair is hiding your face when tears sting at your eyes.

You force back the lump in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut. “Are you ok?” You ask, your voice just a croak but he hears it.

“M’fine, he swears, massaging at the lower spot on your neck. “A little turned on I’m not gonna lie.”

“Same.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah me too.”

You can’t see him, but you can feel Nico turning to the back seat, glaring at three boys back there and you could laugh if it were for the way something is bubbling in your chest, expanding into a terrible pain.

Suddenly you remember Quinn, feel his presence in the car like rotten leftovers forgotten in the fridge. You bolt up right, shoving open the door and it bangs into the car next to you with a crunch but you don’t care.

It’s like something else is moving your body, jittery as you rip open Quinn’s door and grab at him, catching the collar of his shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” He yelps but you’re yanking him out, his legs stumbling and hitting the door as you drag him out and onto the concrete. By now the other boys are clambering out of the car, coming around the trunk to find Quinn on his knees, your skirt hitched up as you grab your gun.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks, reaching for your arm but Nico wraps his arms around him, pinning him to his chest. “Stop! Let me go!” He demands but he won’t fight Nico. You both know that.

Clicking the safety, Quinn looks up into the barrel of your pistol.

“Talk,” you spit, watching him shift into his haunches, his arms hanging pathetically at his sides. Even so, he looks up at you with wide, terrified eyes.

“W-what did I do?” He whines, lip wobbling, “they were shooting at me too ya know?”

“Bullshit!” You kick at his knee, pressing the gun in closer. “I saw them today. All of them at the rink, watching us.”

Quinn trembles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He looks to his brothers. “Luke, Jack come on. You know I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!”

You don’t take your eyes off Quinn and it’s Luke that steps closer, reaching a tentative hand out to you. “Y/n,” he whispers, “you don’t know it was him, let’s at least talk-“

“Pull his sleeve back,” you demand, “the right sleeve pull it back.”

The color drains from Quinn’s face, his fingers shaking as Luke crouches down and grabs his wrist, pushing the sleeve up to his elbow. Sure enough, inked proudly into his skin, in the Canuck C.

“The bartender had one too,” you say, Luke backing away from his brother “and the one playing pool.”

“And the one Nico shot,” Jack says weakly, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I-I didn’t see what it was but it was that same spot.”

Finally, a look of defeat washes over Quinn and he slumps down into a pathetic mess at your feet, yanking his sleeve back down and squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

“No one was actually going to get hurt,” he says through a sigh and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“We were shot at!” Jack exclaims with a hysterical lilt.

“I know, I know,” Quinn concedes, hanging his head as he spills the rest. “It was part of the plan.”

The story tumbles from his lips in a low tone, heavy as they hit the two boys beside you. Quinn swears to them that he did want them to visit, did want to see them now that he was no longer under the boot of Horvat. Now that he could make decisions.

But the mob here is different, he claims. It’s religion, it’s life, it’s everything. He can’t have any hint of disloyalty or they’re kill him. He had to prove he was a Canuck through and through. The only real way he could do that is by offering up the only thing away from the Canucks that he cares about: His brothers.

He set the plan, promised he’d get them out here and in the bar tonight so the other men could take their best shots. If they missed tonight, that was it. Quinn had done his part and they fumbled theirs. He was all clear.

Which is why he let you and Nico come along. The safety of Jack and Luke was supposed to come down to you two, exactly how it had. He knew he couldn’t do anything to throw off the plan, but he could ensure you and Nico were suspicious enough to read it all. So he pushed your buttons, put you on edge, threatened you until you hated him. Until you were angry enough to analyze everything about him. And he knew Nico would follow you, could tell from the minute you stepped off the jet that while Nico led all the boys, you led him.

“I wanted you guys to be safe,” he croaks, eyes red and teary as he looks to his brothers. “But you wouldn’t be safe with me, I couldn’t do it. I swear I did it all to protect you.”

The story hangs in the air, a pathetic excuse for the selfish actions of an older brother. All of this, the hope he gave the boys when he invited them, playing into their past with the nicknames and jokes, putting them at ease at the rink was all for his own benefit.

All to save his own skin.

A hand locks around the front of your gun, thin fingers wrapping around the barrel and nudging it down. You slowly drop it, watching on edge as Luke comes to stand in front of his brother.

Wiggling out of Nico’s hold, Jack joins him.

“Say something,” Quinn sniffles, “say you believe me, please.”

“We believe you,” Luke nods, voice sounding detached. You glance at Nico, find his gun held readily in front of him as he analyzes Quinn, just in case. “But we don’t care.”

Quinn’s mouth drops open, lip quivering as he blinks up at Jack. “Rowdy, I had no choice. I made sure you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Shaking his head, Jack croaks, “You were right Moose, he’s not our family.”

Quinn scrambles forward, shaking his head desperately. “You don’t mean that,” he insists, “you don’t mean that. It’s us guys, it’s always been us.”

“No,” Jack spits, “it’s always been me and Luke. And now it’s us,” he waves an arm out towards you and Nico. “Us, no you.”

“What’s the difference Jack?” Quinn asks, “what’s the difference between me rigging a deal and what Nico throws you into everyday?

“I know about Philly, how you all shot up Fargo, how it burned. Did they think about you Jack, about your safety when you ran in there?”

“I did it to save my family,” Jack scoffs, “not to prove myself. And Nico wouldn’t even let me in the building anyway. Because it was too dangerous. He’s never put us in something like this. Especially not without us knowing.”

Throwing an arm around his brother, Luke stands taller. “We choose to go into fights with them. We choose them every time. Because they chose us when no one else did.”

Just like that, the door for any more begging is closed. Jack steps back, guiding Luke with him as they move to huddle behind Nico. In sync, you and Nico surround him, guns still armed and ready.

Quinn wipes at his wet cheeks, face tormented and pitiful. “Hischier,” he murmurs, “you gotta know I didn’t want them to get hurt. I trusted you and you did exactly what I thought you would. Tell them please.”

You don’t know what to do if you’re being honest. Quinn used them, he walked all over them exactly how you thought he would. They were a stepping stone to his legacy here. Even if he seems genuine in his belief that you and Nico would keep the boys safe, even if he were certain that they’d be ok, he still used them. He still broke that trust.

“You told me to stay out of your way,” you remind him, clicking the safety on your gun and letting it drop to your side “so I am.”

All that stands before him now is Nico. The devil himself, the last person you want hovering over you. Skillfully, Nico lifts the gun to Quinn’s forehead, finger on the trigger. For the first time, you notice the trail of crimson red blood smeared down his right arm, not enough to be concerning, but your throat goes dry realizing that somewhere along the way, he got caught.

“Nico…” Quinn trembles.

“I’ll kill him,” your fiancé calls over his shoulder, muscles tense under his black shirt, strained with anger. “They’ll come after us eventually, but I’ll do it.”

Jack and Luke duck their heads together, clinging to each other the way they did in the car, protecting each other. You think of Nico’s story about them, huddled together on the curb outside the Rock. Did they look just like this? Faces shrunken from hunger and exhaustion, the smaller frames of teenagers?

“No,” Jack says after he’s lifted his head. “We just want to go home.”

It takes Nico a moment to drop the gun, to fully accept the decision Jack has made and you know it’s because he doesn’t agree. He wants to kill Quinn, he wants to keep him away from Jack and Luke forever. His boys, you recall, from the moment he first met them.

He does listen though, dropping the gun to his side and backing away from Quinn. You stop him with a hand on his lower back, half hiding behind his large frame. Without looking away from Quinn, he nods towards the parking garage exit.

“Let’s go, I’ll call a car.”

You let the boys go first, arms still wrapped around each other as they lifelessly trudge towards the street. Nico nudges you to follow, but you can’t. Because no matter what he did, no matter how much Quinn hurt Jack and Luke, you know it’s not enough.

They’ll always love him. They’ll always ache for him.

“You can fix it,” you say and his head snaps up to look at you. “Not anytime soon but you’re right about one thing. You’re their brother. If you decide that means something though, it’ll be them or the Canucks. You can’t have both.”

With that you and Nico turn, following after your boys and leaving Quinn Hughes behind.

~~~~

The room is dark, only the yellow glow of the city lights coming through the window acting as a guide for you to round the bed on the far side of the room. The one closest to the door lay empty, the sheets pristine and untouched after housekeeping refreshed the room earlier.

It’s Jack’s bed, his clothes thrown in a ball on top and his half open suitcase on top. Silently, you pick up the inside socks littering the floor, tossing them onto the bed with the rest of his clothes.

Jack and Luke are tucked into the bed, soft snores coming from the younger boys mouth. He’s curled up small, a pillow mashed and folded to his chest. Despite the events of the night, he sleeps like the dead.

And Jack, as usual is star-fished across most of the bed, his arm thrown over Luke and mouth hanging open.

With careful fingers, you ease the blankets out from under Jack’s limbs, pulling them up and over his chest. Gently, you tuck them in around his neck, leaning down to press a kiss to forehead, cautious to not ruffle the hair fallen into his eyes or wake him.

Then you tiptoe to Luke’s side, tucking him in the same and leaving a kiss on top of his head. For a moment, you just watch them, reminding yourself that they’re okay, that they’re safe. You already checked the locks on their door, made sure the deadbolt was turned and chain in place. You’re about to go check again, just in case when Nico stops you.

You can’t make out his face in the shadow of the doorway, the silhouette of him taking up the whole frame. He’s propped up against it, arms crossed over his torso and still as a statue. But when you don’t move, just look at him and feel that same bubble of rage from earlier still pressing on your heart, he reaches an arm out to you.

His palm is rough and warm in yours, strong as you pulls you into his chest. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he grabs the back of your neck in gentle fingers, urging you out of the room.

You stop, reaching back to close the door until it’s just cracked open. Enough so that if the boys need you, if they call out you can still hear them.

Clinging to Nico’s arm, cheek against the bicep that had flexed as he toyed with the trigger of his gun, as he protected you and the boys, you walk in silence back to your room. You heart pounds in your chest, painful and all consuming.

By the time you’ve crossed the threshold, Nico leaving your door open just a hair too, your breathing is ragged and panicked. Not a panic attack though, not something heavy and sinking.

No this is rage. Hot and burning, rising in your gut and chest, up your throat until you feel like you’re going to explode. Faintly you can hear Nico shushing you, walking you back into the elegant bathroom until your back hits the cool tile of the sink.

Two hands catch under your arms, heaving you up onto the counter and you bite at the inside of your cheek, feel tears rolling down your cheeks, hot and fat.

“Talk to me baby,” Nico says, cupping your face and you blink, the hazy blobs of color you were looking through focusing into him, into his dark eyes, his handsome face.

“ I shouldn’t have said that,” you mutter angrily, “I shouldn’t have told Quinn he could fix it, that he could be better. I should’ve let Jack and Luke walk away and then put a bullet through his head.”

If he’s taken aback by your anger, he doesn’t show it, not really. His eyebrows simply knit together in concern, lips parting. “No you couldn’t have, they never would’ve forgiven you. The same way you did with Rino, you made the right decision, the one a boss makes. You didn’t listen to your emotions, didn’t let it get personal-“

“It was personal!” You shout, furious at him for disagreeing, at yourself for even coming out here in the first place, at Quinn for every decision he’s made since getting to Vancouver. “It’s more personal than Rino and Lena, Nico because they’re kids!”

You feel hysterical, out of your body and you cry and yell at him as if any of this is his fault at all. Later, when your same again hopefully, you’ll apologize but right now you can’t stop.

“They were just kids and he left them,” you wail, spewing out more hurtful words about how Quinn abandoned them. How he left them in Michigan with just an ill mother, knowing they wouldn’t be able to survive alone. He never checked on them, never visited. Lied about coming back for them. All before Luke was even old enough to have hair on his chest and before Jack could even call himself a teenager.

“He put them in danger,” you hiccup, furiously wiping at your cheeks “Kids, Nico, our kids!”

He helplessly shushing you, grabbing at your wrists and pulling them down from your face. Two strong arms wrap around you, pinning you into his shoulder and you bury your woeful sobs into his shirt.

“He was supposed to protect them. Why did no one protect them? Why did-“

Nico strokes through your hair, his lips pressed in tight by your ear when he starts pleading with you, voice tight and certain.

“We did,” he interrupts, “we protected them baby. You did, did you see yourself tonight? You were smarter and quicker than all of us, you spotted everything before it happened and had a plan for it. You protected them, you saved them.”

“I was too late,” you argue pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut. “It’s too late Nico. They’ll never get over being left like that, being unwanted by your family, it doesn’t go away Nico and I couldn’t keep them from that, I couldn’t-“

“That’s not on you,” Nico insist harshly, his hand tightening on your neck. “You can’t go back and fix things that happened before you knew them, can’t wrap them in bubble wrap. But you can do it now, you can help them heal now and you have.

“They know they have a family, that they’re ours and they’re ok. They picked us today, did you see that? They trusted you when you lead them to that car, when you threw yourself in front of them. Because that’s what family does, is protect.”

Hiccuping, you sniffle sadly. “I can’t do it anymore,” you whimper, “I can’t take how much it hurts to do this. I can’t live knowing that their family didn’t save them, Alex’s didn’t save him, even yours Nico..how am I supposed to just accept that? To fix that?”

He pulls back, eyes wet and pained as they trail over your face. “You don’t have to fix it, you just need to shoulder it for a bit. Until they can carry it themselves.”

You shake your head, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“You can do it, you’ve been doing it. There’s a reason they come to you, a reason Jack loved you from the first night he met you. A reason Alex comes to your side of the bed when he can’t sleep, when something goes wrong your his first call. And Luke, almost everything about him is you. His strength, his sense of humor, his protectiveness was drawn in by yours.

“Because you see them, you see these kids that have been left behind and instead of turning them away, you love them. You make them accept love.”

His palm dries your cheeks, thumb tracing a soothing line over your trembling lip. “And you did it for me first baby. I was a stupid kid when we met, not ready for any of this and you saw right through it. You picked me. And you carried things you never should’ve had to until I could deal with it.

“Yours the strongest person I’ve ever met, baby. So you can do this and you will because that’s who you are. That’s what makes you, you.”

He’s panting by the end of his speech, chest heaving and eyes wild, begging you to see, to understand. And he’s right. You’ve never looked at the boys and ever thought of turning them away. Everything about them pulled you in, tugged at your heartstrings, made you love them.

You saw yourself in them, with no family to love or want you. You saw Nico, used and tossed to the side by his family. No one saved him, but you could save these ones.

“Drag racing,” you cough out and his whole face twists in confusing.

“What?”

“The car,” you explain, taking in a ragged breath. “The driving and hot wiring. I learned it in high school. With a friend that used to drag race.”

A devastatingly beautiful smile takes over his face, eyes glossy and so full of love as they look at you. He presses his thumb into the dip of your chin, laughing softly.

“It was smart,” he says, “you were smart. And I mean it, you saved us.”

Slowly, you lift your hand to show him the finger’s you used to claw at the wires in the car, the cracks under your nails stained with blood from where they broke back.

“It’s easier with a knife,” you murmur, and he leans in, pressed a gentle kiss to the pads of them. You’ve never done that before, stripped a wire with your hands like that. You didn’t even know if it was possible, how you did it.

“I should’ve given you mine,” he murmurs, and he’s leaning back, hands falling to your waist. With the newfound space you take in a deep breath, look over his figure. “You would’ve been better off with it.”

“I lost the earring you gave me,” you say, eyes falling onto his bandaged arm. It ended up being just a nick, not even deep enough for stitches. A bullet had just barely caught him, popped off the taillight and up at his arm while he was hanging out the window.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he promises, grabbing at your chin again, tilting your head to look at him instead of the covered wound. “You saved us all tonight,” he repeats, “more than once. And that’s how I know you can do this.”

You take another deep breath, let his words sink in, let them press down on that bubble of rage until it deflates back into nothing. Nico’s never been wrong about you before, even when he was keeping you away for protection. He’s always known what you could do, what you could carry.

“Will you help me?” You whisper, fisting the hem of his shirt in your hand. He strokes through your hair, nodding.

“Of course I will,” he promises, “they’re our kids right? So we’ll do it together.”

Whatever comes tomorrow, whatever Jack and Luke you wake up to, if they’re angry, if they’re sad, if you have to drag them back to life the way Nico once did for you, you’ll handle it. You and him will carry it always.

#fic rec

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brain4stew · 18 hours ago

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The witches’ or Telamon’s bride, which do you desire? ( | )

I desperately need more of @angel-deadth ‘s bride reader au dude… 😞💔 I may as well continue writing from the prologue I did for that au.

Here is the prologue if you haven’t seen it already! ;

(Writers note; may be ooc, and I deeply apologise for that. The colors have some meanings by the way 😇 I’ll put them in the comments ofc).

As you sleep, you get this dream, that you cannot recall. All you see is a blur, but you can tell that something, or, someone, is trying to talk to you.

You think you questioned them, but you do not remember, as it was all a blur, and you could not hear anything. It was all just… Static.

All of a sudden, the scenery changes, it is still a blur, and the static is still there. But the scenery… Is not what you expected to see. It is like a nightmare.

You vaguely recall something, however. A glowing sword, almost entirely made out of light. But, there’s red on it. And when you blink, the one holding the sword has changed to something, someone more terrifying, as the sword too has changed.

You wake up in cold sweat, immediately panting for air, like it’s your last. You look at your clock on your bedside table. 3:27. You groan in frustration. You don’t want to be too exhausted to not focus more on their wedding with you!

You shift a bit in your bed, before you spot the feather from your wedding dress. You lift a brow at that, confused on why it is on your bed instead of in that plastic bag with your dress in it.

You pick up the feather carefully, you don’t notice when the feather somehow flinches at your touch. You examine the feather for a bit, before you decide to just, put it on yiur bedside table for now.

You shift in your bed again for a while, getting comfortable, and dozing off again.

He watches your dream, and your little so called nightmare. He finds it cute, and adorable how a mortal like you, can have him head over heels…

He watches as you’ve awoken due to the nightmare. Watching every breath you take as a way to calm yourself down. How… Interesting—

His wings flutter and a shiver runs down his spine. He blinks in shock and confusion for a moment, before he glances at you… His face flushed, as he realises why he got that sudden shiver.

“…You’re going to be the death of me I fear… My dear bride…”

He murmurs to himself, his wings fluttering from time to time, as he watches you for a while as you sleep.

They felt weird, a weird shiver running down their spine, as they were just checking in on the beasts. (Ik the witches don’t check up on the beasts, but this witch, does.)

Was it something horrible that happened? Couldn’t be. Did one of their creations get destroyed? No, they would’ve been notified of it somehow.

But, it did feel like… They got stabbed and killed by something, or someone…

They shrug it off, and go back to what they were previously doing.

(This was a bit short, bc I’m tired af, it’s legit 2:20 for me lol, anyway gn, I’ll prob post more for this au, idk. 🤭)

#roblox forsaken x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #brain4stew/l i n’s work‼️#telamon x reader #1x1x1x1 x reader #blocktales x reader #bride?reader #THIS AU IS NOT MINE.#shedletsky x reader

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multiversefanfics · 2 days ago

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Baby Fever

Pairing: Husband!Joaquin Torres x Wife!Fem!Avenger!Reader Warning: baby fever, little bit of angst Summary: Joaquin wants to have a baby, you do too, just not as much, you're afraid that with both of your hectic lifestyles, a baby would complicate it. Word Count: 837

Your day started just like every other day, you woke up, showered, brushed your teeth, then went down to the training room to meet Sam. You walked in, placing your bag on the ground, and you looked around for Sam, but he was nowhere to be found. You shrugged and walked over to the punching bag.

As you were setting up to land a few punches on it, Joaquin walked in. You looked over and smiled. He flashed a weak smile at you and walked over to the pull-up bar. You raised an eyebrow and walked over to him.

"What's wrong?" You watched him pull himself up, he looked down at you and shook his head

"Nothing, just tired." You nodded and walked back over to the punching bag.

Joaquin was off today and you wanted to find out why, maybe Sam knew. As if Sam was listening he walks through the door clapping his hands together

“Alright, let’s get to work.” He threw his bag to the side and walked over to you.

“Good morning, Sam” You smiled wide, he narrowed his eyes at you

“What did you do?” He raised his eyebrow as you placed your hand over your heart

“How dare you, I did nothing.” He wasn’t buying it. “Alright, what’s going on with Joaquin?”

Sam glanced over at him, just to see him pushing himself a little too hard, he looked back at you and sighed

“That’s something you’re going to have to talk to him about. Later.”

Sam pushed you. He knew you had an attitude, and he wanted to work that attitude out before you went to talk to Joaquin. At the end of the workout, you were on the ground, sweaty and breathing heavily. Sam held his hand out, you looked up at him and took his hand standing up.

"You didn't have to overwork me today." You glared at him, pulling your sweaty shirt off your body.

"Yes, I did, you're going to talk to Joaquin about something serious, and I needed you to not have an attitude with him." He patted your shoulder, then pushed you towards him.

You rolled your eyes and walked up to Joaquin, who was sitting on the bench, leaning on his knees. You sat down in front of him and looked up at him. He smiled down at you, blowing you a kiss.

"What's going on?" You placed your hand on his knee, rubbing your thumb against his skin.

"I know you're not ready, but I really want to have a baby. So instead of talking about it, I come to the gym and work out. I didn't expect you to be here." He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact

"Baby." You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "I want a baby too, but do you really think it's the best time?"

"I can take some time off and help you, our friends are here too. We can do this." He stared down at you, hoping you'd be on his side.

"Can we talk about this another time?" He nodded and got up to walk away. You groaned and laid back on the ground.

Sam walked over to you, looking down at you. "That went well."

"Sam, he doesn't get it, he's not the one that has to carry a baby, his body doesn't change, he won't have random fluids coming out of random parts of his body, I will." You sat up leaning against the bench

Sam bent down, looking you straight in the eyes. "He gets it, trust me, he does, and he wouldn't ask you to do something if he thought you couldn't handle it."

"You don't get it either. I don't want a baby right now." You got up and walked to your room.

Joaquin was in the shower, so you decided to get in with him. You stepped into the shower, wrapping your arms around him from behind, you laid your head on his back and sighed

"Baby, can we talk?" You felt his muscles tense under you. He turned to face you, wrapping his arms around your body.

"Of course, my love." He kissed the top of your head, waiting for you to start talking.

"I'm not saying, I don't want a baby, I just don't want a baby right now. We will definitely have a baby, I just need time, please."

He nodded, holding you tighter. He rubbed your back, leaving small kisses all around your face and neck.

"Okay, my love. Whenever you're ready, I will be ready too."

"You're not going to leave me?" You looked up at him as his face scrunched up.

"Of course not, you're the love of my life, even if we never have a baby, I will always love you and I will always stay." He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose.

"I love you so much, baby." You melted into his body, finally feeling relief.

"I love you, too, honey."

A/N: i hope you guys like it if you want to be tagged in future fics, comment here

Main Masterlist - Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Taglist: @cherryresidence @sidkneeeee

#avengers #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres

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johnwickb1tsch · 22 hours ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ 24

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-four.

One day you happen to notice the parameters of your internet connection seem to have changed. You were able to access things like news sites and youtube before, but not your email or any kind of social media where you could reach out to someone.

You’re not sure when all that changed, but you find you’re actually able to log into your email.

There is so much junk mail in your inbox your head hurts.

Even more curious, you try Facebook.

There are a handful of messages from your friends, wondering when you’ll be coming home. You’ve stayed past the limit of your visa now, and you just kind of assumed Donaka must have taken care of that for you. You don’t know what to say, and you’re certain Donaka will be able to check on your activity somehow, so you ignore them for now. It weighs like a stone in your belly, but there’s nothing for it. The last post you made was on your birthday, a picture of the Night Market and thanking everyone for their well wishes.

It feels like a lifetime ago, now.

You also notice that a certain ex-boyfriend has been blowing up your messages, asking to meet up since he sees you’re in Asia. Something else you don’t dare pursue, even to tell him off, though seeing his self-assured words makes you feel sick in a very different way. You’d think you would have noticed the signs of a true narcissist early on, considering your mother, but you’d stayed with him far longer than you should have because you’d been stupidly in love with the man he was when things were good.

You think back on his temper tantrums, fantastic rages that would come out of the blue, and the way he used to scream at you, even in public, for some imagined infraction. At first you’d worried he was ill, but eventually you realized there was nothing you could do. Suggesting he might seek help resulted in a terrifying fight. Notifying his family was only met with silence.

Do you just have a high tolerance for pain–or terrible taste in men?

Who knew it could be considered a lucky stroke, when you’d walked in on him making out with another backpacker in the hostel in Kathmandu? You’d been crushed at the time, but it gave you the kick you needed to part from him. You flew home not long after, but the Asia bug had bitten. It wasn’t long before you were headed to Hong Kong to teach English.

Interesting, how all that has turned out for you.

You decide to scroll through your feed, at least seeing what everyone else has been up to. You’ve reached a point in your life where more than half your friends are posting baby pictures over artsy food snaps or travel albums. You’re happy for them, but…there’s a mean little part of you that not only finds it extremely tedious–you’re pretty sure they do too, and they are desperately trying to convince themselves that they’re not bored out of their minds.

You scroll a little more, and find something that’s finally interesting. In fact…it makes you laugh out loud.

You see a series of plaintive [self-righteous whining] posts detailing how someone hacked your ex-boyfriend’s bank account, draining it completely and leaving him stranded in New Delhi. Even funnier–to you, at least–after his Mommy Dearest who always enabled him wired him some money to tide him over, he was mugged outside his hotel, and his passport was stolen. It’s a traveler’s worst nightmare, but god, he fucking deserved it. You are cackling evilly in your chair in the library, practically kicking your feet, for a good ten minutes before the possibility dawns on you: did Donaka arrange that?

Suddenly…you’re not sure if it’s funny, or frightening.

Did Donaka adjust your internet access just so you could see this?

Was he telling you that no one is beyond his reach, no matter what country they’re in?

Was it all a test, to see if you would email your family for help?

Are you reading into all of this way too much?

In the end it all leaves you bitter, so in a small act of defiance you post one of your flower pictures from Victoria Park on the Peak. You’re smart enough not to upload the pic of you and Donaka. The one you choose is a pink oleander bloom. A poisonous plant, you happen to know. All of Hong Kong is spread out below it, her tall buildings and blue harbor. You caption it: On top of the world.

You reckon Donaka will like that, and at least your friends will know you’re alive. Your family too, if they care to look.

Somehow, you doubt they’ve even noticed you’re gone.

Your cheeky pièce de résistance is changing your relationship status to ‘It’s complicated’.

Later that evening, with Donaka’s lips on your neck and his cock stuffing you full he asks darkly, “What’s complicated about this, bunny? You’re mine, and you love it.”

On the cusp of your second orgasm of the night, your flesh delectably tender from his lips and teeth and greedy hands upon you, you’re not sure you can even argue.

all chapters

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #yandere fic #yandere donaka mark

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kenansslut · 3 days ago

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wild night

pairing: kenan yildiz x fem reader!

request: The reader leaves marks and scratches on Kenan's body and his teammates, seeing that, make jokes about that "wild night" but Kenan can't stop remembering everything that happened in bed with his girlfriend hours before.

a/n: clearing out my inbox and please send in more request. Also, would you guys please leave me feedback!?!!!

Kenan woke up the next morning feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. The events of the previous night flooded his mind, and he couldn't help but smile at the memories of him and Y/N tangled in each other's arms, laughter echoing through the room as they shared stolen kisses and whispered secrets. But as he stretched, he noticed the marks and scratches adorning his skin—evidence of their wild night together.

When he arrived at practice, Kenan tried to shake off the lingering feelings from the night before, but as soon as he stepped onto the field, his teammates Dušan, Weston, and Andre caught sight of the marks on his arms and neck. A chorus of playful laughter erupted as they gathered around him.

"Whoa, Kenan! Looks like you had quite the adventure last night!" Weston teased, a smirk plastered on his face. "What were you doing, wrestling a bear?"

Dušan chimed in, unable to contain his laughter. "More like a wildcat! Look at those scratches! You sure you weren’t out hunting?"

Andre, always the jokester, added, "I bet Y/N put you in your place! You’re lucky to make it out alive, man!"

Kenan felt his cheeks flush as he tried to laugh along with them, but inside, he was a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of Y/N's laughter, the heat of their bodies, and the way she had looked at him sent his heart racing. He stumbled through a response, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, uh, it was just... a fun night. Nothing too crazy."

Dušan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Oh come on, man! You can’t just brush this off. We want details! Did you two have a pillow fight or something?"

As the teasing continued, Kenan felt increasingly awkward, caught between the lighthearted banter of his friends and the intimate memories that played in his mind. He could almost hear Y/N's laughter echoing in his ears, and he couldn't help but smile, even as he tried to maintain his composure.

Finally, practice ended, and Kenan made his way home, still feeling the weight of the conversation with his teammates. He opened the door to find Y/N lounging on the couch, a book in her hands. She looked up and smiled, her eyes sparkling with warmth.

"Hey, how was practice?" she asked, setting the book aside.

Kenan hesitated for a moment, then decided to share what had happened. "Well, it was... interesting. The guys noticed some of the marks from last night, and let’s just say they had a field day with it."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. "Oh really? What did they say?"

"They made a bunch of jokes about me wrestling a bear and asked if you put me in my place," he admitted, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "I felt a bit awkward talking about it."

Y/N laughed, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Well, I guess we did have a pretty wild night, huh? But I didn’t mean to leave you with battle scars!"

Kenan chuckled, feeling relieved. "Honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It was perfect." He walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "Just don’t be surprised if they keep teasing me about it."

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Let them tease. I think it’s adorable that they’re so curious about our ‘wild nights.’ Besides, I think you wear those marks pretty well."

As they settled in together, Kenan realized that no matter what his teammates said, the memories they created were his to cherish, and he couldn’t wait for many more wild nights with Y/N by his side.

#football imagine #kenan yildiz #kenan yildiz fic #kenan yildiz fanfic #kenan yildiz imagine #kenan yildiz smut #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz imagines #kenan yildiz x you #kenan yıldız

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ghoulsverse · 3 days ago

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Chapter Four: Genetic Input

4.2k words | [Tags] Slow burn Wanda/Nat | Mentions of Hydra PTSD

Chapter Index | Ao3 Link

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“She's not just a weapon, she’s a kid trying to understand what she is.”

The first thing Wanda noticed when she woke was the weight of the quiet.

Not quiet in the sense of sound, but stillness.

Her body protested as she shifted under the worn blanket draped over her. The couch was too small, the cushions too thin to properly rest on, and yet she didn’t regret it. The ache grounding her was easier to hold onto than everything else waiting in the back of her mind.

She stayed still for a moment, keeping her eyes closed, letting the familiar, muffled sounds of her favorite show play on the TV.

The hum of the faulty coffee maker sputtering to life. The muted clatter of mugs against counters. Low voices carrying from somewhere down the hall, careful and subdued as if they knew too much noise might unsettle something delicate.

When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that it was dark out and Natasha and Aliah were both gone from their spots on the floor.

She shifted upright, pulling the blanket more securely around her shoulders. The old fabric smelled faintly of dust and soap, a smell she hadn't realized she missed until now.

In the kitchen, Natasha moved with a loose, deliberate grace that made it clear she was paying attention without making a show of it. She poured herself a mug of coffee, her posture casual, her movements lazy enough to be non threatening, though Wanda knew better.

Nothing Natasha did was ever truly careless.

Aliah was perched on one of the chairs at the counter, just watching. A mug sitting in front of her with what smells like Natasha’s own coffee blend.

It was the way her shoulders stayed too tense, the way her body flinched subtly with every noise from the hallway. She was listening, every nerve wound tight, ready to bolt if anything shifted the fragile peace they’d managed to build before.

“You’re giving her coffee?”

Natasha just shrugged. “She asked.”

Wanda looked at Aliah and just smiled softly. It seems the girl is only comfortable speaking to them. Small victories.

“Did you want something to eat, sweetheart?” She asked, sitting down in the seat next to the young girl. Natasha hands the witch her own cup of herbal tea.

Aliah looked between the two, her gaze both questioning and confused.

“Are you hungry? You must be.” Natasha watched Aliah with caution before making the decision for her. “I know, I’ll make you something I used to make for my sister. If you like it, I’ll make more. Sound okay?”

She only gets a nod in response.

It’s only grilled cheese.

But it’s enough. The slightest of smiles graced Aliah's face when she took the first bite.

It made Nat chuckle. “So you like it?”

The young girl nods her head, happily.

It’s calm. Safe. Comfortable for the moment.

By the time the sun stretched fully across the skyline, the tower had shifted into a new rhythm.

Not normal. Not yet.

But busier. Louder. The kind of noise people made when they weren’t sure what else to do.

Elevators whirred softly down distant halls. Somewhere two floors below, someone was dragging a heavy box across the marble, the sound scraping faintly through the vents.

It should have made things feel alive again.

It only made the quiet around Aliah sharper.

Breakfast was a delicate balance no one seemed eager to tip.

They decided to let Aliah get accustomed on her own time. Not changing their routine of having breakfast together on the main floor when they are all available for it.

Aliah can get a feel for them and join in when she feels rather than them making her feel like she’s a bomb waiting to explode.

Steve lingered near the kitchen counter, pretending to scroll through his phone. Sam busied himself finding plates and forks no one really needed. Bruce hovered near the coffee maker, pouring and repouring a cup he barely touched.

The Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, reduced to awkwardly dancing around a girl who had barely spoken five full words.

Wanda sat closest to her, instinctively positioned between Aliah and everyone else.

She hadn't planned it.

Her body had simply... moved that way.

Aliah sat at the table near the door, a little nook in the corner of the room. She picked at a piece of toast Natasha had left on a plate for her, nibbling the corner mechanically but never eating enough to satisfy anyone's nerves.

Her head stayed down, but her eyes flicked upward constantly.

Watching. Measuring.

Wanda could feel the weight of her stare, could feel the way Aliah’s energy hummed just beneath her skin like static building against a storm.

It prickled along Wanda’s senses in a way that set her teeth on edge, not because it was violent, but because it was so familiar and yet... wrong.

A mirror with a crack running straight down the middle.

Aliah’s magic signature wasn’t natural.

It vibrated too sharply, like a string tuned too tight. Where Wanda’s chaos magic moved unpredictably, breathing and bending with her emotions, Aliah’s felt contained, coiled like something caged.

It scared Wanda more than she wanted to admit.

Not because she thought Aliah would hurt them.

Because she thought Aliah might hurt herself. The girl was too similar to herself.

When the breakfast plates had been quietly cleared and Aliah had migrated back toward the couch, still close to Wanda, still keeping the rest of the room at careful distance. Wanda caught Bruce’s eye across the space.

He understood immediately.

In the kitchen, under the cover of washing dishes, he leaned in close enough for her to speak without anyone else hearing.

“She’s not like me.” Wanda murmured, keeping her eyes on the sink, hands busy scrubbing a plate already clean.

"Not completely."

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

“She feels like me." Wanda said, voice low. "But twisted. Like when you see photos of your past. It’s you and you remember it but you don’t recognize it."

Bruce tapped a spoon lightly against the counter, thinking.

"Chaos magic replication would be impossible through normal genetics." He said after a moment. "Unless…"

"Unless someone taught it to evolve." Wanda finished for him.

Neither of them said the words out loud.

Hydra. The Red Room.

Ghosts neither of them wanted to summon into the conversation yet.

“She trusts me." Wanda said quietly. "And Nat. But not them."

Bruce nodded once. “She has good instincts.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, feeling the ache behind her ribs settle in deeper.

“I want to help her.” She admitted. "But I don't want to… push her anymore."

“Become one of the people who used her." Bruce said.

Wanda nodded.

Exactly that.

Bruce straightened, glancing back toward the common room where Aliah sat perched, shoulders stiff, the blanket Wanda had given her the night before still wrapped tight around her like armor.

“I can run a DNA panel." He offered. "Simple. It'll tell us what we’re dealing with. If she’s... willing. Only if she’s okay with giving blood. Not a lot, just one sample"

Wanda hesitated, scrubbing the edge of the plate harder than necessary.

“She has to agree." She said finally. "No tricks. No forcing."

“Of course." Bruce said, almost gently. "We ask. And if she says no, we leave it alone.”

Wanda set the last plate down and wiped her hands dry.

Her gaze drifted back toward the girl on the couch.

Aliah was sitting with her knees tucked up against her chest, as she sat close to Natasha. Small enough to almost disappear, but her eyes stayed locked on Wanda’s every movement.

Trust wasn’t something they could demand from her.

It would be built one breath at a time.

And if they were lucky, if they were patient…

Maybe she would let them stay close enough to protect her when the pieces of her broken world started falling apart again.

Aliah felt she’d run up her battery. She could feel the energy and emotions of the Avengers, calm, comfortable with each other, but still cautious, wary of Aliah.

It was too much for her. They way she could feel how they wanted to go out of their way to make her feel welcome.

She looked at the widow sat next to her, not willing to speak out loud.

Natasha felt a cooling sensation in the back of her mind. It was comforting in a way.

“Can I go back upstairs?”

She looked at the girl sitting by her side and gave her a soft smile before nodding her head. “Want me to go with you?”

Aliah shook her head and rose from her spot, taking the elevator to Wanda and Natasha’s floor. The two women had made sure to show her how to get back in case she ever wanted to leave somewhere.

It wasn’t hard to find her.

The movie Wanda had put on earlier that morning still played in the background, muted and forgotten. Something colorful and silly, flickering quietly across the room like it was trying too hard to be harmless.

Aliah sat on the floor in their living room, back resting against the couch

Wanda approached slowly, not bothering to mask her steps.

No sudden movements. No surprises.

Just the soft scuff of socked feet against the floor and the low hum of the tower around them.

Aliah watched her come closer. Wide eyes. Tense shoulders.

But she didn’t bolt. She didn’t pull away.

She just waited.

Braced for whatever came next.

Wanda sat down cross-legged on the floor next to the young girl, leaving plenty of space between them.

Close enough to talk. Far enough that Aliah didn’t have to feel trapped.

She folded her hands in her lap, letting the silence stretch until it settled like dust between them.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Aliah didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Didn’t flinch. She just kept her hands buried in the blanket, watching with the wary stillness of a cornered animal but her magic stayed calm.

Wanda kept her voice low.

"Bruce, the nice guy who made sure you were okay…" Wanda said gently. "Well, we’re trying to understand... why your powers feel the way they do."

Aliah’s fingers twitched under the blanket. Not violently.

But Wanda noticed.

She noticed everything now.

"You feel like me." Wanda continued. "I bet you’ve noticed it too."

She paused, letting the words settle. Letting Aliah breathe.

"I want to learn about you, so I can help you. So I know how to keep you safe. I know you don’t like needles, but he needs a little bit of blood." She says again, cautiously. “You can say no. It is only if you want to.”

The young girl looks at Wanda, her gaze analyzing. Testing the truth behind the words, if she truly has the power to say no.

Aliah lifts her hand, palm open, white mist and energy flowing around it. She pushes it towards Wanda and waits.

The older witch smiles softly, lifting her own hand with her own red magic flowing around it. She presses her hand against Aliah’s and gasps. A memory flashing behind her eyes, but it’s not her own.

It’s Aliah’s.

Hydra Base: Hemlock - 7 years ago

The hallways in Sublevel Six were always colder than the others.

Aliah had learned to walk them with her arms tucked in close to her sides, her feet soft against the tile, her eyes alert for red lights and locked doors.

She wasn’t supposed to be down here.

She knew that.

But the nurses upstairs had been busy, and she’d been bored. She didn't have training today, usually she would train every other day so that the doctors could see her magic.

So she’d waited until the lights dimmed for shift change.

And she’d gone looking.

The file room smelled like old air and antiseptic.

Thin metal drawers lined the walls, each labeled with strings of numbers she didn’t understand. The lights flickered softly overhead, casting a yellow haze over everything.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for until she found a drawer marked with a word she was familiar with.

[GENESIS]

Her fingers hovered over the handle.

She glanced back once, just in case.

No footsteps. No alarms.

Only her own heartbeat, thumping high in her chest.

She opened it. Inside were stacks of files, all crisp and neatly labeled.

Some were marked "Failed". Some said "Terminated".

And one, near the middle, was stamped with red ink.

[SUBJECT 00-113 – ACTIVE]

The number on the tag inside matched the one on the bracelet she’d worn her entire life. The exact number she had associated as herself.

She pulled it out and flipped it open, her fingers trembling slightly.

There were pages of data she couldn’t read… graphs, blood work, cellular breakdowns. But one line near the top caught her eye.

[Donor Genome Source]

She didn’t know what the letters and numbers next to it meant.

But she understood what it was saying. She came from somewhere.

From someone.

“I wondered when you’d find this.” A voice said behind her.

Aliah flinched and turned, clutching the file against her chest.

Doctor Enez stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the edge of the frame, the other tucked into the pocket of his coat. He didn’t look angry.

He never did.

That was the thing about him, his voice was always calm, his smile always patient.

Even when he lied.

Aliah straightened her spine, lifting her chin slightly like she'd seen Agent Lyova do in training.

“You said I was made special.”

“You are.” Enez said gently. “You’re the only one who didn’t break.”

He stepped into the room, slowly, like she was a frightened animal instead of the one with sparking hands and eyes that sometimes glowed in the dark.

She didn’t back away.

But she didn’t lower the file either.

“What does it mean?” She asked. “The letters and numbers.”

Dr. Enez’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It means you were made from the best.” He said simply. “From people who changed the world.”

“Who are they?”

“A question for when you’re older.” He replied, kneeling down to her level, chuckling when the little girl pouted. “What matters is this… you were created for something important. Something only you can do.”

Aliah’s fingers tightened around the file.

“What if I don’t want to be important?” She whispered. “I just want to know.”

Enez reached forward slowly, lifting her chin to look him in the eye with practiced tenderness.

“There’s strength in not knowing.” He said. “The truth can be... messy.”

He took the file from her gently. Not ripping it away. Not scolding. Just... reclaiming it, and when he stood again, he gave her that same soft smile. “You’re not ready yet.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided them both out of the file room, leading her to the playroom where she could openly practice her magic on little toys that they had for her.

She didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

But she had a question no one would answer.

A name she didn’t have.

Wanda’s eyes began to water, she slowly removed her hand from Aliah’s and just looked at her.

She could only nod.

She knew what the girl was showing her, what she was trying to say through memories.

Aliah wanted to know what she was made of too. She was putting her trust in Wanda, letting her see a moment of vulnerability where she had wanted the same thing. Answers.

The young girl put her hand back in her lap, sliding it underneath the blanket. “Will it hurt?”

Wanda shook her head, a single tear falling. “Only for a second… but I will be with you the entire time.”

Aliah just nodded.

It was over in seconds.

Bruce was gentle about it, and Wanda had stayed near her side the entire time like she had said. Natasha had stood on the other side.

Both women had kept the young girl’s gaze on them when the needle went in and kept her grounded. Only a flicker of white found its way around her closed fist before it disappeared just as fast.

Bruce placed the vial gently into the kit, sealing it.

Done.

No betrayal.

He set the kit on the table, far away from Aliah’s reach, and she went and sat back on the floor, folding her hands in her lap again. Wanda taking a seat on the coffee table in front of her, as a comfort.

They didn’t speak.

There wasn’t anything left to say.

But Wanda caught the smallest shift in Aliah’s body language… the faintest easing of her shoulders, the way her hands relaxed a fraction under the blanket.

Nervousness. Not the kind that comes from being around people you're unfamiliar with, or the kind that you feel when you are in an unsafe place.

The kind that comes from the unknown.

Across the room, the elevator dinged.

Wanda glanced up, heart skipping.

A ripple of tension immediately cut through the air.

The doors slid open with a soft mechanical sigh and Aliah jumped up, feeling a threat and an energy she can’t place. Someone she didn’t know.

Her eyes glowed bright white.

Wanda felt it before she even turned… the shift in Aliah’s posture, the quickened breath, the faint static crackle beneath her skin.

The blanket slipped from her lap as she pushed herself deeper into the couch cushions, hands clenching the fabric like it might dissolve if she let go.

Vision stepped onto the floor with all the quiet poise he always carried, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression neutral.

He had the look of someone entering a home, not a battlefield, but Aliah didn’t see it that way.

To her, he wasn’t a guest.

He was unknown. Tall and unfamiliar.

He was a threat.

“Ah.” Vision said, pausing just inside the room. His voice was calm, edged with its usual eerie precision. “I wasn’t aware we had company.”

Wanda rose from the coffee table, positioning herself carefully, not shielding, exactly. But close.

She caught the moment Vision’s eyes settled on Aliah.

The moment Aliah’s fingers twitched, a flicker of white energy danced along her knuckles.

Wanda stepped between them gently.

“She’s staying here for a while.” She said softly. “This is Aliah.”

Aliah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

Like she was waiting for the room to change around her, to become the cage she was used to.

Vision inclined his head politely. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Wanda turned slightly, watching Aliah’s eyes… wide, calculating, afraid.

She could see it. The wheels turning, the questions behind her eyes faster than she could sort through them.

Vision didn’t flinch. He rarely did. “I am an artificial construct.” He stated as if that would answer anything.

Aliah’s voice was low and dangerous. “I can’t feel you.”

Silence fell hard and fast.

Natasha, now sitting in the armchair near the window, finally stirred. Not speaking, just shifting forward slightly in her seat.

Ready.

Aliah’s eyes didn’t move from Vision. Her hands were glowing now, soft white pulses trailing her fingers like smoke.

Not aggressive.

Not yet.

Wanda stepped forward, lowering herself slowly between them.

“It’s okay.” She said, voice steady. “He’s not here to hurt you.”

“How do you know?” Aliah asked. Not angry.

Just terrified.

Wanda’s heart ached at the weight of it.

“He’s just leaving.” Natasha said with finality.

The words hung heavy in the air.

Wanda and Natasha shared a look, nodding to one another.

Wanda looked over her shoulder at Vision.

He was still standing perfectly still, watching, analyzing, waiting for instruction.

She just nodded to him.

There was no judgment in his gaze.

Just the smallest nod.

“Of course.”

He turned and left the same way he’d come… Silent, composed, never turning his back on the room until the elevator doors closed behind him.

The moment he was gone, Aliah exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time. The glow in her hands faded, her shoulders sagged just slightly.

Not relaxed.

Just... less ready to explode.

Wanda didn’t say anything.

She just sat beside her again, close but not too close.

Aliah didn’t look at her, but she didn’t flinch when Wanda reached for the blanket and laid it gently back across her legs.

Across the room, Natasha stood slowly, walked to the kitchen, and poured herself another mug of coffee.

She didn’t comment on what had just happened.

She didn’t have to.

This wasn’t going to get easier.

Undisclosed Location: Germany - 18 years ago

The room was colder than it should have been.

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, washing the cracked concrete walls in a pale, sterile glow.

A thin metal table stretched between two chairs bolted to the floor, a single folder placed carefully at its center.

The Hydra insignia, faded, but unmistakable… was stamped into the folder’s corner.

The room smelled of old wiring and disinfectant.

And something sharper beneath it.

Old blood, maybe.

Dr. Andreas Riechner sat first. Dr. Nikolai Enez stood nearby.

His lab coat was so crisp it seemed to catch the light, and the silver Hydra pin gleamed sharply against the white fabric.

Dr. Riechner adjusted the papers before him with the kind of care only men who had never touched their own violence could manage.

Across from him, Madame Vorskaya entered without announcement, her steps silent. She wore black gloves, a long fitted coat, and an expression so carefully blank it bordered on cruelty.

No words passed between them as she sat. There was no need.

Everything important had already been decided elsewhere.

After a long moment, Riechner slid the folder toward her with two fingers.

"Your terms…" He said, voice clipped and precise. "And ours."

Vorskaya didn’t touch the folder.

She let it sit between them, as if it might stain her.

"You want new weapons." She said, her accent wrapping tightly around every word. "Weapons born loyal."

Riechner inclined his head slightly. "Our enhanced programs have proven... unstable. We require purer stock."

"You require control." She corrected, the faintest shadow of amusement slipping into her voice.

He didn't argue.

Vorskaya reached into her coat, producing a slim black case the size of a paperback novel.

She placed it carefully atop the folder, then folded her hands in her lap.

A small click as the case unlocked.

“We will provide samples as necessary for your little project. On one condition.” She said with a smirk that could bring fear to anyone. “We take the successful females for training once they are ready.”

Riechner's gaze sharpened, the kind of hunger that could strip skin from bone. “And the samples? We may require multiple to assess their compatibility with our own.”

"All samples we have are from our original genetic experimentation. Each has different coding from different… enhancements we’ve tested." Vorskaya said softly.

Riechner smiled. Cold.

Final.

"The Genesis Project will proceed immediately." He said.

"I expect exceptional results, Doctors."

Medical Lab: Avengers Tower

The lab was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet Bruce preferred… focused, methodical, but the kind that felt like the tower itself was holding its breath.

The DNA sample lay sealed in its tray, the scanner already humming softly as it finished its final pass. The results were uploading onto the secure terminal in front of him, line by line.

He didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary.

Not really.

Maybe elevated cortisol, irregular energy markers, a few unexplained anomalies.

This wasn’t his first time studying Hydra’s messes.

He’d learned not to be surprised.

But this…

This made him stop breathing.

[CONFIRMED HYBRID GENOME MATCH]DNA ALLELE GENETIC ANALYSIS:40% MATCH - WANDA MAXIMOFF40% MATCH - NATALYA ROMANOVA

Bruce stared at the lines of code like they might rearrange themselves if he blinked hard enough.

But they didn’t.

The numbers were archived in his nightmares.

He reached for his mug out of habit, then stopped… His hand hovering inches from it, trembling slightly.

Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha Romanoff.

He blinked again.

The screen didn’t change.

His stomach turned slowly.

This wasn’t just an accident. This wasn’t luck.

This girl was built from two of the most dangerous, powerful people he had ever known. Genetically created and modified from samples taken from Hydra and from samples given by the Red Room.

No wonder her energy signature didn’t make sense. No wonder she flinched like a soldier and pulsed like a storm.

She was chaos and control fused together in skin too small to hold it.

Bruce exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, eyes never leaving the screen.

He should tell someone.

He should call Steve. Or Wanda and Nat.

But the words sat like stones behind his teeth.

They weren’t ready.

Did they even know that Hydra had taken samples of Wanda's DNA before she left? Or that the Red Room had taken samples from Natasha before she defected, or maybe even after she was given the serum that they made?

Instead, he reached for the terminal and entered a single override command, locking the file under Level Ten encryption.

Only available to Fury if he went looking for it and himself.

Bruce closed his eyes.

And for the first time in hours, he wished they hadn’t asked for the sample at all.

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