#and it was a bit of a thing to get them both to leave

[gutsby]

State of Play

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel can’t keep things quiet.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think that’s it.

Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial

Word count: 8.2k

Airplane food tasted like shit.

Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someone’s unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.

The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissed—your second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, ‘Fuck it, let them go.’ You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.

And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.

You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadn’t had any exams at the end of the week, so you’d decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldn’t be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldn’t tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, you’d savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.

Just thinking those words made you smile.

Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.

Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.

You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didn’t mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place you’d be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.

You looked around, eager as ever.

Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?

Around Joel, that was never really a thing—but anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?

From: Joel

Just parked

Headed in now

That had been twenty minutes ago.

I’ll be over by the stairs

Except he wasn’t there.

You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your age—evidently, all colleges started break at the same time—that were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldn’t spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.

You pulled out your phone to text him.

From: You

Sooooo did someone kidnap you or—

You didn’t get to finish that message.

Before you could hit ‘send,’ you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.

The same grin crept onto your face—you couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me, I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend…”

You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someone’s body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.

“Oh, yeah? Then where is he?”

Joel turned you to face him.

Well, shit, there he is.

Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepy—and who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when he’d likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didn’t miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.

Perhaps you’d come on a little strong.

Easy now, he’s probably tired as shit.

“Sorry. Just missed you,” you mumbled into Joel’s neck.

He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.

His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

‘Don’t be sorry. I missed you more’ was all he said.

And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house you’d grown up in, though, you went over to Joel’s cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time you’d spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.

Cold as shit.

“52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?”

You’d pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.

“It ain’t that bad. We got blankets,” Joel huffed.

He hadn’t talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didn’t blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way he’d fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.

But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.

You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.

“My nipples could cut diamonds right now.”

And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.

To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.

He left the room shortly after that—ostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.

Guilty.

What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since you’d gotten here to make him take on that expression?

Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story you’d told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because you’d jumped him too fast—opted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?

Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinking—overthinking, really. You couldn’t help doing it.

In spite of the near-dizzying excitement you’d felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.

“Shit,” you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.

You were standing in Joel’s room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joel’s dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joel’s. Or naked.

Did he want to have sex tonight?

He’d looked so tired, and he hadn’t touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, but—

“Hey.”

A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you

It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before you’d snuck him into your communal showers.

You smiled faintly at the memory.

You looked back up at Joel.

“I figured you’d get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.”

Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. He’d bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.

You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.

You decided you’d dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joel’s bed at the other end of the room.

How long you waited there was anyone’s guess.

Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. He’s probably just tired.

And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.

You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.

Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldn’t really blame him.

He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, ‘Night, sweet pea,’ and you couldn’t ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joel’s pants was impossible to ignore—he was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.

Okay, well…maybe we don’t have to sleep just yet.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joel—helped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimes—and right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, you’d grown self-conscious again, and you weren’t sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joel’s dick in you might help.

So you turned around and climbed right on him.

You straddled Joel’s hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress relief—a way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deed—and it didn’t take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joel’s cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didn’t move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.

Joel’s eyes flew open.

He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.

“Sweetheart—” he started, strained.

It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.

Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.

You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joel’s grip really constricted.

His fingers seared your skin.

A groan rumbled in his chest.

“Baby, please…” he croaked. He swallowed hard.

Was he trying to beg? That wouldn’t be a first, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll get on top,” you offered, quiet.

With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.

“This…I need to…fuck.”

Words seemed to evade him, and that wasn’t surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.

Joel always teased you for it, so now you’d do the same.

Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since you’d gotten back, and now you didn’t feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.

“Baby,” he hissed.

He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.

It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.

So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didn’t waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt it—his grasp pulling back.

You heard him, hoarsely:

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since you’d slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.

“We can’t do this,” Joel blurted out at once.

You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.

“What’s wro—”

“I— I need to tell you something. Now. I’m sorry.”

At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didn’t hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.

Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you might’ve done something wrong, or crossed some line.

That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There weren’t tears, but that wasn’t far off.

How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?

You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me to—”

“No, I’m sorry. We just can’t do this right now.”

His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.

You couldn’t help the words that followed.

“Did— did I just do something wrong?”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anythin—”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

Your pulse leapt and sped up.

“No, no, not at all. I’m jus—”

“Because you can tell me.”

“That’s not what I was—”

“If you want to break up—”

“What? That ain’t what I said.”

“So what is it? What’s going on?”

Your worst thoughts were winning.

You were jumping to conclusions again.

There wasn’t time to be rational or sedate.

“Joel Miller, if you’re gonna dump me right now—”

“Sweetheart, there’s a chance I might be your uncle.”

“What?!”

In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.

Joel could’ve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, he’d done it horribly.

The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.

The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.

You’d been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?

The look on your face as you shuffled back didn’t surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.

“Listen, I can explain…” he started, speaking slowly.

He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.

“What do you mean you’re my fucking uncle, Joel?!”

His widened, too. You might’ve misheard him.

“No, no, I’m not. I’m probably not, I just—”

“Probably?! What is ‘probably’?!”

You’d all but screeched that.

You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, ‘What did I just do? What have we been doing?’ and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like you’d just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldn’t blame you for that. He needed to fix this.

He’d meant to handle this himself. He’d called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.

It was a stretch.

As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time you’d been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasn’t the case.

There was no way.

But if there was…

Joel hadn’t planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadn’t wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. He’d intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brother—if he ever would pick up his fucking phone—and he’d meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then you’d changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays you’d had, Joel still wasn’t able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. He’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dad’s secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.

Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you weren’t his niece. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So he’d tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you’d wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.

He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.

“Tommy might’ve— might’ve fucked your mom.”

It was graceless. Just like everything else.

Your eyes went even wider.

“What?” you breathed.

He kept going.

“There’s…your dad was tellin’ me, there’s a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messin’ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, and…and he isn’t completely sure—there were a few other guys, but he doesn’t know—and he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, and…well, I’ve been tryin’ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ain’t pickin’ up. I wanted—”

“Get your keys,” you cut in suddenly.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Wait, what?”

Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.

“Where are we—” Joel tried again.

You snapped your fingers, like you’d found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.

He wasn’t sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keys—they were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as always—and just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.

You were already headed for the car port. You didn’t look behind you, and wouldn’t so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.

“Where are we goin’? You gonna talk to me, honey?”

Joel tried sounding soft. You weren’t having it.

You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.

You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.

First, a frown.

Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.

“I have Tommy’s location. We’re gonna go beat his ass.”

Life was great for Tommy Miller.

Like, really great.

He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.

Cool. Calm. Serene.

He should buy a house of his own out here one day.

The place they were staying at used to be his granddad’s. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.

Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joel’s fixation with you.

If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.

What he couldn’t totally comprehend was why you two wouldn’t come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddy’s back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasn’t that intolerant that he couldn’t be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. You’d be graduating in a few months—you could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.

These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.

He was about to turn and drape an arm over Maria’s side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.

Someone was knocking.

Banging.

Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they might’ve been apt to knock the whole thing down.

For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.

He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.

And there you were, looking just as enraged.

“You motherfucker!” you hissed at him.

Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didn’t have time to talk to his brother.

Tommy didn’t have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.

Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.

Disbelief and…something like disgust?

“Did you fuck my mom?!” you spat.

What the— what? What?

When he was too stunned to speak—from both drowsiness and the initial shock—you stepped in again. You didn’t touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.

“Answer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!”

“Sweetheart—” Joel started behind you.

Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.

“Did you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!”

Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.

For some reason, his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.

“Oh god, you did!” you shrieked. Words high and shrill. “You fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!”

Oh, fuck.

What the fuck?

What the everliving fuck?

At last, he found words: “No! No, I never—”

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Maria must be thinking.

You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.

“We are so fucked!” you said to him. In shock.

Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.

Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether they’d actually make sense was anyone’s guess.

“I— I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,” he said.

Decent enough.

But you didn’t believe him.

“My dad said you did,” you bit back. “He said that you and—and some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since I’ve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!”

Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.

Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.

“Just…just come clean if you did. We need to know.”

That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didn’t really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joel’s niece.

Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.

This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.

Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.

“I never…in my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,” he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. “I was—what, like…twenty-two when you were born? I didn’t even lose my virginity ‘til I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.”

“But her dad said—” Joel started.

“Her dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasn’t, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.”

He felt stupid.

Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadn’t gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldn’t matter—it didn’t matter, and he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest—but still, he felt a pang in his chest.

And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he might’ve slept with Amy? He knew damn well they’d never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but that’s all they ever were, or appeared.

None of it made any sense.

Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.

And where he’d expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sun’s first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.

Your family’s kind of insane.

I still love you, by the way.

Maria didn’t need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldn’t help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.

Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.

You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.

“Shit. Tommy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry,” you said.

His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.

In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.

I’m so sorry, Maria.

Also, I love you more.

“It’s all good, kid.” Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct he’d always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. “If I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckin’ my uncle, I’d also try to kick their ass.”

You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.

“You’re too big. I could never actually do it,” you said.

“I might,” Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.

That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadn’t steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.

“Even if he ain’t your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? He’s an ass, as you can see.”

He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.

The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.

He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joel’s lap.

“Too late. We’re dating,” his brother hummed back.

Dating?

Well, shit.

Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surprise—and muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if he’d had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.

He would have to keep this quick.

“Goin’ steady, huh?” he pressed.

“Don’t start.” Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.

You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldn’t resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. He’d been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.

He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didn’t intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.

“And y’all didn’t ask for my permission?” he called over his shoulder. Taunting. “A father has a right to know!”

Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:

“Sorry, Dad, Uncle Joel’s dick was too good to resist!”

Eeeeeewwwwwww.

Tommy made a face as he left.

“I’m going back to bed. Y’all are sick.”

And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.

“Your life is a Folgers commercial,” she chuckled.

“Pretty much,” he murmured as he joined her.

Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriend’s way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.

“You’ll need this. Use it to cover your ears,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I know anything about those two, they’re about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.”

You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.

It always was, though, wasn’t it?

The concern wasn’t one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brother—who was not your biological father—and his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.

Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?

Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?

There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.

Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, could’ve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.

If you’d had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.

You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:

‘WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!’

‘WE’RE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!’

Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest now—having just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, well…it did things to him.

It did things to you, too.

It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper

“Joel—”

“Look at me, darlin’,” Joel said, gruff. “You’re close, hm?”

You were.

You nodded your head against his firm hold.

Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldn’t stay on his like he’d wanted. Joel grunted.

He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.

Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standing—more a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joel’s gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.

And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. You’d been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since you’d gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.

With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didn’t hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasn’t pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.

“Y’know, I meant what I said. Last time,” Joel murmured.

What?

As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?

You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.

“Wh— Huh?” You sounded dumb as shit. “What?”

Joel’s teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.

He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.

You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didn’t hear it when he spoke again:

“I told you that I was ready.” Another gentle withdrawal. “To tell your dad.” A thrust back in. “Whenever you were.”

Shit.

So that was what this was about.

You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.

But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might say—or do—to the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.

From what you could tell, though, Joel wasn’t feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.

Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.

He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.

You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.

Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull you’d left, Joel went on.

“You— you want that, too, don’t you?”

There was patent need in that tone.

The slightest tinge of insecurity.

You didn’t want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah, Joel. I want it,” you whispered. “I’m just scared.”

Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.

“I am, too,” he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. “We— we can wait. I just wanna…take you places, hon.”

You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joel’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.

You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.

“I love you. I…I don’t care how long this takes us.”

“I love you, Joel.”

You couldn’t manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joel’s gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.

On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as you’d ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.

‘I love you’ was almost like a refrain between you both.

Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsed—muttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.

There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldn’t help but savor the warmth and weight of Joel’s spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.

You weren’t surprised, and didn’t flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what he’d wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after you’d swallowed, and Joel’s first instinct was to smile.

“You did so good for me, sweet pea,” he praised.

His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joel’s chest and shoulders were glistening.

“Shower?” you murmured, turning around to face him.

Joel hummed in agreement.

He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his

You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasn’t high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.

It was Tommy’s. You could tell.

Sensing the same, Joel called out:

“We’re sleepin’, man, c’mon. Go on now.”

You were certain Tommy and Maria could’ve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joel’s arm around your waist.

The knocking continued.

This time, it was accompanied by Tommy’s voice.

“Are y’all decent?”

In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.

Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.

Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.

Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.

You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, ‘Relax.’

“Wh— why is my dad calling you?!” you demanded.

You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommy—he was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or something—and when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.

“What?! What does he want?” you pressed again.

Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the ‘unmute’ button, and his grin grew.

“I dunno, why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said.

At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: “DON’T!”

It almost would’ve been comical if it wasn’t also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?

As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didn’t take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokehold’s illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.

“Tommy, you’re bein’ a—” you started, sharp.

“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Joel finished for you.

He’d almost wrestled the phone out of Tommy’s grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both again—he threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.

Force of habit.

You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.

And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key you’d been trying to avoid

“Shit,” you cursed reflexively.

“Sweetheart?”

The phone was on speaker.

Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.

“D-Dad?” you stammered.

You half-expected him to shout—‘What on earth are you doin’ home early? And with Tommy?’—and you winced. For a second, you thought your friend might’ve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.

“Hey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Y’all at the airport?”

You swallowed.

You must’ve said yes, because your father went on.

“Good, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?”

“Why?” You hoped he didn’t hear you falter.

Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joel’s expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brother’s stayed amused.

Tommy knew something you didn’t.

Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dad’s voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.

It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.

You hadn’t thought you’d ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:

“I’m down in Galveston—I want y’all to come too, ASAP!”

[dipperpepper77]

Arranged Marriage AU LADS Men

Dipper's Delusions

TAGS: Fluff, AFAB reader, children, men who yearn... ARE MEN WHO EARN.

Intro: Your kingdom reeked of smoke and burnt produce. The heat was so palpable that it seemed to stick to everyone's skin. Leaving yours to always be damp with soft sweat. The war was taking far too long to end. Your parents, the king and queen, opting for more drastic measures. Securing your hand to a foreign kingdom could provide aid and stability to your tiny kingdom. You weren't one for dramatics. Only nodding hesitantly as the documents were filled and signed over. Whilst, you didn't want to marry out of convenience... you also didn't want to see your people starve or succumb to the war.

The resources and power of the foreign kingdom would be enough to end the war and establish your own as one of the greats. One to not be messed with. Your people could now live in peace for your sacrifice. It would help that he was easy on the eyes.

It wasn't hard to convince him for your hand. He knew you. From prior balls were you didn't even spare him a passing glance. Now it was relatively the same. You still didn't grant him a passing glance in your shared castle. But, oh... how he longed for you. You were completely unaware of his sentiments for you. However, you'd soon find out.

Sea god Rafayel: You picked at your food with the gold plated fork. Your lips parting to make a comment but stopping halfway. Rafayel cleared his throat, "something's on your mind. Say it". You gave a curt nod before speaking "I thought it would be highly inappropriate to eat one's own kind". He let out an amused laugh. "Seafood? It's the circle of life, my dear. Eat or be eaten. Humans truly know nothing.. do they?" You shook your head a bit. Feeling more comfortable to take a bite of the seafood. It was rich and buttery. Light with the slight taste of the ocean. His hand grazed yours, picking it up in his soft delicate palm. "May I?" You nod. He places kisses to your knuckles. You felt a burning feeling in your throat. A lump forming as he nuzzled against your hand. "You don't need to feel the same... just know one thing. You will always have a place in my heart."

You found yourself easing into Rafayel. Gradually picking up with his steps. Finding yourself nuzzled in his embrace as he showed you his art pieces. More often than not you just found that... you couldn't be apart from him. His head laid on your lap as you fixed up his hair. You held golden shears as you cut small bits of his violet strands. "Raf... I think I'll do this wrong." He only smiled up at you. "You could never do wrong in my eyes. I trust you." He bit back a smirk. "Besides, If I look awful I'll tell everyone it's because my dear wife is possessive."

The kingdom was pushing for an heir after the anniversary of your marriage. You sat on the bed. The lump crawling back into your throat. You loved Rafayel. But, you were afraid. What if he changed? What if all he was doing was wooing you for an heir?

Rafayel kissed behind your ear. "Listen to me. We go at your pace.. okay?" You nod gently. Breathing out gently. "I'm scared.." His gaze softened. Looking at you like you were a wet trembling animal he needed to protect. He pushed a strand of hair out of your face. "Have I ever told you... you always happen to be the most beautiful woman in the room?" He got up. Extending his hand for you to take. He lead you to the garden. You looked at it in awe. You. Paintings full of your face. Painted in a way that showed you how utterly devoted he was.

(Skip forward) Rafayel was a proud dad of twins. One girl and one boy. Both had your hair and his face. Oh, how he doted on them. Kissing their cheeks constantly. The kingdom was quick to choose the boy as the heir. Leading to constant protests from a moody Rafayel. "No. Whoever shows they are ready for the throne gets it." He will NOT back down when it comes to showing equality to your children.

Crown of Light Xavier: A man beyond his age. When you heard of him at first, you thought he was an old man. But, when you saw him... it was another story. He was beautiful. You averted your gaze away from him. The side of your face seemed to be cradled by the candlelight. He smiled softly. "Do you like the light?" Your eyebrows furrowed but you decided to indulge him with a soft nod. His palm extended, a bead of light appeared only to transform to a bunny.

As soon as the precious moment occurred, it seemed to fleet just as fast. News of the kingdom awaiting an heir seemed to strike Xavier down. He hardly spoke to you. Leaving you to go into the bed chambers and sleeping. Dozing off as if he didn't have a wife.

You sat on the plush cushion of the couch. Embroidering a pillow for your future children if your husband just got out of his bed chambers for once. Then, you saw him standing at the doorway. His face looking like he mourned you. You spoke softly, "what troubles you so much?" He shuddered before he took a seat next to you. Whatever he was about to say seemed to be rehearsed. "I.. can... I can not give you children." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Can't or will not?" He shook his head gently. "Will not."

The castle has been tense ever since. You hardly spoke to him. It was the casual difference of him saying will not rather than could not. You sat on the silk bed in your bed chambers. Looking at nothing in particular. Rather, you were deep in thought about how you even got into this situation. Xavier walked into the room, blowing the soft flames of the candles that illuminated your room. You were about to protest... but, his hand rose. "Just... let me speak okay?" You nodded quietly. "It's not that I do not want children with you. It's more that I... I'm scared. Terrified actually. What if I'm not a good father? What if I don't last long enough to see them into adulthood.. I... I can't". Your hand went to the small of his back. Truly the most reassuring thing you could've done. He smiled softly. Using his evol to make a little light show for you as an apology. Light illuminated the room, forming intricate shapes.

You two had triplets on the first go. Poor Xavier's heart nearly dropped. But, he was making the most of it. Two little girls with golden strands and your eyes. The boy inheriting your hair and his blue eyes. King Xavier was reduced to a restless father. His girls pulling at his locks while the boy nestled in his chest... he wouldn't have it any other way.

Ice King Zayne: "I'd like to formally introduce my-". He walked away before you could even finish your sentence. Your eyes widened. What? He was the one who rushed your union. So why was he pushing you away? Did he think you lower than him?

You avoided him like a plague and so did he. The ice of his evol was not the only thing making this castle so... frigid. You ended up developing a routine: wake up, finish up royal tasks, meet with your ladies in waiting, eat in the empty dining table, and go to bed. 150 steps to your bed chambers. So you started counting again and again. 150 exact. What a mundane and boring life.

Today was no different. 150 steps to leave your room and to the dining table. But, this time you saw Zayne eating. You took your seat and ate in silence. The day was pretty pleasant afterwards. 150 steps to the chambers... 1...2...3. You only counted to 50 until you felt a hand grab your wrist and tug you somewhere else. Your mind was on autopilot. 150... 151? 180 steps to Zayne's chambers. Wait.. why are you in his chambers? He helped you out of your robe. His gaze appreciative of the silk white nightgown you wore. You looked up at him baffled. But, he just tugged you into bed with him. You were spooned into his embrace. Back hitting his muscular chest.

You were weak. How else do you explain just sleeping comfortably? He nuzzled his face into your neck. "I'm... not one for affection. I really tried... I just find being away from you is unbearable." What you didn't know is that he was a mess around you. The times he rushed away from you... he was hiding in the corner of the room blushing like a fool. He was not good at being vulnerable at all. But, he will try for you.

Twin girls appeared in his arms. Both having your face, your hair, your mannerisms. His genes didn't seem to even fight it. He thanked all the wishing he did. These little girls thawed the rest of his frigid heart that you couldn't reach. He would always carry snacks hidden under his heavy crown. Chocolate for the eldest twin, strawberry jam packets for the other, and whatever you craved. All with a faint blush whenever he was around you.

Dragon Sylus: You signed up for a marriage… not this. You were stuck in the tower being guarded by a damn dragon? You knew his name was Sylus. Knew he was also the king of the kingdom. Knew he preferred to be alone and recluse in the tower. Knew he hated humans. But, also knew he had to endure to keep the kingdom out of ruins.

He clung to you. His strong voice squeaking out. What happened to this strong dragon? “M-may.. I hold on to your ribbon?” You nod. His long fingers twirled around the ribbon that laid behind your dress. The one that held your waist. His black nails scratching lightly on it. “Pretty.”

You woke up more often than not in his arms. He always asked before he touched you. Not wanting to scare you off. His finger tips were ash black. His nails pointed and sharp. The noir color fading past his knuckle to reveal pale skin. Your fingers reached his horns earning you a soft groan. “They’re sensitive, my belle.” You took your hands off. He looked at you with almost worry. His nail dragging on your soft cheek. “Do I.. scare you?” You shot up. Wanting to protest. He shook his head. Getting up and leaving the room.

You found him mopping by a small nest that could only fit you and him if you squeezed. Maybe he made it so he could envelop you whole? That’s how he felt he could protect you. Your hand petted his hair. Asking.. begging to talk. He looked up at you. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s hard enough to ask you to have heirs with me. They’d be half dragon and half human.. I can’t ask you to create monsters.” You shook your head. Explaining you didn’t find him repulsive. But, his hand found yours again. “D-don’t.. not for my sake. I’d do anything for you. My horns? I’ll shave them down. Look more human. I’ll cut the claws.. the fangs too. Anything. Please.. I don’t wish to frighten you.” When you finally got him to see reason, he slept soundly on your chest.

He was the best girl dad. His little girl had your hair and his crimson eyes. She had the most fierce personality anyone had ever seen. More importantly… she had her dad wrapped around her finger. He’d always make her a nest. Always laugh whenever she started showing her dragon side. You two would take her to the gardens so she could enjoy the sun.

God of War Caleb: Strategically, this was a match made in heaven. His kingdom was one that never lost a battle. The soldiers were all top quality and ruthless when it came to protecting the crown. But, you grew up with Caleb. The powerful king was the same person who’d fuss over your dress, fix your ribbons, put your shoes on for you. His reward? You hardly acknowledged him as a romantic prospect. Hardly batting an eye to him at the balls.

How long would it take for him to snap? Not long actually.. you’re his wife now. His queen. You were blissfully unaware to his romantic sentiments. Usually giving him the same polite nod as always. Caleb… was a good and dear friend. Until tonight.

His hand snaked to the small of your back. Keeping you pressed against him. His cheek rubbed against yours. His voice… soft. Almost melodic. “Am I not enough? I’m yours… so humbly yours. My heart..” He placed your hand on his warm chest. Your fingertips feeling his steady and strong heartbeat. “This… it beats for you.” You could only swallow hard. Your eyes flickering with recognition. You truly loved him.

He followed you around like a lost puppy. Making countless excuses as for why he needed to be in your line of sight. No one understood how this man crumbled to a pathetic fool over you. But, they weren’t crazy enough to question him. A single utter of your name had his intention. If it was a negative comment? The person would rather be dead and gone than face Caleb’s wrath. Come hell or high water, that man would go to war for your dignity.

Caleb had his heir. A boy who looked exactly like him. A carbon copy down to his pout. He adored the boy.. absolutely. But, mentally cursed himself because he wished he looked a bit more like you. He also cursed himself because his son is EXACTLY like him. Caleb would follow you around for affection or praise, only to get knocked by his son. His son was equally possessive and jealous over your time. A chaotic but loving home is what I can best describe it as.

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[slutzforbueckers]

I NEED paige to be RECEIVING the strap (bottom paige)

quiet

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: paige dragging you away from the rest of the team so you can fuck her, but she’s gotta stay quiet because they can’t find out you’re fucking the rookie.

a/n: this was kind of ass, im sorry ml 😭😭 also this is not proofread so ignore any mistakes!!

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

the hotel room was fairly quiet, save for the pants and whines coming from the blonde under you. the lights of the city shone through the sheer curtains, casting enough light that you could make out her features. on the other side of the wall you could hear the rest of the team still conversing. you and paige had been there before but that was until she texted you—a risky string of words explaining how she wanted you.

that’s how you ended up here, her legs wrapped tight around your waist, breathing out quiet moans into the crook of your neck, fingernails digging into your back hard enough to make you feel it. you turned your head enough to kiss along the side of her neck.

paige bit her bottom lip so hard you thought she might draw blood, trying to keep herself from making any noise. the thick strap slid in and out at a slow, deep pace that made it harder to stay quiet.

“shh, baby,” you whispered into her ear, voice teasing as you angled your hips just right, pressing her legs further back to reach impossibly deeper. paige let out a heavy moan, almost too loud for your liking. “gotta stay quiet. you don’t want them to find out, do you?”

paige shook her head quickly, heat pricking at her skin from the thought of your teammates finding out about you two. you smiled against her skin, pressing a soft kiss before you sat up. you ran your hands up the smooth skin of her thighs, pushing them apart as you rocked into her harder.

“oh my god—“ she whined, back arching, fingers curling in the sheets. your eyes were trained onto her cunt, watching the strap disappear. you bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning at the sight of her. paige’s hips jerked up when you ghosted your thumb over her slick clit, a moan falling from her lips that was sure to get you caught.

“paige,” you spoke sternly, slowing your pace down to a point that had her grasping at your waist, trying to pull you back in.

“m’sorry, fuck—keep going, please. i’ll be quiet.” she begged, her breath catching in her throat. you gave her one last look before you started moving again, leaning down and kissing her to keep her noises muffled. paige moaned into your mouth as you started to fuck her harder, your thumb still rubbing quick circles on her clit.

she tilted her hips up to meet your thrusts, a silent plea for more that you happily answered, picking up your pace just enough to have the headboard gently tapping against the wall.

you froze for a second at the sound, both of you wide-eyed, holding your breath. muffled laughter from the next room broke the tension, and you couldn’t help but look down at her.

“you’re doing so good for me,” you muttered as you pressed your lips to her jawline. all you wanted was to leave marks in all the obvious places but you knew you couldn’t, you had to keep things private. “being so quiet.”

“y/n—“ without warning she broke for you with a shudder, muffling her cry against your shoulder, legs locking tight around you as her orgasm ripped through her. you slowed but didn’t stop, fucking her through it, whispering soft praises into her hair until her body finally went limp beneath you.

you pulled out carefully, tossing the strap to the floor before tugging her into your arms. paige tucked herself into your chest, thighs still trembling, breathing uneven. for a while, you just lay there, heartbeat slowly calming, the city lights flickering against the walls.

then, her voice — quiet, half-buried in your skin. “told you i’d be quiet.”

a love-sick grin broke out on your face and you scoffed.

“barely.”

[therese-lokidottir]

I mean what I say it would be toxic co-dependence, yes both men are all kinds of self-destructive but in their personal relationships, Loki is all give while Tony is all take. Loki took care of Thor his entire life, protecting him, using his words, and being the one to think things through. When Loki couldn't take it anymore and dug that hole people were content to leave him there. Tony had dug plenty of holes, when he was dying his friends were still there, when he built Ultron his friends were still the.

Tony's motivation for backing the accords was 100% about him, both about his own feelings of lack of self-control and about getting Pepper, and even when Tony burnt those bridges not only did he still have Rhodie, he still had Steve if he wanted to. More than Loki ever had Thor.

People only care about Loki when he can provide something to them, and more often than not Loki will. The entire Loki series is nothing but pure co-dependence on Loki. Loki was spared only for the service he could provide, and Loki does everything for others while they do nothing for him and get furious when stops doing for them.

Now don't get me wrong Tony would at least be better than Mobius. Tony could at least pass that low bar. But you know Tony would just do things, cross lines, and touch the stuff he is not supposed to touch and not only expect Loki to be ok with it but to understand why he did this stupid thing. If Tony emotioned Loki would be there for him and talk to him and let him know it's ok. If Loki emotioned Tony would maybe pull back on being dick, but I don't expect much words because Tony doesn't know how to use those in a helping way.

The one thing I can say is I don't think Tony would willfully emotionally manipulate Loki in the ways others have. Tony would not wave that stick of approval in front of Loki's face and then act smug about. He would however just accept all the give from Loki without much thought and he's get real mad when Loki called him on is BS.

Also these men are a lot alike and they would both come to realizes and neither would like that one bit. They would have arguments and say says that cut right to the bone

[dedalvs]

hey friend, i know you’ve been a pretty serious supporter and user of duolingo for a long time (so have i!), so i’m curious what your feeling is about the announcement that they’re going to be doubling down on using more and more AI for content creation, including using it to avoid having to hire actual humans?

personally, i’m really disappointed - i’ve disliked how much they’ve been using it so far, but the app is otherwise a great tool, and all of the other apps seem to use it, too, so it’s not easy to just jump ship to an app that isn’t using AI. i’ve seen a lot of responses that are like “hurr hurr just use a textbook idiot” which i find really unhelpful; learning from an app is easier and a lot more convenient in a lot of ways than having to use analog materials, especially if you study a high number of languages. still, i don’t ethically feel that i can keep giving them money if this is the direction they’re going.

what are your thoughts?

This is going to be a longer answer than you might have expected.

In 2001, fellow undergrad. Reiko Kataoka (now a professor at San Jose State) resurrected a club that had been dead for a few years at UC Berkeley linguistics: The Society of Linguistics Undergraduates (SLUG). One of its former undergraduate members, Alan Yu (now a professor at the University of Chicago), happened to be a graduate student at Berkeley at the time, so he helped her get it off the ground. The club was exactly what I was looking for at that time: a group for ling. undergrads. to get together and talk about language and linguistics, my new favorite thing. It was great! I even put together a couple phonology problems using my conlangs to distribute at a meeting. The following year I became the second president of the new SLUG and helped to create the SLUG Undergraduate Linguistics Symposium, where I gave my first talk on language creation. Being a part of this club was a major factor in shaping my undergraduate experience at Berkeley.

When I graduated I went to UC San Diego to pursue a graduate degree in linguistics. Part of the reason I chose UCSD was because it was an incredibly inviting atmosphere. Before we accepted they paid for prospective undergraduates down to San Diego and housed them with current grad. students who told them about the program and took them out for dinner, etc. It allowed prospective students to ask questions they wouldn't ask of professors (e.g. who's got beef with who). It was really cool, and so in our second year, we continued the tradition of housing prospective grad. students. Since we both went to Berkeley, my ex-wife (also a Berkeley ling. grad.) and I hosted Klinton Bicknell.

Klinton, it turns out, was the current president of SLUG. I didn't know him while I was at Cal, but we did overlap. It turns out he had renamed the club SLUGS, which I thought was weird. He said "It happened organically" and laughed in an off-putting way. He very much gave off the impression of someone who will smile at you and say whatever is necessary for you to go away. Klinton ended up going to UCSD the following year and I ended up leaving the following year.

Fast forward to 2016. HBO had put the kibosh on Living Language Valyrian, and so I turned to Duolingo. They had previously reached out about putting together a Dothraki course, but I declined, due to having a book out, Living Language Dothraki. With no hope for Valyrian, I asked if they'd be interested in me putting together a course on High Valyrian, which I did. I had some help at the beginning, but, truth be told, most of that course was built by me alone. I became very familiar with the Incubator, where Duolingo contributors built most of their courses. It was a bit clunky, but with enough elbow grease, you could put together something that was pretty darn good. It wasn't as shiny as their in house courses, because they couldn't do things like custom images, speaking challenges, etc., but it was still pretty good.

At the time I joined, everyone who was working in the Incubator was doing it for free. We were doing it because we wanted to put together a high quality course on our language of choice on Duolingo. When Duolingo went public, they realized this situation was untenable, so they began paying contributors. There were contracts, hourly wages, caps on billable hours, etc. It essentially became an as-you-will part time job, which wasn't too bad.

The Incubator faced a couple potentially insurmountable problems. When the courses were created by volunteers, Duolingo could say "This was made by volunteers; use at your own risk", essentially. Once they were paid, though, all courses became Duolingo products, which means they bear more responsibility for their quality. With so many courses (I mean, sooooooooo many courses) it's hard to ensure quality. Furthermore, "quality" doesn't just mean "are the exercises correct" and "are the sentences interesting". Quality means not being asked to translate sentences like "Women can't cook" or "The boy stabbed the puppy". With literally hundreds of courses each with thousands of sentences written by contractors, there was no way for Duolingo to ensure not just that they were staying on brand with these sentences, but that they weren't writing ugly things. There were reporting systems, there were admins that could resolve things behind the scenes, but with so much content, it became a situation where they would have had to hire a ton more people or scale back.

We saw what Duolingo did before with one aspect of their platform that had a similar issue. If you remember way back, Duolingo used to have a "forum", that was a real forum, but for most users, what it meant was on every single sentence in Duolingo users could make comments. These comments would explain grammar points, explain references, make jokes, etc. It was honestly really helpful. But, of course, with any system like that comes trolls, and so volunteers who had come to create language learning resources also found themselves being content reviewers, having to decide which comments to allow, which to delete, who to ban, etc. As Duolingo became more popular, the troll problem grew, and so eventually Duolingo's response was to kill the forum. This mean you were no longer able to see legitimate, helpful comments on sentences. They threw the baby out with the bathwater.

This is why it was no surprise to me when they shuttered the Incubator. The technology was out of date (from their standpoint, you understand. Their in house courses were way more sophisticated, but they couldn't update the Incubator without potentially breaking hundreds of courses they hadn't created themselves), quality assurance was nearly impossible, and they were also paying people to create and maintain these out-of-date courses they had no direct control over. Of course they closed it down. It would've taken a massive investment of time and resources (and capital) to take the Incubator as it was and turn it into something robust and future proof (think old Wordpress vs. Wordpress now), and Duolingo wanted to do other things, instead—like math and music. And so the Incubator died.

But that wasn't the only reason. This was something we heard internally and then heard later on publicly. There was rumbling that Duolingo was using AI to help flesh out their in house courses, which was troubling. This was before the big Gen AI boom, but after a particularly pernicious conlang-creation website I won't name had come to exist, so it caught my attention. I decided to do a little digging and see what this was all about, and I ended up with a familiar name.

Klinton Bicknell.

Indeed, the very same Klinton Bicknell was the head of all AI ventures at Duolingo. Whether enthusiastically or reluctantly or somewhere in between, he was absolutely a part of the decision to close the Incubator and remove all the contractors who had created all the courses that gave Duolingo its reputation. (Because, seriously, why did most of us go to Duolingo? Not for English, Spanish, French, and German.)

I know you sent this ask because of the recent news about Duolingo, but, to be honest, when I saw one of these articles float across my dash I had to check the date, because to me, the news was old. Duolingo isn't just now replacing contractors with AI: They already did. That was the Incubator; those were contractors. That is why there won't be more new language courses on Duolingo, and why the current courses are frozen. This isn't news. This is the continuation of a policy that had already firmly in place, and a direction that rests solidly on the shoulders of Klinton Bicknell.

But you don't have to take my word for it. He's talked about this plenty himself:

Podcast (Generative Now)

Article in Fast Company

Article in CNET

Google can help you find others.

At this point there's a sharp and baffling division in society with respect to generative AI. On the one hand, you have those of us who disapprove of generative AI on a truly fundamental level. Not only is the product something we don't want, the cost—both environmental and ethical—is utterly insupportable. Imagine someone asking you, "Hey, would you like a sandwich made out of shoelaces and shit?" And you say, "God, no, why would anyone ever want that?!" And their response is, "But wait! To make this sandwich out of shoelaces and shit we had to strangle 1,000 kittens and drain the power grid. Now do you want it?"

On the other side, there are people who are still—I mean today—saying things like, "Wow! Have you heard of this AI thing?! It's incredible! I want AI in everything! Can AI make my table better? Can I add AI to my arthritis? We should make everything AI as quickly as possible!"

And conversations between the two sides go roughly like this:

A: Good lord, now they're using AI art on phone ads? Something has to stop this… B: Yeah, it's so cool! Look, I can make a new emoji on my phone with AI! A: Uhhh…what? I was saying it's bad. B: Totally! I wonder if there's an AI shower yet? Like, it could control the temperature so you always have the perfect shower! A: Do you know how much power it takes to run these genAI apps? At a time when we're already struggling with income inequality, housing, inflation, and climate change? B: I know! We should get AI to fix that! A: But AI is the problem! B: Hey ChatGPT: Teach me how to surf!

It's frustrating, because the B group is very much the 💁 group. It's like, "Someone was using ChatGPT and it told them to kill themselves!" and they respond, "Ha, ha! Wow. That shouldn't have happened. What a learning opportunity! ☺️ Hey ChatGPT: How do you make gazpacho?" There's a complete disconnect.

In terms of what you do with your money, it's a difficult thing. For example, I've used Apple computers consistently since 1988. I'm fully immersed in the Apple ecosystem and I love what they do. They, like every other major company, are employing AI. If you go over to r/apple any time one of these articles comes out, it's all comments from people criticizing Apple for not putting together a better AI product and putting it out faster; none saying that they shouldn't be doing it. They're all ravenous for genAI for reasons that defy my understanding. And so what do I do? I've turned off the AI features on all my Apple devices, but beyond that, I'm locked in. From one direction, I look like a hypocrite for using devices created by a company that's investing in AI. From the other direction, though, I am using their devices to say what they're doing is fucking despicable, and they should stop—and I'll keep doing so so long as there's breath in my body.

Duolingo isn't necessary the way that, say, a computer or phone is nowadays. Duolingo is still usable for free, though, of course, they make it a frustrating experience to use its free service. (This is certainly nothing exclusive to Duolingo. That's the way of everything nowadays: streaming services, games, social media... Not "Well give you cool things if you pay!" but "We'll make your life miserable if you don't!") If you do use their Incubator courses, though, I can assure you that those are AI-free. lol They're too outdated to have anything like that. Some of those courses are bigger than others; some are better than others. But all of them were put together by human volunteers, so there's that, at least. At this point, I don't think Duolingo needs your money—nor will they miss it. They're on a kind of macro plane at the moment where the next ten years will either see the company get even bigger or completely disintegrate; there's no in between. They're likely going to take a big swing into education (perhaps something like Duolingo University [Duoversity?]) and it's either going to make a ton of money or bankrupt them. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

I've taken the Finnish course in its entirety and we're doing Hungarian now, and I've learned a lot—not enough, but a lot. I'm grateful for it. I like the platform, and I agree with the basic tenets of the language courses (daily shallow intake is better than occasional deep intake; implicit learning ahead of explicit instruction is better than the reverse). I'm grateful they exist, I'm grateful we can still use them (because they can always retire all of them, remember), and I think it's brought a lot of positivity to the world. I think Luis Van Ahn is a good guy and I hope he can steer this thing back on course, but I'm not putting my money on it.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Party Exit - Will Smith

Summary: At a team hangout, Will gets clingy and a little too handsy with Y/n, teasing her with kisses and playful touches until she has no choice but to drag him home.

Words: 928

It was a typical night for the team: laughter filled the room, loud chatter buzzing around, and the pulse of music in the background. The team had just wrapped up their game, and the after-party was in full swing. Will and Y/n, were at the hangout, mingling with some of the players and their significant others, but there was a noticeable shift in Will’s energy.

While the rest of the team was getting wilder, laughing, and enjoying the night, Will seemed more tired. He was leaning into Y/n more than usual, his arm casually draped over her shoulder as he took occasional sips from his drink. His eyes, though, were starting to droop, and Y/n could feel his increasing reliance on her for support.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle but concerned, glancing up at him as he rested his head lightly against hers. He hadn’t said much all evening, and his sudden quietness had her on edge.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his words slightly slurred, his smile a little looser than normal. "Just tired… and I’m not sure I want to leave yet." He pressed a kiss to her neck, sending a warm shiver down her spine. The teasing kiss wasn’t out of the ordinary, but tonight it felt like more, a soft, lingering kiss that had her heart skipping a beat.

Y/n chuckled and pulled away slightly, turning her head to look at him. “You’re not usually this clingy, babe.”

Will’s eyes lit up mischievously as he slowly leaned in to kiss her neck again. “I’m not clingy,” he replied playfully, “Just... affectionate.” His lips trailed down the side of her neck together with his hands on her sides, his breath hot against her skin. Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in her chest. But Will had no intention of letting her focus on anything other than him.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Will nipped at her earlobe, just hard enough to send a wave of sensation through her. She bit back a quiet gasp, feeling her body react even though she knew this wasn’t the place for it. His playful, teasing nature was both a blessing and a curse.

"Will," Y/n murmured, trying to regain some composure. "Not here. Not right now."

Will pulled back just a bit, but his grin was all-too-knowing, his hands now sliding down to her waist even lower as he clung to her tighter. "Why not?" he teased, pressing another soft kiss to her neck. "What’s the harm? You can’t tell me you don’t like it." He nuzzled his nose against her skin, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck as he softly bit down again.

Y/n felt a surge of heat flood her cheeks. She wasn’t a stranger to Will’s flirtations, but tonight, his tiredness seemed to amplify his affections. He was a man of great intensity when he wanted to be, and right now, he wanted to be close, too close for comfort, especially in public.

"Will," she said a little more firmly, her voice cracking slightly from the intensity of his teasing. She gently took his hands and pulled them off her waist. “Come on. We need to go.”

He groaned in protest, but there was a softness to the sound - one that only she could hear. Will wasn’t one to complain, but when he did, it was always playful, almost childlike. "No," he pouted, clinging to her even tighter. "I don’t wanna go. I’m having fun."

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with his pouty face, but she knew better than to let it distract her. The last thing she needed was for things to escalate before they could leave.

"We’re leaving before you get any more... affectionate," she said, her hands gently pushing him away from her body. His arm fell from her shoulders, and he reluctantly stood up, his posture slouched as he followed her toward the exit. “You’ve had enough of the party,” she added, grinning as she led him out the door.

Will leaned into her, wrapping his arm around her waist as they walked. “I’m just saying, you should let me keep you to myself a little longer,” he murmured, kissing the back of her neck once more as they made their way through the crowd.

Y/n rolled her eyes, her smile softening as she looked up at him. “I’d like to make it home tonight without you starting something you’ll regret.”

His response was a low chuckle. “You know me too well,” he said with a smirk. “But I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

As they reached their car, Will pressed one last kiss to her lips, lingering for a second longer than usual. “I just want you all to myself tonight,” he murmured, his words low and sincere now. “That’s not too much to ask, right?”

Y/n smiled, leaning into the kiss. “Not at all,” she whispered back. “But let’s save the rest for when we’re home.”

When they finally arrived at their apartment, Will immediately collapsed onto the couch, still holding onto her as if she might disappear if he let go. His tiredness had caught up to him, and the energy of the hangout seemed to fizzle out. Y/n smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead as he settled into the cushions.

"I’ll always be your favorite," he mumbled, his eyes barely open as he pulled her closer.

“You already are,” she whispered back, running her fingers through his hair.

[ayrtonswnna]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀GOOD BOY oscar piastri smut

⠀⠀⠀⠀my masterlist | requests are open! | more oscar!

+18. MDNI | wc: 2,6K. ─── oscar gets home knowing exactly what he wants. his girlfriend does too.

› oscar piastri x dalilah bartocci (female!oc)

› warnings: stabilished relationship, p in v, sub!oscar!!!! soft dom!oc, use of toys, overstimulation, a whole lot of praising, sweet puppy behavior from oscar.

Different couples have different dynamics. Dalilah and Oscar, for example, could switch positions in bed as easily as he does behind the wheel of a racing car.

Today is one of Oscar's favorite days.

He usually sets things off very easily, and it's just as easy for his girlfriend to catch the signal. The Aussie drops his bag right by the door, toes off his sneakers with lazy kicks, and climbs onto the couch, where Dalilah lays sprawled on her back, scrolling through TikToks.

The soft mess of her dyed curls glows in the screen’s reflection as he squeezes himself between her arms, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck, rubbing his nose all over her skin until she lets out a little hum.

"Hello, baby," she coos, the soft tone in her voice enough to send chills racing down his spine — but what really gets him is the slow sweep of her hand up and down his back. "You okay?"

"Yup," he mutters, muffled against her neck. "You smell so good..."

That's his way of asking for it.

Body rubbing against the Italian girl, breath slow and warm against her skin like the brush of a feather.

"Thanks, babyboy," Dalilah murmurs, and Oscar replies with a soft, pitiful whine.

He loves pet names. Babyboy, good boy, darling... Any of them could turn him pink-cheeked and bashful in a heartbeat.

"Tough day, huh? You seem tense," she teases gently, thin fingers tracing lazy lines across his muscles, pausing at the waistband of his pants before gliding back up the nape of his neck. A slow, promising little touch — the kind that could set the whole night spinning.

"A bit," he rasps, voice low and thick with that husky Aussie lilt, almost purring like a spoiled cat. "You fine?"

"I'm great, actually. Called Mom today, she asked about you," Dalilah answers, curling his light strands between her fingers. "Dad’s excited to see you race."

"Dad gets more excited than I do," Oscar jokes, a small grin pulling at his lips. "Did you book the hotel rooms?"

They're comfortable enough now — long enough together to call each other’s parents Mom and Dad, long enough that sprawled over each other like this, half-talking, half-touching, feels as natural as breathing.

The conversation is barely a prelude, a lazy dance before what they both know is about to happen.

"Yeah, everything’s sorted. It’s going to be a good weekend," she promises.

Oscar wishes he had the focus to care about the details, but Dalilah’s fingers are back at the nape of his neck, not just caressing this time — squeezing, softly, firmly, sending sparks racing down his spine.

A needy sound breaks from his throat before he can stop it. His body moves without thinking, grinding against her subtly, desperately — as if close will never be close enough.

"In need of something, babe?" she whispers against his ear, sweet and dangerous all at once.

Oscar nods into her skin, almost frantic, but it isn’t words he finds — just a breathy, needy little noise that has Dalilah smiling against the crown of his head.

“Oh, baby.” she murmurs, shifting under him, coaxing him to lay flat on the couch. He follows without hesitation, body pliant, breath shallow. “You're always so good for me.”

He barely catches the kiss she presses to his forehead before she’s slipping out from under him, leaving a sudden, shivering emptiness behind. A little whimper punches from his chest, but she’s already padding away down the hall, hips swaying in that easy, lethal way she knows he watches.

"Stay there," Dalilah tosses over her shoulder, soft but leaving no room for argument. Oscar grips the couch cushions with his hands, knuckles white, biting his lip.

When she returns, she’s carrying the box.

The box that has Oscar blinking up at her, cheeks already heating before anything even touches him.

Dalilah sets it down with a soft thud beside the couch. Her fingers skim his jaw, his chest, trailing lazy circles until she can feel how fast his heart is hammering.

“All for you tonight, babyboy." she hums, pulling a couple of items free — a silky tie, a sleek little bullet vibrator, a small bottle of lube. Nothing too cruel. Not tonight.

Oscar shifts, trying not to rut up into the air like some desperate thing, but Dalilah sees it anyway. She always sees.

“Patience,” she chides lightly, straddling his hips in a single, smooth movement. She can feel him — hot, hard, throbbing beneath her — even through his jeans. Poor boy’s probably been half-hard since the second he walked through the door.

"You gonna be good for me, baby?" she coos, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Yes,” Oscar chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Dalilah hums approvingly, catching his wrists and bringing them up over his head. She doesn't tie them — not yet. Just holds them there, pinning him with the weight of her body and the unbearable tenderness of her gaze.

"You don't have to think about anything, sweetheart," she whispers, kissing his temple. "Just let me."

Oscar whines again, helpless, almost writhing under her. His eyes flutter shut, then open wide when he feels her pop the button of his jeans and drag the zipper down agonizingly slow.

She's unfair. She's devastating. She's everything.

Before he can beg, before he can even formulate a thought, Dalilah has his cock freed, leaking, twitching in the cool air. She strokes him once, twice — light, teasing, nowhere near enough — and smiles when his hips stutter up into her touch.

"So sensitive," she murmurs, clearly delighted.

Without warning, the slick tip of the bullet vibrator presses to the head of his cock, sending a violent shudder through his entire body.

Oscar gasps, back arching, fists clenching in the empty air above him.

Dalilah shushes him sweetly, curling over him like a soft, beautiful trap. "It's ok, baby. I'm going to make you feel really good, hum?"

Oscar is trembling already, bright pink blooming across his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears. He tries to be good, he really does, but he can’t help the tiny sob that escapes when she toys with the speed settings — higher, then back down, never enough to let him fully slip over.

"That’s it," she whispers, pressing little kisses along his jawline, his throat. Now in a steady speed of the vibrator as she presses it fully into the tip of his cock, a brand new gasp coming out of her boyfriend's lips as she allows him to come.

"Such a good boy for me."

He nods desperately, tears prickling his lashes now, pleasure burning too hot under his skin. She doesn't stop, knows his body too well. Knows exactly how to keep him just on that knife's edge — trembling, whimpering, pliant.

Dalilah slides her free hand down, wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing gently in time with the vibrations. "You can take it, can't you? My strong boy."

He's sensitive, riding the same orgasm.

"Y-yeah," Oscar sobs, his hips jerking helplessly under her.

Dalilah smiles — soft, proud, wicked.

She knows he’s close again. She knows exactly what she's doing.

And she’s not even close to done with him yet.

Oscar's whole body trembles under her, muscles straining with the effort to hold back, to be good, to earn every drop of the praise spilling from her lips.

Dalilah leans down, mouth brushing over his ear, voice a velvet threat.

"We're not ready for another one, alright? Wait for me, don't come yet."

A whimper. A broken sound.

He shakes his head rapidly, squeezing his thighs together, hips jerking against her grip and the incessant, cruel little vibrator still buzzing right over the slit of his cock.

"Good boy," she coos, dragging her nails lightly down his chest, watching him shiver and twitch like a livewire under her touch. "You’re doing so well, baby. I know it's hard. You're so sensitive already, aren't you?"

He nods frantically, gasping when she barely drags the vibrator down along the underside of his cock, featherlight and devastating.

"You’re gonna give me everything tonight, Oscar," Dalilah promises, voice still soft, still so fucking tender it breaks something in him. "Every little piece of you."

The words hit him harder than any hand could. His head falls back against the cushions, a wrecked, breathless sound tumbling from his throat. His cock leaks helplessly against her hand, and Dalilah smiles like he’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

"Such a mess already," she croons, moving down, settling between his spread thighs like a queen surveying her kingdom. "And I haven't even tasted you yet."

Oscar lets out a broken sob, his hands twitching above his head, desperate to touch her, to ground himself, to do anything.

But Dalilah only taps the inside of his thigh, sharp enough to snap his attention back.

"No touching, babyboy," she chides sweetly. "Good boys don't touch unless they're told."

He moans — fucking moans — like the perfect little thing he is.

Dalilah rewards him with a kiss to the leaking head of his cock, tongue flicking out to taste him, slow and deliberate. She hums approvingly, like he's the sweetest treat, the most perfect meal she could have asked for.

And then — because she’s merciful but still mean — she wraps her lips around him just enough to make him keen.

Oscar bucks up instinctively, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling under the effort to stay still, to stay good.

Dalilah pulls back with a wet pop, laughing quietly at his desperation.

"You’re close, aren't you, sweetheart?" she purrs, stroking him with the hand not holding the vibrator. "I can feel it. Feel you twitching. Trying so hard for me."

He nods again, too far gone to speak.

Dalilah tilts her head, studying him like something precious and pathetic all at once.

"You want to come, don't you, baby?"

"Please," Oscar gasps out, voice wrecked.

Dalilah smiles, all teeth, and taps his flushed cock lightly with the vibrator, making him jolt and sob.

"You deserve it, right? Come for me, Osc." she says sweetly.

Another sob, another frantic nod. And there he is, like it was all he needed. His body flicker slightly to the side the mess done all over his flesh, his girlfriend's hands and his brain. No words, just whines and his skin only in brighter tones of red.

She leans in, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, pressing her tongue hard into that one spot that makes him twitch so violently it knocks the breath out of him. Oversensitive, still feeling everything from the last orgasm. Dalilah licks him clean, holding his thighs in place.

And then she pulls back again — leaving him trembling, desperate, falling apart right there on the couch.

"One more, baby," she whispers, crawling up to straddle him again, slipping out of her own clothes with lazy, unbothered grace. "You can give me one more, can't you?"

Oscar nods — tears leaking from the corners of his eyes now — wrecked and beautiful and so perfectly obedient.

Dalilah smiles, sinking down onto him in one slow, agonizing movement, taking him in to the hilt without a single stutter.

Oscar cries out, hips jerking helplessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around him, and he’s so close yet again he might black out.

Dalilah leans down, kissing the tears from his cheeks, rocking her hips in lazy, slow circles.

"There we go," she murmurs against his mouth. "Such a good boy. My good boy."

Oscar sobs again, hands fisting the cushions, trying — failing — to hold back.

And Dalilah just rides him — slow, sweet, devastating — until he finally breaks apart under her, coming with a wrecked, gasping cry, his whole body convulsing under the soft, brutal sweetness of her hands and mouth and voice.

And even then — even when he thinks he’s given her everything — Dalilah just smiles and whispers:

"That's it, baby. That's one more. Now be good and give me another."

Oscar's body is still twitching, every nerve ending raw and sizzling from the orgasm she dragged out of him. He’s so far gone he can barely catch his breath, still buried deep inside her, cock pulsing weakly even though he’s already spent.

Dalilah gives him a moment — a single, generous moment — to gasp against her shoulder.

Then she shifts her hips again, grinding down onto him, slow and merciless, her walls still fluttering and squeezing around him, dragging every last shred of sensation from his overstimulated cock.

Oscar sobs into her skin, hands gripping uselessly at the couch cushions.

"Dalilah," he whines, voice shredded.

"I know, baby," she croons, voice sugar-sweet. She kisses his temple, trailing her fingers down his heaving chest, nails raking lightly over his trembling stomach. "I know it's a lot. You're doing so good for me."

She rocks her hips again, deeper this time, and Oscar lets out a broken, beautiful sound — somewhere between a gasp and a moan — that makes Dalilah throb around him.

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?" she whispers, grinding down harder, panting now against his ear. "Gonna let me come all over this pretty cock? You can be strong for me, can't you, babyboy?"

Oscar nods frantically, tears streaking his flushed cheeks, wrecked beyond words, beyond thought — just raw obedience and need.

Dalilah smiles against his mouth, still moving with agonizing slowness, using his overstimulated body for her own pleasure, chasing her orgasm ruthlessly now.

"Good," she breathes. "Be good and let me use you, sweetheart. Just a little more."

She circles her hips again, faster, chasing that perfect drag of his cock against her swollen, desperate walls, the slippery, messy slide of him making her gasp aloud. Oscar sobs helplessly under her, his body jerking and twitching, cock still rock-hard inside her despite the tears running down his face.

"So good," she pants, voice breaking apart with pleasure. "You’re so fucking good, baby — you take it so well — make me feel so fucking good —"

Dalilah shudders hard, hips stuttering. She buries her face in his neck, biting down just hard enough to make him whimper — and then she comes, body clenching around him in long, rolling waves, dragging another broken, shuddering orgasm from Oscar with it.

He cries out underneath her, whole body locking up as he spills into her again, trembling and sobbing from the overstimulation.

Dalilah rides it out, grinding and gasping through the aftershocks, holding him down, owning every fucking second of his collapse.

And when she finally slows, finally lets up, she kisses him — open-mouthed, messy, filthy — tasting his tears and his pleasure all mixed together.

"That's it," she whispers against his lips. "You did so good for me, my love. So, so good."

Oscar just whimpers, eyes fluttering, chest heaving like he’s run a fucking marathon.

Dalilah slowly, gently lifts herself off him, careful with his hypersensitive cock, kissing every inch of skin she can reach as she moves.

"Shh, shh, babyboy," she soothes, pressing kisses to his burning cheeks, his wet eyelashes. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

She disappears for a moment, and he makes a broken little sound at the loss — but then she’s back, draping a warm, soft blanket over him, easing him down into the cushions.

Dalilah wipes his face with the gentlest touch, cleaning the mess between his thighs with a warm cloth, whispering little praises the whole time.

"My beautiful boy," she murmurs, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. "You were perfect for me."

Oscar just clings to her, still whimpering softly, completely wrecked, completely hers.

She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth.

"I’m so proud of you, darling," she whispers. "You gave me everything. You’re my favorite thing in the world."

Oscar lets out a little, broken laugh — half-sob, half-love-drunk — and nuzzles into her, breathing her in like air.

Dalilah just holds him, stroking his hair, rocking him slowly back and forth under the blanket until his breathing evens out again.

And even then — even when his eyes finally drift closed — she doesn't stop whispering to him:

"I love you. I’ve got you. Always."

[kamii-2]

Can you do Azzi smut where they get walked in on by a freshman of your choice, and the freshman tells the team and everyone bully's azzi and reader. Please

hi anon, i hope you enjoy!!! so sorry this took so long to get out and that it’s short, i have quite a bit of requests to write also act like paige is still at uconn for this

warning(s): smut, fluff

genre: smut, fluff

pairing(s): azzi fudd x teammate!reader

you were leaned against the lockers, one leg on azzi’s shoulder, other one holding you up as azzi used her tongue to please you. you were trying so hard to not be loud but the closer you got to cumming, the harder it got. “God, azzi.” you lightly groan out, closing your eyes in pure pleasure. she continued to do her thing slowly and gently, when suddenly you hear someone gasp, laugh, then quickly leave. you both freeze up, “y/n this is not good.” azzi says, still on the floor in between your legs, “at all.” you add on.

you two both got cleaned up and packed your stuff up. it took you guys like 10 minutes before you got enough courage to step out of the locker room. “we are actually done for.” you mumble, sitting on the locker room bench, “it’ll be okay, i bet half of them have done worse,” azzi reassured as she sat down next to you, “especially paige.” you giggle at the last part, “yea probably.” you sigh as you stand up, ready to just get the teasing over with.

the second you both walked out, ice giggled. “yep, time to go back.” you said as you turn around and try to go back into the locker room, knowing ice is gonna say something stupid, “nope.” azzi said back, turning you around. “so.. uh, how was it?” ice snickered, kk and paige next to her laughing. all you could do was put your hands on your face and sigh. sarah walked into the gym, sees you and azzi and makes a disgusted face, “i’m traumatized after that.” sarah joked, “you’re dramatic, there was no way you seen anything.” you speak, voice muffled from your hands, “i seen azzi on the ground and your leg on her shoulder, seeing that was enough.” sarah shot back, “what?!” a few of the girls say in unison, “that’s crazy.” aubrey laughs out. you turn your azzi, opening your fingers and looking at her, she was already looking at you, she sighed and shook her head.

i hope you guys enjoyed, again i’m sorry this took so long, anyway, i hope you have good day/night, love you 💋💋

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Tribulations Part 1

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 14.6k

Summary: Arguing with Wanda leads to more stress than usual for both of you.

A/N: Here's the angst (FINALLY). It will be two parts just because it's so damn long!

Warnings: Angst, arguments, sickness, discussions about death/end of life.

Money. 

Of all the things that you thought you’d argue about with your wife…well this wasn’t in the top ten. 

Neither of you had ever really considered money an issue in your marriage. It certainly wasn’t a point of contention like you’ve heard it can be with most other couples. You both make plenty of money, sure Wanda made a lot more, but it wasn’t as if either of you were ever stressed about money. 

For this reason, you’re not sure how a simple conversation about getting affairs in order had caused an argument. 

That said, when emotions were running high, sometimes both you and Wanda were guilty of saying things you shouldn’t. 

This conversation started because of an issue that you and Wanda were far more used to fighting over. 

Her job. 

She’d been out last night, like most nights of the week, and one of her meetings hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She’d been sitting down with one of her suppliers to renegotiate terms, but she’d somehow offended him along the way. She couldn’t quite remember what she’d said that made him so upset. Was it the previously agreed upon 10% fee increase, or was it the fact she was only signing a 2-year contract instead of a 3 year? 

All Wanda really remembers is that the table between them had been flipped and guns started going off. After the table hit her in the face and broke something, it actually protected her from being shot more than once which she was grateful for. She was only a little less grateful after she went through surgery to repair her zygomatic arch and remove the bullet from her side. It was just a flesh wound, but this fact only made you feel a little better when you arrived at medical to visit your wife. 

She admittedly had looked a little rough with the bruising beneath her left eye that extended down her cheek. The careful suturing along her face was unlikely to leave a scar she’d been told, but that didn’t stop it from looking gnarly right after surgery, and for weeks afterward. 

When you’d seen your wife lying in bed with a grimace and a horrendous looking bruise you’d panicked. You’d already been briefed by Steve as usual, but even he wasn’t able to appease your growing anxiety this time. 

You’d been at work when he called you, and it took you longer than you would have liked to leave. This stress was compounded by Wanda’s appearance, and you may have been a little blunter than you usually were after she was hurt on the job. 

“You need to get out Wands.” 

You usually didn’t start the conversation like this. You of course asked how she was feeling first, but usually you’d sit with her for a bit and fuss over her before you asked her to explain what happened. You’d barely waited two minutes and Wanda’s shame at being hurt quickly was overshadowed by annoyance at your insistence that she quit.

“It’s not that easy, Y/n.” 

You of course knew this and you told her this, but not in the best way. This had probably been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Well obviously, Wands, but you need to try harder.” 

“How do you propose I do that, Y/n?” 

You had been too focused on the discoloration and swelling around her eye to think of anything particularly plausible. 

“I don’t know, Wanda, but you need to leave before you get killed.” 

Unsurprisingly, Wanda had given you the silent treatment for an hour until you finally left her alone to return to work. You were more upset by the fact that she’d gotten hurt than anything else, but you’d taken your fear and frustration out on her which you felt guilty about. You’d been distracted for the entire time you’d attempted to stay at work that night. You figured you just needed time to calm down while Wanda needed to focus on getting better. She shouldn’t have to worry about you and your insecurities right now. You’d visited her for two days at the compound after work until she was discharged and set free to go back home. 

You’d been hoping that she would return home and take time off of work, but that hadn’t happened. Wanda had to make up for lost time, and you had been so mad you just went home and didn’t speak to her for nearly 24 hours. 

When Wanda finally came home the third night after her surgery, she found you in the living room working on something that surprised her. She barely greeted her dogs as she eyes the words ‘last will and testament’ and wonders what the hell you’re doing. 

She doesn’t realize that she’s asked this out loud until you turn around and shoot her a slightly annoyed look. You look tired like you haven’t slept well, but she doesn’t even have time to consider this right now. She focuses on your scowl and the pen that you’re holding in a white-knuckled grip. 

“What does it look like, Wands? I figure we need to be responsible.” 

Wanda’s response is so quick it almost gives you whiplash. She sounds offended and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

This is when you realized that you hadn’t paid enough attention to your wife. Not only was she in pain and stressed about work, but now you were surprising her with wanting to have your will updated. 

You honestly had just wanted to make sure that everything was in order. Did you leave all of your money to Wanda or Yelena? Check. You did the same for nearly everything else except for one thing that you plan on leaving Natasha. You decided that you weren’t going to tell Wanda about that because even though it is ancient history, you had a letter stashed away that you wanted to give her in the event that you die before Wanda. 

Wanda had sat down beside you waiting for your response, and you just glared at the paper in front of you before you claimed that it wasn’t personal. 

“I just want to be prepared.” 

Wanda frowns at this but she doesn’t argue as she considers asking to read it. It’s not entirely her business even though she’s sure you’ve left her most everything, but she does wonder. Still, she knows she should focus on the reason why you’re doing this tonight, and she can’t help but sigh in defeat. 

“It was a fluke, detka. It won’t happen again.” 

You’re still on edge and Wanda’s empty promises just grate on your nerves. You have been with her for years and you know better than that by now. You know that she can’t guarantee that she’ll be safe, and this truth is a bit harder to stomach tonight. You shake your head before setting down your pen and turning to face your wife.

“So I should just wait until you die to worry about this?” 

Despite knowing that this question is designed to antagonize Wanda, you can’t help but be a little desperate. You know that the only way, the best chance, for Wanda to be safe in the long term is to quit. You’ve talked about it a dozen times in the past year alone, and you both agreed that if you were going to start a family, both you and Wanda had to be as far away from her business as possible. 

This is what you’re thinking about when you ask Wanda to reconsider her career choice in the cruelest way you can. Selfishly, you want your wife by your side for years to come, and you want to stop having to worry about her every time one of you leaves the house. 

You see Wanda’s face fall and you know you’ve made a mistake, but you can’t stop. You unconsciously choose to channel your fear into the least productive line of questioning that focuses on something you couldn’t care less about at the moment. 

“Is all of your money under just your name? Am I the beneficiary or will it all be left to your brother? How does that even work when it’s all earned illegally?” 

You watch as Wanda’s frown turns into an ugly sneer, and you feel yourself tense. You wish you could take a moment to breathe instead of panic, but unfortunately when your wife’s concerned this can be difficult. 

“Are you seriously asking me if you get my money right now? Is that all you care about?”

Even as she asks this, Wanda knows that this isn’t the case. You’re both extremely riled up about different, yet related issues and it’s making you say stupid things. You stand up nearly throwing your chair back onto the floor causing the dogs to jump in surprise. Boone is sitting beside your chair and Rogue stands behind Wanda as you blindly lash out and send the papers in front of you scattering across the floor. Rogue jumps in surprise and ducks behind Wanda while Boone stands up beside you. 

“I don’t give a shit about your money, but we need to start somewhere. It doesn’t seem like you want to admit that you’re never going to leave your job!” 

You and Wanda just stare at each other in silence for an agonizingly long time. It’s Wanda who finally speaks up because you’ve finally said your piece. You’ve voiced one of your greatest fears and you have nothing else to throw at your wife. Wanda eventually just rolls her eyes before storming toward the garage. She doesn’t want to be around you right now, not if you’re just going to keep pressuring her into making a difficult decision. She has a headache and shouting at you has only made it worse. 

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” 

You don’t manage to respond before you watch both Wanda and Rogue escape to the garage. You hear the door open only moments later, and you’re not exactly shocked to hear her car start and back out leaving you and Boone to think about what you’ve done. 

The morning after your argument with Wanda is worse than you thought it would be. You wake up alone in bed with Boone lying in the hallway right in front of the stairs. The fact that Wanda didn’t come back last night leaves you equally annoyed and upset, but mostly at yourself. You go through the motions of getting ready for work,  but you manage to check your phone a half dozen times for a text or call from your wife. 

Nothing. 

You guess you don’t deserve a check in after last night. 

Wanda didn’t have a much better night away from you. She woke up with her entire left side throbbing and Rogue at the foot of the bed. She forgot to take her medications last night, and she’s certainly regretting it now as she tries to sit up. Her side burns and she bites her lip to keep from screaming as she finally manages to get to her feet. She doesn’t waste any time going to her purse and grabbing the two medications she’d been given a few nights ago. 

She slowly heads to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and something to eat. She’s starving since she skipped dinner last night, and the sight of Rogue following her reminds her that she hadn’t grabbed any of his food before leaving the house. She sighs in defeat as she sets her glass in the sink and looks to the pantry for suitable alternatives for him. She ends up just making extra eggs and toast to give him which feels ridiculous, but Rogue doesn’t seem to mind at all as he munches away at his breakfast on a plate that looks just like hers. 

Wanda is sitting at the table where you’ve always eaten dinner while at the compound when she thinks to call you. She bites down on the urge and swallows it with her slightly burnt toast as she shakes her head. She needs time to think about everything that’s happened in the last week. She’s still not feeling up to talking to you yet, but she has to admit that you make a good point.

You’ve been wanting Wanda to quit her job for years. She’s honestly considered doing it for nearly that long. However, there’s always been something stopping her from taking the chance and leaving the mob. She’d always claimed that it was a dangerous and tedious task untangling herself from the criminal empire she’d run for longer than a decade. 

The risks of leaving herself and by association her family vulnerable never sat well with her, but this wasn’t what kept her from quitting her job. 

She’d never told anyone, certainly not you, but she was terrified of leaving her job. She was afraid that doing so would change everything, and once she had no mobster job, no secret appeal, you’d become bored of her.

It felt silly and conceited, but Wanda knows that becoming a stay-at-home mom, which is the ultimate goal, isn’t nearly as exciting as what she does now on a daily basis. There’s an irrational, or perhaps fearful, part of her brain that’s telling her that quitting will ruin your relationship. You’ll realize that without all of the excitement and danger, that she’s nothing special.

Wanda’s only tried to think of comparable careers that she could pursue to keep this from happening, but it wasn’t realistic. If she was going to leave the mob, she couldn’t try to do anything else. She needed to take a break from work, perhaps permanently, and then stay on the right side of the law for the rest of her life.

She knows she’s been lucky to avoid being charged and going to jail, but at some point, her luck will run out. 

Similarly to how she escaped a few days ago, although not unscathed, she knows that one day she may not make it out. The idea of dying from an injury sustained while working makes her pause and drop her fork back to her plate. She ignores Rogue’s whine as he sits beside her with sad, hungry eyes. 

The idea of leaving you in this fashion makes her blood run cold. She never wants to leave you alone and unprotected, hell she never wants to leave you period, but the idea of blindsiding you in this way…

She pushes her chair back from the table and grimaces as she stands and takes her plate to the kitchen. She sets it in the sink before she stands at the counter staring off into the living room but not seeing anything. She thinks about what would happen if she died. Would someone come after you? Her family? She hates to think of you being hurt, or worse, but the thought of you grieving her death makes her a little nauseous. She makes some coffee and nearly chugs it as she thinks about how she’d feel if she was in your position. 

She has to admit that you are far more patient than she would be. If she had asked you to leave work as much as you had, and been told no for so long…she’s not sure she would have tolerated it. She likely would have threatened to leave you by now, and although she’s pained by the thought, she can’t help it. Her anxiety would make it near impossible to sit home alone night after night not knowing if you’d come home. 

She disappears into the bathroom to change the bandage covering the wound on her side. It’s been cleaned up and closed but it’s still oozing because it’s impossible not to move at all. As she looks into the mirror she pauses before taking off her shirt. She focused on the red line down the side of her face and the splotchy skin beneath her eye. She’s stunned that she didn’t end up worse off after that night. 

As she thinks about this, she can’t keep her mind from wandering to you. 

She’d seen your apprehension when you first came to visit her after her surgery. She’d been in pain and drowsy, and she’d just wanted to cuddle with you. She’d been prepared for some anxiety and was ready to offer reassurance, but your resolute request that she quit caught her off guard.

At first she’d thought that you were mad at her for getting hurt. She’s certain you were worried too, but she’d thought that this had been overshadowed by anger, and she still believes this.

She spends most of the morning scowling as she tries to work out what she wants to do. She needs to do something, and although she’d intended to work, a call from her brother told her that there was nothing to do. He was taking care of everything so she could have the day off, and no amount of arguing with him would change his mind. 

So now Wanda’s mildly irritated at her brother too when she decides that she’s sat around for long enough. She doesn’t want to walk around the compound if she can’t work, so she decides to take more pain meds and take Rogue on a walk around town. 

She retreats to the bedroom once again to figure out the easiest disguise she can so she can get some air as quickly as possible.  

You’re struggling to get through the day at work while Wanda’s busy picking between two different blonde wigs. You slept like shit and it’s caught up to you so quickly that you’ve been forced to drink coffee while at work. This is something you’ve managed to avoid for years, and it’s not something that anyone at work misses. You receive shocked, both kidding and serious, looks when you walk through treatment with a cup of 50% coffee and 50% milk. 

You stifle a yawn as you try to focus on your next appointment. It shouldn’t be too difficult, but then again nothing was very easy for you when you were fighting with your wife. You could name fewer than half a dozen times that you disagreed enough to avoid one another for any period of time. You sigh at the thought and push your way through the treatment area door so you can head up to your office. Your assistant is still taking a history so you probably have time to drop your coffee off at your desk and delay the inevitable. 

You slouch in your seat in front of your computer and stare at the screen without really seeing it. You ignore the glare and the schedule in front of you as you consider how you could have gone about this differently. 

You loved your wife. That wasn’t even a question. 

The real question that you’ve been wrestling with for years was far less straightforward. Most of the time you tricked yourself into not thinking too much about the risks associated with Wanda’s work, but incidences like a few nights ago caused your anxiety to ramp up. You think about Wanda’s reassurance that everything will be fine, and you’re honestly sick of hearing it.

You’re sick of trying to believe it. 

Maybe it had worked when you first met her because you didn’t know any better. You hadn’t gone through everything you have now. You’d seen and experienced too much of the collateral damage that came with being with Wanda, and now you were just tired.

You don’t get to dwell on this as your phone goes off and you’re being summoned for your appointment. 

You’ll think about this later. After all, you’re not sure that you’ll be seeing your wife tonight. 

Wanda had made the uncharacteristic decision to wander downtown among the bustling city life for her walk with Rogue. Not only had she wanted to be distracted, but she hadn’t wanted to be alone. She knew her mind would wander too much if she went on a hike or anywhere more secluded than where she was now. She was wearing her favorite blonde wig and sunglasses that covered most, but not all, of her injury.

Her first stop after she’d found parking was a pet store. She’d found the closest thing to the food you had for Rogue at home, but she’d been unable to buy it without a prescription. She’d only considered bothering you for one for a millisecond before she saw an entire shelf of human grade dog food as she went to put up the bag she’d chosen. She eyes the boxes carefully and realizes she’d basically be feeding Rogue soup, stew, or some other wet food. This was too messy for right now, so she just grabbed a bright blue bag of kibble that had salmon in it. Rogue loved salmon which you learned after he’d stolen an entire fillet from the kitchen counter when you had your back turned. This thought reminds her of the only real requirement you had for your dogs’ food. 

Something about avoiding grain-free. She couldn’t manage to remember the reason at the moment, but that mattered little as Rogue started to whine and nudge her hand with his nose in excitement. She decides to focus on him for now and hurries to check out. She’s going to try and focus on him today instead of herself if at all possible. 

This is how she found herself sitting in a fairly crowded park with a bag filled with dog food, two new bowls, doggy bags, and jerky treats. Rogue had been good about wandering around so far, but Wanda knew it was never a bad idea to have treats when she took him on walks. He was sometimes triggered by someone running or something too loud, and the only way she’d ever been able to snap him out of his fear was with food or cuddles. 

“Sorry for the delay, bud.” 

Rogue didn’t seem to mind as he scarfs down his new food with gusto. She just rolls her eyes before pouring some water into the spare bowl with a sigh. She glances around behind the cover of her sunglasses and people watches for a few minutes. She follows a cyclist down their path toward the lake and to the gardens beyond before her attention is stolen by a loud squeal. She looks around for the source and nearly melts at the sight of a child, probably no older than 2 or 3, smiling widely as she reaches up for her father. 

She jumps excitedly and Wanda watches as the man leans over and hoists her up high in the air. The squealing resumes as the toddler is spun around under the watchful eye of a brunette who’s following the duo with a stroller in one hand and a purse in another. Wanda feels a surprising pang of envy at the sight, and has to look away before she makes a face that might be misunderstood. She reaches out for her dog who’s now sitting beside her as he does his own survey of their surroundings. He’s panting as he stands up seemingly ready to continue walking, and Wanda just sighs in defeat. She packs up the mess before slowly getting to her feet with a slight grimace. Her pain meds have kicked in, but her side still aches with too much movement. 

She’s probably going to regret this outing later, but for now she’s just going to use it to forget. 

In the few minutes it takes to walk down to the lake, Wanda’s mind has already begun to wander back to you. 

She follows dutifully as Rogue leads them around the water past groups of sunbathers and families having picnics. She only has to slow him down once when he starts to pull at the gates of the flower garden. She knows that she shouldn’t go in there since he’ll try to dig something up, but there isn’t a sign that says ‘no dogs’ so she doesn’t fight him. 

As she follows her dog as he explores the grounds, Wanda thinks about to the last time when she truly felt free of responsibility. 

Was it when she was in elementary school and she didn’t know what her dad did for a living? Or was it after, in middle school when she learned about the family business, but still had no idea that she was going to be the one to take it over? She had always assumed it would be her brother. That he would be mentored by their father until he retired.

She’d never expected to be orphaned and then thrown into everything. 

Sometimes she was still surprised that she hadn’t run the business into the ground. 

She wonders what her life would be like if that had happened.

Would she have still met you, or would her life have gone in a completely different direction? Maybe she would have had to flee and start all over with her brother.

Wanda hisses when Rogue yanks on his leash at the sight of another dog. She’s quick to redirect his attention and tell him to sit until they walk past. She gives him a treat before making a turn into what looks like a sea of flower beds. 

“Behave.” 

Rogue already has his nose in the dirt of one of the rose beds, and Wanda sighs in defeat. 

“Rogue no. Come on.” 

The dog whines but he continues on his way without additional protest. Wanda lets him wander around for a bit longer until she needs to takes a break. She needs to sit down and the first place she finds is luckily in the shade. She’s exhausted from her poor night’s sleep and pain, but she still doesn’t want to go home yet. Or rather to the compound. 

She startles when Rogue jumps up to sit beside her on the bench, but she’s too tired to tell him to get back down. He luckily just sits down and pants as she closes her eyes and leans back against the bench. She grimaces when her shoulder hits something hard, and she turns to investigate, but she stops short. 

“Rogue no!” 

Her shepherd’s mouth is already closing around a colorful tall flower with so many petals it’s ridiculous. The pink scatters but a fair amount disappear into Rogue’s mouth as he sucks them down like he’s starving. Wanda stands up quickly and ignores her body’s protests as she quickly yanks Rogue away from the flowers. Wanda curses under her breath as she glances back at the ruined few flowers whose petals have fallen onto the bench. It’s only as Wanda traces their path and considers sweeping them away that she spots the plaque. This is what she must have been leaning again since the rectangular metal sign had raised letters that she definitely felt digging into her skin. 

When she sees what it says; however, she stops breathing. 

Foxglove (digitalis purpurea)

She’s been married to you long enough to have a running list of things that are toxic to pets. The most common ones that she can never forget are onions, garlic, grapes, and dark chocolate.

Some are more regional toxins such as a type of weed you told her about because you found the name entertaining. 

Then there was Foxglove: a cardiotoxic plant. 

Wanda quickly turns to Rogue when she realizes he’s still chewing, and she drops to her knees so quickly she shocks them both. 

“Rogue, open your mouth. Spit it out now!” 

Wanda wrenches open the shepherd’s mouth and he nearly bites her in his surprise, but Wanda grabs his tongue and does her best to grab the remaining soggy petals that she sees. She grimaces and then cringes when Rogue starts to gag and even more saliva and macerated petals fall into her hands or on the ground. She looks to the small pile on the ground knowing that it isn’t nearly all of them, and she curses under her breath before standing up. 

She was already sweaty, but now she’s also shaking as she hurries to the closest exit while reaching for her phone. She can’t remember where the closest emergency vet is, and despite not being ready to talk to you, she doesn’t hesitate to call your number.

You’re in the middle of an appointment so you aren’t able to answer your phone. You don’t even hear it vibrate as you examine a dog that weighs nearly as much as you do. Well at least you’re trying to, but it’s difficult given that he’s just walking around in circles and pushing you around with his massive body. 

“Do you think you could hold his leash while I listen to him?” 

When you don’t answer your phone for a second time Wanda leaves a quick message before she calls Steve. 

She is probably about a twenty-minute walk from the car and she’s not sure how long it will take to get to the ER. She’s panicking because she can’t remember how long it takes for signs to show up after eating the flower, but the fact that it causes heart problems is enough to nearly send her into a panic attack. 

“Hey Wanda.” 

Wanda barely greets her friend as she tries to explain what happened while she leads Rogue out of the park. He doesn’t understand her urgency, but luckily he’s keeping up with her as she rushes to get them to the car. 

“Steve. Where are you right now?” 

When he tells her that he’s about an hour away with Bucky, Wanda curses under her breath. She grows tense and ditches the bag from the pet store on a nearby bench. It’s slowing her down and it seems like she needs to hurry up. 

“Can you look up the closest ER clinic for me please?” 

By the time Wanda gets Rogue to the car, he still seems fine, but she doesn’t waste any time heading toward the hospital. It’s about a 15-minute drive, and Wanda makes it there in 10. She’s so worried about getting Rogue taken care of that she doesn’t notice how his demeanor changes immediately when he realizes where they are. He digs his heels in and she practically has to drag him through the front doors.

“I know, Rogue. I’m sorry, but this is on you, bud.” 

It’s not until she’s facing a receptionist that she realizes that she just walked in here without a plan. She is luckily still wearing her sunglasses, but she nearly says her real name as she speaks up. 

“Hi, my dog ate almost an entire foxglove plant about 45 minutes ago.” 

The subtle widening of the brunette’s eyes confirms Wanda’s fears and she barely resists the urge to throw Rogue’s leash at her when she simply nods. 

“Okay, can you tell me your name and your dog’s name? I’ll call someone up to triage him.” 

Wanda gives them her fake name which luckily matches the credit card she has on her before she turns her attention to Rogue. He’s tense and his gaze is darting around the room at any sign of movement. When he sees someone come out from the back and head towards them, he somehow grows even stiffer. His ears fold back and he steps back immediately. The woman in scrubs seems to understand, and she just offers Wanda a smile before gesturing toward the scale along the wall behind her. 

“Hi, my name’s Antonia. Can we see if he’ll let us get his weight?” 

Wanda immediately regrets tossing the treats she’d bought because those would have helped a lot. She walks with Rogue to the scale, but he steps over it twice, avoiding it as best he can before Wanda has to bodily lift him onto it. She’d usually be more patient, but time is of the essence and this is likely important. 

Once Rogue jumps off the scale he steps behind Wanda’s legs and tries to hide when Antonia reaches out her hand. 

“92lbs, great. Now I’ll borrow him so a doctor can examine him and try to induce vomiting. Is that okay?” 

That truly is the million-dollar question. As soon as Wanda nods and tries to step out of the way when she hands over the leash to the brunette, Rogue begins to try and pull away. He starts to thrash his head and whine in an attempt to get free. Wanda hates that she didn’t have time to ease him into this, but this wasn’t something that she could have planned. 

She does her best to try to calm him, but he must know that he’s going to be taken away and he doesn’t do well with strangers. She reaches out for him to keep him from getting out of his collar, and as soon as her hands are on his back he starts to cry out in distress as he bucks against her hold. 

“Rogue, hey, it’s okay. Rogue, look at me.” 

She reaches out for her dog’s face and turns him toward her with as reassuring smile as she can manage. He’s panting and his hot breath is fogging up her glasses, but she keeps them on as she scratches his ears and kisses the side of his head. 

“I’m sorry, I know you hate being here, but they’re going to help you okay? You need to behave.” 

Almost as if he knows what Wanda’s saying, Rogue whines in protest before he throws out his tongue and manages to hit her injured cheek. She cringes but doesn’t hesitate to pull him close so she can whisper in his ear.

“I love you my sweet boy. I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

Wanda stands up and when Rogue immediately starts to look around frantically, she grabs his leash with a small smile as she turns toward the very patient tech. 

“I’ll pretend like I’m going with you, if that’s okay?” 

The brunette hesitates but she second guesses it as she just nods and leads the way. She scans an ID badge and opens the door for Wanda to walk through. Rogue unsurprisingly isn’t very willing to walk through, but a firm tug and another whispered reassurance is enough to get him through the door.

Wanda tries to ignore the multiple people, at least two doctors, in the room and the pets they’re looking at. She doesn’t make eye contact as she holds out Rogue’s leash and starts to sneak out. Rogue doesn’t catch on immediately, but then he spins around and lunges as he tries to follow her. He nearly takes the tech’s arm off, and his anxious cries make Wanda tear up. She hates to leave him here, but he needs to be treated by someone, and you weren’t available. 

Wanda’s hand finds the door handle, and she retreats before Rogue can get too worked up. She holds up a hand to him and speaks in a tone that he recognizes but only partially acknowledges in his heightened state of anxiety.

“Settle. I’ll be back. I promise.”

Wanda ducks out before she can second guess her decision. She forces herself to walk away despite how hearing her dog cry makes her want to cry too. She goes back to the desk because she’s sure there’s paperwork to fill out. After that’s done, she’s told that she should get an update as soon as a doctor looks at Rogue. She just nods before retreating to a secluded corner of the waiting room. She sits in the sun despite being hot because it’s the only way she can justifying keeping her glasses on. She takes them off briefly to clean them, but she doesn’t dare look around before slipping them back on.

She pulls her phone out again before trying to call you again. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda sighs in exhaustion, annoyance, and defeat before she leaves you a slightly passive aggressive message. 

“Y/n. I’m at the emergency vet on the East side with Rogue. Call me back when you get a chance.”

You get a moment to breathe about an hour later, and at this point Wanda has been briefed on Rogue’s progress, or lack of so far. You’ve had a hectic afternoon and you only just get to grab your phone when someone else pulls your attention away. You drop it back into your pocket to address the possible emergency that’s waiting in treatment. You haven’t even gotten to eat lunch yet, but the presence of a vomiting dog luckily helps curb your appetite. 

Wanda’s sitting motionless as she listens to a doctor tell her about Rogue’s reluctance or simply failure to vomit. 

“If we can’t get him to vomit, we can administer activated charcoal to try and neutralize the toxin. The problem is…” 

Dr. Cohen briefly considers how difficult it was to give Rogue his injection of apomorphine. He was still very stressed and he attempted to get away from anyone who tried to touch him. He became an almost 100lbs bucking bronco and not only was this dangerous to everyone involved, but it was going to make treating him impossible. 

She recognized the name that Wanda signed in under, but she’s never met you so she’s unsure of what you look like. Since time is not on her side, or Rogue’s, she decides to cut to the chase.

“Are you Dr. Y/l/n? I saw the name you checked in under.” 

Wanda seems a little surprised by this question and she looks up at the blonde before shaking her head. She turns away because she can feel her face aching and she’s suddenly self-conscious about it again. She only briefly considered what people must think of her coming in here with her sunglasses on. Either she’s under the influence, or she’s hiding something. 

“No, that’s my wife. Sorry, that would probably make everything easier to explain.” 

Wanda offers a self-deprecating smile and luckily it seems to move things along. The doctor smiles back before she shakes her head despite her response.

“No that’s okay. I was just curious because Rogue’s not letting us put an IV catheter in and that will be important for what we need to do.” 

Dr. Cohen explains how foxglove causes GI symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea, but it can also cause a slow heart rate, arrythmias, and even death if it’s not treated promptly or aggressively. Since Rogue didn’t vomit, this makes things a bit more complicated, and higher risk. Wanda feels herself stiffen at the idea of her dog getting so sick and having to stay here overnight, but she pushes this aside. She’ll do whatever is necessary for him to be okay. She doesn’t care how much it costs or how long he needs to stay here. Although she knows that he’ll hate it. 

“Typically, if we can’t place a catheter while they’re awake, we would sedate them. However, given what Rogue ate we don’t want to do anything to lower his heart rate if at all possible.”

Wanda just nods in understanding before she pictures her scared dog not letting anyone touch him. She isn’t sure he’s ever had to be hospitalized, certainly not since they rescued him, so she’s sure his vet experience was limited. 

She takes a deep breath as she tries to push aside her terror at the guarded prognosis she’s been given, and focus on the now. 

“Okay, that makes sense. Can I do anything to help?” 

Dr. Cohen hesitates because what she’s going to ask is unconventional, but she was hoping that Wanda was a vet. The fact that she’s married to one at least suggests that she might understand protocols and how sometimes their goals and patient compliance don’t always align. 

“I shouldn’t be asking, but do you think he would be calmer if you were in the room while we tried to place the catheter?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately because although she was sure that she could calm her dog down, she wasn’t sure if it would be enough. She wanted to try and help though so she nods before standing up and following the doctor back to the treatment area. 

“Okay, let’s give it a shot.” 

Wanda immediately realizes how much the small team of techs have tried when she arrives to see her dog standing as far away from the duo as his leash would allow. They had different treats, an e collar, a muzzle, and what must be catheters and tape scattered around the floor. Wanda doesn’t have time to ask where they’d like to start before Rogue spots her and comes running for her. He barrels into her and she grimaces when he jumps up on her and bats at her with his paws. She swallows a curse when her side spasms before she shoots Rogue a glare he doesn’t see. 

“Rogue, sit down.” 

It takes him a couple of seconds to comply in his excitement, but he sits in front of her and pants happily as he tries to ignore everyone else’s existence. She looks down to him and holds out her hand with a small smile. 

“Lie down. Wait.” 

Rogue listens before Wanda turns towards the techs and Dr. Cohen who are standing by watching.

“How would you like to do this?” 

After slathering a tongue depressor with squeeze cheese and offering it to Rogue to gauge his interest, Wanda reluctantly takes a muzzle that has some cheese spread across it. She was told that her involvement with this required extra precautions, and although she’s fairly certain that Rogue won’t bite her, she doesn’t have the energy to argue. She also doesn’t want to drag this out. 

“Here, Rogue, want some more?” 

It takes him a few seconds to fall for it, but when he does, he has cheese on his face and Wanda can move the straps behind his head and secure it. She tries to ignore how everyone is just watching her, and she speaks only to Rogue. 

“Alright, bud I’m going to buckle this and it might make a loud noise. “

As predicted Rogue flinches a little but Wanda scratches his head causing him to look up at her between his furious licking. She keeps petting him as she looks to the two techs that have their supplies in hand. 

“Tell me where I need to be so I’m not in your way.” 

As Dr. Cohen watches her technicians get on their knees beside Rogue and his mom, she’s surprised by how knowledgeable the blonde seems to be. She figures it must come from being married to a vet, but she didn’t seem to trip up at all with this process. She wonders if Rogue’s had to be hospitalized before, but she realizes it doesn’t really matter. He obviously trusts the blonde, and he’s already getting his catheter wrapped as Wanda holds him around his neck and distracts him with cheese and kisses. 

Once they’re finished and Rogue’s eaten all of his cheese, he stands up quickly. He shakes out his leg with the catheter briefly but he doesn’t try to go for it. Wanda keeps scratching him before her hand goes to the buckle behind his head. She turns to Dr. Cohen with a look that she can’t decipher past her glasses.

“Can I take this off?” 

Rogue doesn’t seem too bothered by it, but that’s likely because his mom is nearby. She is about to nod, but she stops short as she spots the cone that’s still lying on the floor.

“Yes, but we’ll need to put a cone on so he doesn’t chew at his catheter.” 

Also so he doesn’t bite us when you leave. Dr. Cohen doesn’t say this, but she’d be naïve to think that Wanda doesn’t recognize this. 

Still, the blonde removes his muzzle before reaching out for the e collar. Rogue obviously knows what’s about to happen, and he starts before taking a step behind his mom. 

“Rogue, close your eyes. Bedtime.” 

Rogue immediately falls on his side and covers his eyes as he pretends to sleep. Wanda sighs in defeat and she rolls her eyes when she realizes this won’t work. She turns behind her to get a treat that she can use to lure him. 

“You’re too smart, Rogue, but luckily you’re very food motivated.” 

And dumb enough to eat a poisonous flower. 

Rogue stands up when Wanda waves a treat in his face, and she tells him to sit again before holding up both the cone and the treat. 

“Wait. No wait.” 

Rogue lets her put the cone over his head before he lunges for the treat when she tells him okay. Wanda’s fingers are spared from the savage chewing that Rogue starts while Wanda tries to secure his cone. One of the techs comes up and helps her thread some gauze through the base of it, and luckily Rogue doesn’t protest too much. 

“That went better than I thought it would.” 

Wanda just nods before she realizes what comes next. She’s going to need to leave again, and it wasn’t until now that she realized why coming to help was a bad idea. Rogue’s already up on his feet and leaning against her heavily as he watches her expectantly. He must think he can leave now that she’s back, and the idea of leaving him again makes her chest constrict. 

“It did. We’ll take him to the ICU to set him up for monitoring and fluids.” 

Wanda nods before she moves to leave them to their work. She’s a little surprised when she’s asked if she’ll walk him to his run. The idea of him fighting them every step of the way is enough for her to agree. 

“Okay, Rogue. Let’s go to your temporary digs.” 

On the way, Dr. Cohen tells her that she’ll start supportive treatments, but monitoring for the next few hours will be important. One of the techs returns with a bowl full of wet food mixed with something black, ah charcoal. Rogue sniffs at it and when it’s placed in his run he just looks at it before turning back to Wanda. She just waves him in before reaching down to take off his leash once he’s inside.

“Go on, bud. Don’t pretend like your curiosity didn’t get us into this mess.” 

Rogue allows the door to be shut behind him, and Wanda just watches as he eats from the bowl behind the window. She turns toward Dr. Cohen who’s watching Rogue eat. 

“Thank you for your help. I hope to be able to call you with good news soon.” 

Wanda just nods before thanking the doctor and heading back to the lobby. She’s exhausted and by the time she’s sitting back at the window the sun has disappeared. She reaches for her phone to call you again and when she gets your voicemail again, she’s torn between being angry and terrified. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda waits until the beep before she signs audibly. She tells you that Rogue’s eaten an entire fucking foxglove plant and that he wouldn’t vomit. He was administered charcoal and was going to be hospitalized until they could figure out how he would respond. 

She doesn’t even say bye before she hangs up and turns off her phone. She’s annoyed and saying it all out loud made her anxious again. She hates that she was so distracted, and she didn’t see Rogue try to eat the flower. She’s cursing herself for leaving the compound at all because despite wearing glasses, her headache is back and she’s so stiff she needs to lie down. That said, she doesn’t want to leave until she knows what’s going on with Rogue. She wants him to keep doing well, but she’s afraid that when her update comes in a few hours, that it won’t be good news. 

She slouches down in her chair before sighing in exhaustion. She honestly shouldn’t have even left her bed this morning. She should have tried to sleep the day away to make up for last night. She shakes her head at the idea of actually being able to sleep. She was so on edge that nothing she did would make her sleep except maybe taking far more of her pain medication than she should. 

She doesn’t realize she’s wrong until she’s awoken by someone shaking her forcefully. She sits up in surprise and turns immediately to see the technician from earlier shooting her a near frantic look. She sits up, not even noticing that her wig is a mess and her glasses are falling off her face. 

“Mrs. Y/l/n, I’m sorry to wake you, but Dr. Cohen needs to speak with you.” 

This doesn’t sound good and Wanda has to resist the urge to check the time as she stands up and nods quickly. She takes a moment to straighten her hair and put her glasses on top of her head. She may as well abandon this part of her disguise. She catches a glance at the clock and realizes it’s nearly 8pm. She’d slept for two hours. 

She doesn’t get to wonder where you were before she’s standing in front of Dr. Cohen. The blonde looks a lot less relaxed than when she last saw her, and Wanda can’t help the way that her heartrate jumps and her entire body tenses in anticipation of what she’s about to say. 

Wanda barely notices as the blonde reaches out to place a hand on her arm as her words register. 

“Rogue’s coding, we need a decision about what you want to do next.” 

Wanda sits up with a start as her eyes fly open behind her sunglasses. She looks around frantically before she sees a clock and determines that it’s only 7pm. She groans under her breath as she removes her glasses and cleans them off with her sleeve. She’d barely been able to see through Rogue’s saliva, and given that it’s dark it’s impractical to keep wearing them. Still, under the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby, Wanda can’t help but slip them back on. She’s certain of the impression she’s giving off, but she doesn’t care at the moment. She’s more concerned with keeping her identity a secret opposed to hiding her injuries. Wanda sighs in defeat as she lies back against the chair again and reaches for her phone. 

She’d turned it off and isn’t surprised to see that she’s missed some calls. 

She ignores them for the moment as she fidgets nervously in her seat. She’s wondering if her dream was a sign of what’s to come, and she can’t help but force herself to her feet to check in on her dog. 

Wanda doesn’t make it to the desk before the sound of the automatic doors opening catches her attention. It’s mostly the labored breathing that makes her turn around, and she’s equal parts relieved and annoyed to see you looking stressed and out of breath as you hurry into the lobby.

“Hey, Wands. I’m so sorry I’m so late. How is he?”

You speak low enough for no one but Wanda to hear, but she still stiffens at the sound of her name spoken in public. She shakes her head before walking toward you and leading you back to her seat. She figures you can both check in on him once you have been given a rundown of what happened. 

You seem confused but don’t argue as you sit beside Wanda and listen to her tell you about Rogue. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything since they set him up in the ICU. I’m just worried since he ate the whole thing and I was only able to get some of it out of his mouth. I just…I hate this. “

You frown in sympathy as you watch your wife tear up. You watch her push her glasses up her nose before she gives in and pushes them onto of her head. You reach out for her with a questioning look and you try not to notice how she hesitates before leaning into you. 

“I hate that I was distracted and let this happen. I should have just stayed home.” 

Wanda’s crying harder now and you wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers fall to your waist. She hugs you back despite her aching side. That reminds her she’s probably due for more meds right now. Wanda sighs as she tries not to think about her poor dog, or how she’s still upset with you after the argument you had yesterday. 

It seems like forever ago, but the irritation is still there so Wanda pulls away before she really wants to. You notice and you can’t help but sigh in defeat. There’s too much going on right now to talk about what happened last night. You reach out for Wanda’s hand and are grateful that she doesn’t tug it away. She looks down at your joined hands before meeting your gaze with a distant look. 

“It’s not your fault. Rogue can’t help himself sometimes. He’ll be well taken care of here though, and we’ll do whatever he needs.” 

Wanda simply nods as her mind wanders back to her dream. As short as it had been, it was jolting and making her consider everything she’d been told when she first got here. She thought about the forms she signed, that she’d barely read, and she sighs before turning and leaning back in her seat. 

“Do you think I should have put him as a DNR?” 

You hadn’t been expecting this question and your frown deepens as you think about it. Rogue was a young healthy dog, but if he coded it likely wouldn’t be while under anesthesia. It was during this time that CPR was the most successful, so if he happened to flat line while lying in his run, it was going to be due to the side effects of the foxglove. You hate that you can’t reassure Wanda that this won’t happen, and what’s even worse is that you won’t give Wanda a straight answer. 

“I think that it’s your choice, Wands. He’s your dog and you know him best.” 

Wanda’s tears begin to fall again and she cringes as she wipes them away. You glance at the bruising around your wife’s eye and it honestly looks much worse under this lighting. You figure that’s why she was wearing her sunglasses earlier, but maybe it was just part of her disguise. You watch as Wanda struggles to reach into her purse with trembling hands. You don’t realize what she’s looking for until you hear the sound of pills rattling. 

“Do you want help?” 

Wanda shakes her head but says nothing as she finally manages to open the bottle and takes two instead of one. You don’t comment and you wait until she’s swallowed them dry before opening your mouth. She beats you to it though as she squeezes her eyes shut and takes in a shaky breath. 

“I don’t want to lose him, Y/n. I can’t lose him.” 

You squeeze her hand again but don’t say anything as you both become lost in your thoughts. 

You imagine that Wanda must feel as lost as you would if it was Boone who had gotten himself into trouble like this. You would want to do whatever possible to help him and you wouldn’t care how much it cost. You wouldn’t want him to suffer, and you’re not sure you would have done anything differently from Wanda.

You watch as she struggles to come to terms with her dog’s mortality for so long that you don’t realize that someone’s snuck up on you. 

“You must be Dr. Y/l/n.” 

You look up to see a blonde in a white coat, and immediately you sit up in recognition. This must be Rogue’s doctor. You offer a small smile before you stand up and hold out your hand. You don’t notice Wanda jump in surprise at the new arrival, but she recovers quickly as she stands as well. She’s anxious for an update and the appearance of Rogue’s doctor means that there’s something to report. 

“Yes, but Y/n is fine. It’s nice to meet you Dr. Cohen.” 

The blonde smiles in agreement before glancing to Wanda briefly. She offers a small nod before she motions for the couple to sit down. Only you do, but it’s brief before you’re back up on your feet beside your wife. 

“You too. I have an update on Rogue.” 

The doctor begins to detail how Rogue did well for the first half hour on fluids and pain medication, but he’s since started to show signs of toxicity. He’s had some GI upset and was obviously lethargic. His ECG showed that his heart rate had dropped considerably since intake. When you hear the numbers, you try not to react especially since you notice that Wanda’s watching for your reaction. She realizes that none of this is good, but she’s just not sure how bad it is yet. Neither doctor is saying it despite her desire for them to do so.

Finally, you frown as you recall what you know about foxglove toxicity. Mild cases are treated supportively, but you’re not sure if that’s where Rogue is yet. 

“Is he starting to have arrythmias yet?” 

When the blonde nods you sigh as realization hits you. This is what you were afraid of. You turn suddenly when you feel Wanda fall into you. She doesn’t realize that she’s swayed and is struggling to keep her footing until you grab her arm. You quickly help her sit down, but she’s not aware of what you’re saying. She’s fixated on the fact that her dog is having issues with his heart.

He could die.

You sit down beside Wanda a couple of seconds later, but at this point Dr. Cohen is gone. You asked what the next move was and she explained the antibody treatment that they luckily had in hospital. It was ridiculously expensive, but you didn’t care, and you told her to do whatever she could to help Rogue. 

The bill could be as much as a car, and you’d pay for it without question. 

“Wands, hey. Can you look at me?” 

You’re on edge from the unresolved argument and trying to get through the day regardless, and that stress compounded with your worry for Rogue is making you near desperate for some relief. You still somehow wait patiently as Wanda struggles to pull herself from her spiraling. It takes a bit of coaxing, but eventually Wanda turns to you with her eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You frown and you open your mouth to tell you wife that she doesn’t have to apologize for crying. You want her to do what she has to in order to cope, but you don’t get a chance to tell her this. 

“It’s okay, yo-.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been dragging my feet. I-I know I need to—I need to get out.” 

Your jaw drops but you can’t manage a response as you fail to process what Wanda’s talking about. Luckily she doesn’t leave you hanging for long. 

She sits up and takes a deep breath before she squeezes your hand tightly. You nearly flinch but instead you meet your wife’s troubled gaze. 

“I’m just scared about what will happen if I leave. What you’ll think of just me, but that’s…it’s selfish of me. I can’t let you be scared for me every day. That’s not fair.” 

You hesitate because despite this being what you wanted to hear last night and this morning, you’re not sure why Wanda’s brought it up now. You struggle to find words and you’re still floundering when Wanda turns fully to face you. You focus on her tear-stained cheeks and the bruises that are faintly visible beneath her make up. She gestures to her face when she realizes what you’re looking at with an exasperated sigh. Luckily you can tell that she’s not upset with you. 

“I mean look at me. This hurts like a bitch, but the worst part is that I can’t promise…I can’t guaranetee it won’t happen again. I don’t…” 

Wanda trails off and you try to say something but you only manage a couple of words before Wanda keeps going. You realize that she has a lot to get off her chest and she wants to do it all at once. You don’t argue despite feeling that this isn’t the best place. That said, sometimes you can’t really predict when these things will happen. 

“I don’t--.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you. No-not now, or ever, but especially not when Rogue might…when he might-.”

You open your arms almost before Wanda falls into you with a barely stifled sob. You don’t bother looking around because you don’t really care if anyone’s watching you. You don’t want to make Wanda feel any worse than she already does. You’d rather figure out a way to make her feel better, but since there’s not much you can do about Rogue right now, you figure hearing her out is best you can do right now. You hold your wife tightly as she turns to whisper in your ear. You stiffen at what she says before you let out a heavy, relieved sigh. 

“I just want us to be a family. Y-you, me, the fur babies, and a human one eventually.” 

You take a moment to sort through your many thoughts before you land on what you eventually say. You squeeze your wife one more time before you pull back so you can meet her gaze. You hate to see her cry, and you hate even more that you’re not sure you can do anything about it.

“I appreciate you saying all of that, Wanda, but we don’t need to worry about that now. Let’s focus on Rogue, and revisit this when he’s home recovering. Okay?”

Wanda wants to argue because she wants your forgiveness so badly. She doesn’t want to be at odds with you right now, but she knows better than to believe that she should always get what she wants. She just nods before she looks back up only to realize that Rogue’s doctor had left. She turns to you in confusion, and you prepare to fill in the gaps. 

“Where’d--? What did you tell her to do?” 

Dr. Cohen returns to the ICU in a noticeably better mood than when she left a few minutes ago. She glances to Rogue who’s still lying on his side as he had been for the past twenty minutes. She sighs before turning to Antonia with a small smile. 

“We’re going to start him on the antibody therapy. Can you go grab it while I calculate the dose?” 

Antonia only nods before she jumps up and heads for the pharmacy to grab the drug. She’s glad that Rogue’s parents were able to afford this treatment because watching the shepherd’s heartrate drop over the past hour had been discouraging to say the least. The terrified dog had gone from sitting in the far corner of his run to pacing as he had vomited and had diarrhea, before he laid down and seemed to fall asleep. After cleaning him up a little, which he barely even flinched at, the shepherd practically collapsed in the middle of his run and stayed there. 

She hopes that he responds well to the therapy. She’s seen dogs die from ingesting a single petal, let alone an entire flower…

It’s not until 10pm that you finally get Wanda to come home with you. After talking to Dr. Cohen once more after Rogue was started on the antibody treatment, you’re both told that it could take him hours to respond positively. They had approval to give another dose if necessary, and after being reassured that she’d receive a call about any negative changes, Wanda’s walking arm in arm out to the parking lot with you. 

As soon as you step onto the sidewalk you feel Wanda sigh heavily as she practically stumbles to her car. She must be exhausted. You are and you only worked all day. You didn’t stress for the entire day like she did. You catch her hand before she can retreat to her car and drive herself home. 

“Let’s carpool, okay? I can come back for my car once we pick up Rogue.” 

Wanda doesn’t hesitate as she reaches into her pocket and hands over her keys. You unlock the door and watch as she collapses into her seat before you walk over to the driver’s side. You glance back toward the hospital with a sigh before you take a fortifying breath for the trip home. 

You’re glad that Bucky’s already dropped off Boone when you arrive because that’s one less thing to worry about. You greet your dog with muted enthusiasm as you watch Wanda wander aimlessly into the house. She goes to stand in the living room before she starts to look around with a frown.

“Fletcher?” 

You just look to the stairs where you hear muted footsteps, and you can’t help but smile when you see your wife’s cat rush toward her. Wanda doesn’t react to her immediately since she still semes dazed, but eventually Fletcher makes her presence more obvious. She meows loudly before reaching up toward Wanda with searching eyes. Wanda reaches down easily and lifts her cat into her arms with a sigh. 

You just watch as she cuddles with her cat for nearly a minute before deciding that it’s time to eat something. You’d been busy all day, and hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. You’re certain that Wanda’s in the same boat, so as she seeks comfort in her cat’s presence, you and Boone head to the kitchen. 

It’s only a few minutes later that Wanda seems to realize that you’ve left her, and she wanders over to watch you cook. She’s so exhausted she thinks that if she sits down, she’ll pass out straight away. For this reason, she’s probably going to need to eat standing up, but she can’t help but feel a little uneasy about what happens next.

You two are both back home after a long exhausting day, and the last time you spoke in the house was to have an argument. Wanda barely addressed the issue at the hospital, but as she watches you heat something on the stove, she’s worried she’ll need to pick up where she left off. Otherwise, you both will be in for an uncomfortable night. 

She doesn’t realize that you’re thinking the exact opposite as you stir the soup in the pot in front of you. You don’t want to focus on your argument right now. Not when you know that Wanda’s mind is all over the place, and she’s distressed enough to breakdown in public. You appreciate what she said earlier, but you don’t want her to make such as important decision under duress, only to regret it later. 

You turn around to grab two bowls from the cabinet, and you pause just long enough to see that your wife really does look stressed. Stressed and exhausted. You glance to Boone who is greeting his sister as she finally decides that she’s finished being cuddled. This inevitably makes you think about Rogue and how although he doesn’t seek out her attention, he’s been a good brother to Fletcher. 

Thoughts of your pets makes you sigh slightly, and by the time you come back to the counter where Wanda’s standing with dinner, you decided to get right to it. 

“I don’t want us to stress about anything tonight except Rogue. We can worry about everything else later, if that doesn’t seem unreasonable? I just think it will be easier…for both of us.” 

You turn away before Wanda can respond, but when you return with spoons for you two, you see her frowning. Wanda’s deep in thought and she’s trying to push down her urge to resolve this argument now. She knows that you’re right about this though since every time she tries to think about the future she can’t help but wonder if Rogue will be in it. 

Finally she sighs in defeat as she accepts a spoon and sits down in the chair she’s just been standing behind. She nods before watching as you move to sit beside her. There’s so much she wants to say to you, but right now she’s going to do as you ask and try not to worry too much about what’s on her mind. 

“Okay. Until Rogue comes home then.” 

You offer her a smile before the two of you begin dinner in companionable silence. 

Rogue’s tail thumps against the papery pads beneath him as he blinks away some of his exhaustion. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in this run, but it feels like it’s been days since he saw his mom. Sure his perception of time was off from his frequent naps, and he didn’t feel well at all, but he was certain it had been too long since he was dropped off here. 

He hasn’t tried to stand in a while. His entire body feels too weak, and the thought of mustering up the energy to even roll over made him nauseous. He glances out of his run to see the same blob of purple that has been following him since he got here. His vision is a little blurry, but the tech in purple scrubs who’s been assigned to him is always nearby. He missed the last check in when he was asleep, so he’s surprised when she comes up to his run a little bit later with another bag of fluids, a couple of syringes, and that dreaded thermometer. 

He hated the thermometer. 

“Hi Rogue. Are you feeling any better?” 

Antonia has been watching his vitals carefully and things seem to be improving slowly but surely. Since starting the antibody therapy, Rogue’s heart rate has increased by ten beats per minute and his arrythmias were less frequent. Still, he was very weak and had spent most of the time sleeping. His fluids kept him hydrated when he started to vomit, and the pain medication helped him feel a bit better. The anti-nausea medication that had been given an hour ago was still taking time to kick in, or at least it felt like it. 

The antibody therapy was administered every 12 hours, so Rogue had about 10 to show enough improvement to go without another dose. Antonia is still a little amazed at how much the treatment costs, but she’s not going to get too hung up on it. She’s just glad that Rogue’s family is able to pay for it. She just hopes that it won’t be in vain. 

She saves the task of taking Rogue’s temperature for last because he hates it. Even in his sleep he seems to jump in surprise, and the couple of times he’s been awake he’s whined. Most of the time he’s been too weak to do anything else, but this time he actually yelps and his head, cone and all, shoots upright in protest. 

“Sorry, bud. This is important.” 

Rogue just grumbles in response before he keeps trying to shift. He manages to almost sit upright before he flops back down in exhaustion. He doesn’t completely fall back though as Antonia uses her free hand to steady him, and only a few seconds later, both of them are helping him sit upright. 

“Do you want to sit up? Here.” 

Antonia grabs Rogue’s shoulders and helps him rotate so he’s upright before moving his lower half to follow. She pushes him a bit against the side of his run so he doesn’t have to hold himself up. She reaches out to pet him before she gathers up her supplies and stands up to head out.

“Also, no fever, so that’s good!”

Rogue doesn’t look enthused from where he’s propped up against his blanket, and he just stares at her blankly.

Antonia feels bad for him, so she decides to leave him be. Although it’s not as obvious given how sedate he is, she tries to keep in mind that he’s a highly anxious dog. For this reason, she doesn’t linger, and she leaves him with water, replaced pads on top of his blankets, and restarts his fluids. She returns to the tech station to update Rogue’s chart just in time for the clock to strike midnight. 

Her shift ends at 5am, and she’s hoping that Rogue will show more improvement by then. She glances at the dog whose eyes are now closed and sighs at she returns her attention to the screen in front of her.

She’ll just have to wait to find out. 

Surprisingly, the most awkward part of the night for Wanda was not crying in the middle of an ER clinic in front of her dog’s doctor. Instead, it was the decision of where to sleep that night, or rather whether or not it would be appropriate to sleep in bed beside her wife. She had gotten ready for bed quickly given the late hour, and changed her clothes before she realized that you were in the room with her doing the same. You seemed a little less on edge about all of this, or you were just hiding it well, while Wanda was exhausted and a ball of tightly wound nerves. She hesitated long enough for you to understand her dilemma, but you only got into bed before pulling the covers back enough for the invitation to be clear. 

“Come on, Wands. We need sleep. I’m sure you’re more tired than I am, and I’m close to passing out.” 

Wanda’s skeptical look disappears before you notice it, and she just nods before she tries not to feel weird about being in bed with you. In the past, the two of you rarely argued for longer than a day, which meant most of the time you didn’t have to worry about going to sleep angry. She didn’t have to worry about not being able to sleep due to being upset with you, and she didn’t have to wonder if you were upset with her. 

As of now, she really couldn’t tell and that was adding to her stress. She was considering if she should have just slept at the compound again when you reach out for her. You wrap your arms around her waist and sigh tiredly before shooting your wife a worried look. 

“I’m sorry you’re so stressed and worried about Rogue. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today.” 

Wanda hears that unsaid apology behind your words and she sighs too as she turns to face you. She feels a slight pinch in her side and the grimace makes her head ache, but she ignores it for now. She focuses on you and how your concern becomes a contrite expression before her eyes. She watches you fidget a bit before planting a kiss on the exposed skin of her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about how I approached the conversation of your retirement. I shouldn’t have hit you with it so soon after being hurt…while you’re still hurt. I was scared and that made me selfish which wasn’t fair to you.” 

Your head dips down as you try to hide your face, but Wanda reaches out to catch your chin. She’s frowning but she’s not even really sure if it’s more because of her own actions or yours at this point. Everything is so jumbled in her head right now that all she can offer you is a small smile. 

“Honestly, detka, it’s your turn to be selfish given how long I have been. We’ll have a real discussion about what quitting would look like for us, but as you said, let’s just try and rest tonight. Okay?” 

You can only nod in response before you settle in next to your wife. It’s nearly midnight, and you both have no idea what awaits you tomorrow.   

The first time Rogue stands up after his treatment, he nearly falls over. He’s very wobbly and it’s very disorienting trying to balance himself, let alone walk with one paw in front of the other. He only makes it a couple of steps out of his run before he falls to the ground with a whine. It’s at this time that his walk outside is aborted and he’s steered back into his run by two techs. 

Dr. Audrey Cohen stands by and observes Rogue as she looks at all of his vitals throughout the night. He’s done surprisingly well and his ECG has almost completely normalized. The occasional dropped beat is the only abnormality, and now of course, she realizes ataxia. That said, it’s hard to say how long this has been present since this is the first time they’ve attempted to take him outside. He has a urinary catheter in and they’ve minimized moving him since he was so critical. He’s not doing great by any means, but seeing him have the drive to at least try and stand and walk is encouraging. 

Audrey looks at the time before considering how she’ll report all of this to his parents after rounds. She figures that he has a good chance of recovering, but the bloodwork that she’s about to run may tell her whether or not another dose of the Digoxin F-ab is warranted. 

She waits until Antonia is finished collecting his blood before speaking up. 

“I’m impressed with how well he’s doing. Maybe after talking about his case at rounds, we’ll decide if he need another dose.” 

Antonia turns to her with a small smile before nodding as she stands after collecting her samples. She’s been working as an ICU tech for nearly 8 years, and she’s closing in on her self-imposed deadline to go to vet school. She’s applied for the current cycle, but she won’t hear back for a few months. She’s anxious of course, but she’s also grateful that her job offers her ample opportunities to continue learning. Especially rounds. 

Typically, there are rounds between the technicians and then the doctors, but rarely do they do rounds together, unless it’s one on one when transferring care. Since expressing her interest in vet school a couple of years ago, she’s been allowed to sit in on doctors rounds whenever they have enough coverage. 

“Sounds great. I’ll be ready. I only have Humphrey’s treatments to finish.”  

When you and Wanda wake up, you realize that the distance you’d put between the two of you did not last through the night. You honestly don’t mind because it’s nice to sleep beside her again after the argument you’d had. That said, you realize very quickly that your hand is in the wrong place. 

Wanda woke up a while ago, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to do anything but lie beside you. She was still exhausted after yesterday, and she didn’t want to spoil the peace that she’d somehow managed to find during the night. 

Well, the source or the cause isn’t exactly a surprise to her. She has always slept better when you were beside her, but she’d been woken up by the pain in her side. The ache from her still healing wound forced her into consciousness and she had to stop herself from immediately moving away from your touch. 

She did a great job up until the pressure became unbearable when you tried to pull her closer as you slept. She hisses under her breath, and she hears you curse before you pull back quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

Wanda’s already nodding despite her grimace as she turns away from you with a sigh. She stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning to face you. She sees your worried expression and quickly offers you reassurance that she’s fine. Well, she could feel better, but her side doesn’t even hurt anymore now that there’s nothing touching it but her clothing.

“It’s okay, it was mostly uncomfortable. It’s time for my next dose of pain medication though.” 

Wanda places her hands on the mattress preparing herself to sit up and grab her medication from the bathroom, but you beat her to it. You nearly fly off the bed as you hurry to grab what Wanda needs. The redhead opens her mouth to protest, but she falls short when her phone starts vibrating on the bedside table. 

“I can get them. I’ll be right back.” 

Wanda reaches out for her phone and frowns when she doesn’t recognize the number. She figures that whoever is calling her before 9 in the morning must have something important to tell her. She just hopes that it’s not work. 

“Hello?” 

Audrey was grateful that she was able to call Rogue’s moms with relatively good news. His bloodwork looked near perfect, and a second attempt to get him outside after rounds was more successful than the first. He was far more willing to follow someone outside until he realized that he wasn’t actually getting to leave. Getting him back into the building was difficult, but luckily Audrey’s plan was to get him out within the next 24 – 48 hours. Max 72, if she had her way. 

She’d decided to call the number that was given to them at check in despite knowing it wasn’t the vet parent. She figured that it was the right thing to do given that she’d brought the dog in. If she was lucky, you’d be around to listen in as well. 

“Hi, this is Dr. Cohen. I’m calling about Rogue.” 

There’s a pause as someone shifts in the background, something drops, and someone mutters a curse. Audrey has to remind herself to keep a straight face despite being alone in her office. A few moments later she’s nearly smiling. 

“Yes, hi. We’re both here, thank you for calling.” 

Once you’re settled beside Wanda, you both listen as Dr. Cohen relays how Rogue has done in the past 12 hours. You’re glad to hear about his progress, and you can tell that Wanda’s relieved which of course makes you happier. You both agree that one more treatment would be a good idea, and they planned to check back in later this afternoon. Depending on how he was doing, they would be able to visit him. Wanda hoped that it was a good idea. Despite wanting to see her dog she didn’t want to make his stay any more stressful by seeing him only to leave again. You’d convinced her that a visit from her would make his day, and hopefully he wouldn’t be there for too much longer anyway. 

After the call, you can tell that Wanda’s already a little bit brighter. She greets Fletcher with what the tabby deems appropriate enthusiasm, and she responds in kind by practically climbing Wanda like a tree. You stifle a laugh as you hurry to get coffee made and breakfast sorted. You feed Boone and then let him out before stepping back into the kitchen in front of the stove. 

Wanda watches as you cook her an omelet, and she laughs so hard she nearly snorts when she watches you make another smaller one that she can only imagine is for your dog. 

“For both of them, if she doesn’t touch it, Boone will happily help her.” 

Wanda isn’t surprised that Boone scarfs up his ¾ of the omelet while Fletcher sniffs her portion suspiciously. She nibbles on it before she begins to eat with more intention. It’s just eggs, a small amount of cheese, and spinach, but that’s apparently enough for the tabby. 

“Aw she loves it! How cute.” 

You smile at this before you make yourself a larger omelet and sit beside Wanda at the counter. You sigh in exhaustion as you nearly collapse into your chair. You slept well last night, you slept great honestly, but you were still worn out. You’re grateful you don’t work today and that you can focus your attention on your wife and pets.

You’re not sure if Wanda plans to work today, but the fact that it’s nearly 9 and she hasn’t touched her phone beyond that initial call from the vet gives you hope. You don’t dare ask because you don’t want to be disappointed, so you two mostly eat in silence. Wanda’s thinking about what she’ll fill her day with while she’s waiting for news of Rogue.

“Do you have any plans?” 

You’re still considering this yourself when Wanda asks you, so you shrug before mentioning all you’d come up with so far. 

“Not really. Other than getting outside at some point to enjoy the weather. What about you?” 

You wait with bated breath as Wanda shakes her head with a sigh. You noticed earlier that she hadn’t bothered with makeup today. Certainly not enough to cover up the bruise around her eye and the thin line of sutures from her surgery. It looks worse today and you frown in sympathy at the idea of Wanda being so stressed and hurt yesterday. You reach out for her hand and smile when she squeezes yours in return. 

“Not at the moment. My face hurts more today, so maybe I’ll get to take it easy.” 

You love the sound of this, and you smile widely as you consider all that you can spend the day doing. 

Despite waiting anxiously for news, the day flies by with you and Wanda spending the morning watching TV before taking a short, slow walk outside. Boone was excited to get around, and Fletcher actually tolerated her harness and leash today, at least for a bit. For the last ten minutes of the walk, unsurprisingly, Fletcher had managed to get Wanda to carry her. You find it difficult to even roll your eyes when you see how happy the pair look, and Boone keeps you plenty distracted with his antics.

After forming a small pile near the deck of the many sticks Boone decided to try and carry with him, you lead your dog back inside. It’s nearing 4 and you could use another nap, or at least a snack. Boone’s on the same page, and after getting his post-walk treat, he takes it over to his bed and lies down. You grab both your and Wanda drinks as the redhead tries to take off Fletcher’s leash. You set the two glasses on the coffee table before falling onto the couch. You stifle a yawn as you wait for Wanda to join you. 

Wanda’s just sitting down after wiping as much cat hair off her as possible when her phone rings. She starts in surprise and is about to jump back up to retrieve it from the kitchen, but you beat her to it. 

“Let me get it.” 

Wanda doesn’t argue, but she turns to watch as you walk to the kitchen and grab her phone from the counter. It’s the vet again, Wanda had saved their number after the call this morning, and you hand her the phone with a smile. 

“It’s for you.” 

TBC

taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

Masterlist

[bueckersleftbraid]

”— The Weight of Staying

Part 2

WC: 5.2k

singer/songwriter!azzi x nylibertyplayer!paige

warnings: none, jst fluff again!

Some people are bad at letting go. Others are even worse at walking away for good. Paige and Azzi have always been a little bit of both.

authors note —> hi loves, tysm for all of the love on the first part!! I would love if you guys would send some asks about how you want this series to go. Maybe some angst because I’m not very creative when it come to that lol 🫣 anyways, hope you love this!!

The next morning, Azzi woke to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of Paige humming SZA’s Go Ginaoff-key from the kitchen.

For a few blissful seconds, she forgot the world outside the apartment existed—the deadlines, the pressure, the questions she didn’t know how to answer. It was just her and Paige and the hazy morning light stretching across the hardwood floors.

She stretched lazily, the sweatshirt she had borrowed from Paige riding up slightly as she sat up and shuffled into the kitchen. Paige glanced over her shoulder and smiled, bright and sleepy and so achingly beautiful it made Azzi’s chest tighten.

"Morning, rockstar," Paige teased, holding out a mug. Not just any mug— Azzi’s mug. Her designated, favorite, mug— which just happened to be a gift from Paige. Because, of course it was. Paige had always been fond of giving little gifts to the brunette. Whether it was for a small accomplishment of for no reason at all, she loved to spoil her. Clothes, jewelry, shoes— like Azzi’s favorite Uggs—, concert tickets, literally everything and anything the girl could want.

Azzi padded over, taking the mug gratefully. Their fingers brushed, and something wordless passed between them—a kind of easy warmth that didn’t feel fragile anymore.

They sipped their coffees in companionable silence, leaning against opposite sides of the kitchen counter. Paige’s gaze flicked to Azzi’s face more than once, like she was working up to something.

Finally, she set her mug down with a soft clink.

"So... I have to go to LA tomorrow," she said, voice careful. "Just for a few days. For the shoot."

Azzi nodded, pretending she didn’t feel a tiny pang at the thought of Paige leaving again. She took another sip of her coffee, hiding her face behind the rim.

Paige hesitated, then pushed forward.

"I want you to come with me."

Azzi blinked, the words of surprise getting caught in her throat.

Paige rushed to fill the space. "I mean—only if you want to. I just thought... you could use a break, you know? Get out of the city for a little. Clear your head. And selfishly, I—I’d just like you there."

Azzi set her mug down slowly, studying Paige.

It wasn’t like Paige to ask for things like this. To want her close so openly, without hiding it behind a joke or a shrug. This was… new. Usually Paige going a way for a few days was never a big deal, until she didn’t text when she got home. And it came to Azzi reaching out a week later for them to hang out. So the ask sparked a feeling of butterflies in Azzi’s stomach— a little ray of hope for what was growing between the two.

"You sure?" Azzi asked quietly.

Paige laughed, short and soft. "I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more sure about anything."

Azzi’s heart gave a little stutter again, but she kept her voice steady.

"Okay," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I’ll come."

Paige’s whole face lit up— like Azzi had just agreed to more than a trip, to something deeper and unnamed.

"Good," Paige said, stepping closer, her fingers brushing Azzi’s hip. "You deserve a little sun anyway."

Azzi tilted her head. She did miss California, despite being there less than 2 weeks ago. The west coast had always felt like home to her after she attended UCLA. The palm tress and sound of ocean waves never comparing to the bustling sounds of New York. Paige always told her it was there “invisible string theory” because Azzi had attended the final four game in which UConn beat UCLA during Paige’s senior season. Azzi would just smile and nod, always saying something like, “Your on tiktok way too much P.” 

"You just want someone to carry your coffee orders all over set." Azzi teased, though she would be fully willing to do that because, well, it’s Paige.

Paige grinned. "Busted. But also... I just want you there. With me."

The sincerity in her voice knocked the air out of Azzi’s lungs. She reached for Paige without thinking, curling her hands into the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, letting herself be pulled into a slow, sleepy kiss that tasted like coffee and promises. 

____ 

Azzi stood in the middle of Paige’s bedroom, a half-zipped suitcase open on the bed, her fingers tangled in the hem of a t-shirt she wasn’t sure she should bring.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, half to herself.

Across the room, Paige was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small pile of clothes growing beside her. She looked up, amused.

"You’ve packed for way bigger trips," Paige pointed out, tossing a hoodie over her shoulder into her own suitcase without a second thought.

Azzi shot her a look. "Yeah, but usually I know what I’m packing for. What does ‘a few days in LA’ even mean?"

Paige grinned. "It means sunshine, a photo shoot that’s gonna take like, three hours tops, and then a lot of us doing absolutely nothing."

Azzi huffed, turning back to the suitcase. "So I need... what? Cute casual? Lazy casual? Fancy casual?"

Paige pushed up off the floor and crossed the room to stand beside her. She plucked the t-shirt from Azzi’s hands and tossed it onto the growing pile.

"Bring stuff you can be comfortable in. And stuff you wouldn't mind me stealing."

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "Stealing?"

Paige gave her a very unrepentant look. "Sharing. Borrowing. Whatever."

Azzi laughed under her breath, feeling some of the tension leak out of her shoulders. "You’re the worst."

"You love it," Paige said easily, reaching into Azzi’s suitcase and pulling out a soft gray Eric Emanuel sweatshirt. She held it up against herself with a mock-serious expression. "This one’s definitely coming."

Azzi watched her, something warm and weightless blooming in her chest. The sight of Paige wearing her clothes—like it was the most natural thing in the world—made something deep inside her settle.

"You can’t just pick all my favorites," Azzi protested half-heartedly.

Paige tossed the sweatshirt into her own pile. "Watch me."

Azzi shook her head, smiling despite herself. She moved to her own closet, pulling down a couple of pairs of jeans, a few tank tops, a sundress she hadn’t worn in forever.

Behind her, she heard Paige rummaging through the dresser, the sound of zippers and folded fabric filling the room in a lazy, domestic rhythm. "Bring that striped shirt," Paige called over her shoulder. "The blue one. I like you in that."

Azzi froze for half a second, her fingers brushing over the shirt in question. It was such a Paige thing to say—casual, unguarded, and somehow more intimate than anything else. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and added it to her pile without a word.

By the time they finished, there was a chaotic kind of order to it all: two half-stuffed suitcases, a shared backpack for the plane, and a tangle of clothes they’d probably end up swapping back and forth the entire trip.

Paige flopped onto the bed dramatically, arms spread wide. "I’m exhausted," she groaned. "We deserve snacks."

Azzi laughed, tugging the zipper closed on her suitcase and collapsing beside her. Their shoulders bumped. "You realize we haven’t even left yet," she teased.

Paige turned her head, her smile lazy and warm. "Yeah. But traveling with you already feels like an adventure."

Azzi snorted, but her cheeks flushed anyway. "God, you're corny," she said, nudging Paige’s foot with her own.

Paige caught her ankle, tugging playfully. "You like it."

Azzi didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even try.

Instead, she reached over and twined their pinkies together, the simple touch grounding and sweet.

"Yeah," Azzi said softly, her heart thudding steady and sure in her chest. "I really do."

____

The car hummed beneath them, a low, steady vibration that made everything feel suspended somehow— like they were floating between the life they were leaving behind and the one waiting for them on the other coast.

Paige was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the console between them, her fingers drumming out a soft, absentminded rhythm. She wore a navy sweatshirt Azzi recognized as her own—the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the collar stretched just enough to hang loose at the neck.

Azzi sat sideways in the passenger seat, legs folded up beneath her, the city blurring past the window.

For a while, they didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. The silence between them was the good kind— full and easy, stitched together by the soft buzz of the radio and the occasional tap of Paige’s fingers against the steering wheel. It wasn’t until they hit the highway, the skyline growing smaller in the rearview mirror, that Paige spoke.

"So," she said, her voice casual, but edged with a kind of quiet excitement. "Besides the shoot, what do you wanna do while we’re out there?"

Azzi glanced over at her, smiling. "You mean besides sleep in a real bed, eat too much food, and pretend the world doesn’t exist?"

Paige laughed, that low, warm sound that always made Azzi’s chest ache a little. "Exactly that. But also... other stuff."

Azzi tipped her head back against the seat, thinking.

"I wanna see the beach," she said after a minute. "Like, a real one. Not the sad, gray ones we have here."

Paige grinned. "Venice? Malibu?"

Azzi shrugged. "You pick, it’s your trip."

Paige made a thoughtful noise. "We’ll do both."

Azzi smiled, a small, private thing. "Okay."

Paige shifted, glancing at her quickly before turning her eyes back to the road. "What else?"

Azzi bit her lip, considering.

"Maybe... just walk around?" she said. "Get coffee. Go somewhere nobody cares who we are."

Paige’s fingers twitched slightly on the console, like she wanted to reach for her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "We can do that."

They drove a little further in silence, the city giving way to long stretches of highway, the sky growing darker by degrees. Azzi watched the way the passing streetlights caught on Paige’s profile— the strong line of her jaw, the soft set of her mouth, the little furrow between her brows when she was thinking.

"I wanna be stupid," Azzi said suddenly.

Paige blinked, glancing at her. "Stupid?"

Azzi nodded, smiling faintly. "Like... take dumb tourist photos. Eat ice cream for dinner. Spend too much money on something ridiculous."

Paige’s mouth curved into a slow, delighted smile. "You got it."

Azzi laughed under her breath, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

"And you?" she asked, turning the question around. "What do you wanna do?"

Paige shrugged one shoulder, casual. But her voice was steady when she said, "Anything, as long as it’s with you."

Azzi felt her heart stutter painfully, a full, dizzy ache blooming in her chest. She reached over without thinking, resting her hand lightly over Paige’s on the console. Paige turned her palm up instantly, threading their fingers together. They didn’t say anything else for a while. They didn’t need to. Outside the windows, the world kept turning. Inside the car, it felt like they were building something all their own — small, private, indestructible. Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand once, gentle. Paige squeezed back. And the city disappeared behind them.

____

The airport was its own strange kind of world — too bright, too loud, the air too cold even though it was spring outside. Azzi adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, blinking against the fluorescent lights as she and Paige made their way through security. Paige was right beside her, their arms brushing occasionally, small touches that felt deliberate in the chaos. 

They moved through it all like a little orbit of two — checking bags, flashing passports, slipping off shoes and jackets — and somehow, it felt easy. Familiar.

When they got through security, Paige glanced over, her mouth tugging into a half-smile.

"You good?" she asked.

Azzi nodded, but she must not have been very convincing because Paige shifted her bag to her other shoulder and leaned in a little closer, her voice lower now.

"We've got like an hour before boarding," Paige said. "Wanna find somewhere to sit?"

Azzi exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she'd been holding. "Yeah. That sounds good."

They wandered until they found a quieter stretch of terminal, tucked away by a set of big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the tarmac. Paige dropped into one of the chairs, sprawling out with the kind of ease that made Azzi smile despite herself. Azzi slid into the seat next to her, close enough that their knees brushed. Outside, planes taxied slowly across the runways, their lights blinking against the early evening sky. Everything felt washed in that strange, in-between airport time — not quite day, not quite night.

Paige leaned her head back against the seat and turned toward her.

"You know," she said, voice soft, "this is your first real vacation in how long?"

Azzi let out a dry laugh. "Define 'real.'"

Paige nudged her knee lightly with her own. "One where you're not pretending you’re okay the whole time while you’re forced to, you know, preform.”

Azzi went quiet, staring out at the planes for a long moment.

Then she smiled, small and a little broken around the edges. "Yeah," she said. "First in a while."

Paige didn’t push, didn’t prod. She just nudged her again, gentler this time. "You deserve it."

Azzi turned to look at her. Paige was already looking back — steady, certain, like she was saying something much bigger than just you deserve a break.

Azzi felt herself soften, all the way through.

"Thanks," she said, voice thick.

They sat there like that for a while, the steady pulse of the airport all around them, Paige’s presence a steady anchor at her side.

Eventually, Paige shifted, pulling her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket.

"I made a list," she said, suddenly a little sheepish.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. "A list?"

Paige nodded, tapping her screen. "Of things we could do. In LA. Just... ideas."

She held the phone out, and Azzi took it, scrolling slowly. Some of the ideas they had spoken on earlier, but some were new.

Beach day (obviously)

Late-night diner run

Take dumb pictures at tourist traps (like Az wants)

Rent bikes and ride along the beach

Find the best breakfast burrito in the city

Watch a movie outside (rooftop cinema?)

Sunset somewhere high up (Mulholland?)

Vintage shopping (Azzi’s gonna hate this)

Buy matching ugly sunglasses

Dance party in the hotel room if we get bored

Azzi laughed, her heart feeling impossibly full. "This is adorable," she said, handing the phone back.

Paige shrugged, cheeks pink. "Figured we needed a plan. In case you got overwhelmed. Or… I did."

Azzi reached over, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Paige’s sweatshirt. "I like your kind of planning," she said.

Paige’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile — a smile that felt private, just for her.

They were still smiling at each other when the announcement crackled over the speakers, calling for their boarding group.

Paige stood and offered her hand without hesitation.

Azzi didn’t even think twice before slipping her fingers into Paige’s.

Together, they walked toward the gate, their matching sneakers squeaking a little against the glossy floor. Neither of them let go.

____

The plane had just leveled off, that soft, almost unnoticeable shift where the pressure in Azzi’s chest eased and the city below disappeared into a blanket of clouds.

Azzi tugged her sweatshirt tighter around herself and leaned against the window, blinking slowly at the endless stretch of blue and white outside. The hum of the engines filled the cabin, low and steady, like white noise. Paige was next to her — aisle seat, long legs folded awkwardly in the cramped space — flipping idly through the in-flight magazine with a look of deep boredom.

"You know they haven’t updated those magazines since like 2018, right?" Azzi teased, her voice still soft from the altitude.

Paige smirked without looking up. "I'm searching for hidden treasure. Leave me be."

Azzi smiled to herself, turning her gaze back to the clouds. For a while, they just sat there, the quiet between them easy and warm.

Then Paige shifted in her seat, nudging Azzi lightly with her elbow.

"Hey," she said, dropping the magazine onto the tray table with a thud. "You went to UCLA, right?"

Azzi blinked, a little surprised. "Yeah. For undergrad."

Paige smiled, like she already knew but wanted to hear her say it anyway. "Anything you wanna do while we're out there? Stuff you miss?"

Azzi let her head fall back against the seat, thinking.

"I don’t know," she said after a moment. "It's weird. Feels like a lifetime ago."

Paige turned toward her a little, legs bumping gently against Azzi’s under the tray table. “I don't mind," she said. "If you wanna be nostalgic."

Azzi let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Okay," she said, shutting her eyes for a second. "There’s this taco truck. Near campus. Best carne asada I've ever had. And there’s a bookstore I used to live in when I was too broke to buy anything — the guy who owned it would let me sit in the aisles for hours."

Paige’s mouth pulled into a small smile. "That sounds perfect."

"And…" Azzi hesitated, then opened her eyes again. "I'd kinda wanna see the ocean again. Real ocean. Not like... the weird muddy beaches up here— like we talked about earlier.”

Paige chuckled, low and fond. "Hey, don't insult my muddy beaches."

Azzi smiled, a little shy now.

"There’s this spot," she said, voice dropping like it was a secret. "North of Santa Monica. Little hidden cliff with all these wildflowers. You can sit right on the edge and just—watch the waves crash. I know you said Malibu or whatever but if we want something more quiet.”

Paige leaned her cheek against the seatback, studying her. “Sounds perfect.”

After a beat she spoke again, "You’re really a softie, huh," she said, but it came out so gentle Azzi didn't even think to bristle.

"Don’t tell anyone," Azzi muttered, grinning despite herself.

Paige mimed zipping her lips shut, her expression mock-solemn."Sworn to secrecy."

Azzi watched her, heart tugging strangely in her chest.

There was something about Paige like this — a little rumpled from travel, eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling, denim jacket slung loosely over her hoodie — that made her feel like she could tell her anything.

"I used to sit out there and dream about everything I thought I was gonna do," Azzi said quietly, surprising even herself with the admission.

Paige didn’t interrupt. She just shifted a little closer, like she was making room for whatever Azzi needed to say.

"I thought I'd… I don’t know. Change the world. Be fearless. Be important."

Azzi huffed a breath, half a laugh. "Then real life happens and you realize how much just surviving takes out of you."

The hum of the plane filled the space between them. Outside, the clouds rolled endlessly on. Paige reached over, not dramatically, not even looking, just finding Azzi’s hand on the armrest and folding her fingers around it.

"You are important," she said, so matter-of-fact it made Azzi's throat ache.

Azzi looked down at their hands, then up at Paige.

And there it was again — that quiet certainty Paige wore like armor, the belief she never hesitated to offer Azzi, even when Azzi didn’t know how to believe it herself.

"Thanks," Azzi whispered, squeezing her hand back.

They stayed like that for a long time, fingers intertwined, the steady beat of the engines all around them. When Azzi finally drifted off to sleep, her head tipping lightly against Paige’s shoulder somewhere over the desert, Paige didn’t move. She just let her stay there, her thumb brushing slow, thoughtless circles against Azzi’s knuckles. Outside the window, the sun was beginning its slow, golden descent toward the horizon. And for the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.

____

Azzi woke up to the subtle jolt of the landing gear deploying and the soft crackle of the captain’s voice over the intercom. She blinked blearily, momentarily disoriented. The plane dipped, angling itself toward the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles, laid out like a giant, endless grid beneath the haze of late afternoon light. Paige was still next to her, her body turned slightly toward Azzi like she'd been guarding her space while she slept. She was reading something on her phone, one earbud tucked in, the other left dangling in case Azzi needed her.

Azzi stretched a little, her joints stiff from sleeping in such a cramped space.

Paige noticed immediately, pulling her earbud out and smiling at her — that slow, familiar smile that made Azzi feel like she was waking up somewhere safe.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Paige teased softly. "We’re about to land."

Azzi rubbed at her eyes, yawning. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to knock out on you."

Paige shrugged, casual. "You needed it."

Outside the window, the plane dropped lower and lower, buildings sharpening into focus, palm trees swaying in neat little rows, pools glinting like tiny shards of glass in backyards below. The wheels hit the runway with a soft thud, and the brakes engaged, pressing them gently forward in their seats.

Azzi watched as the city rushed up to meet them — all of it sun-drenched and humming with a kind of restless energy she hadn't realized she'd missed. The seatbelt sign dinged off, and the cabin filled instantly with the rustle of people standing, stretching, reaching for bags.

Azzi stayed still for a moment longer, taking it all in — the familiar buzz of LAX, the smell of jet fuel and hot pavement, the excitement coiling low in her stomach.

Paige bumped her knee lightly under the tray table. "You ready, Cali girl?"

Azzi huffed a small laugh, standing up to grab her backpack from under the seat.

"God, I forgot how ugly this airport is," she said, wrinkling her nose affectionately.

Paige chuckled. "Yeah, definitely not the most glamorous welcome."

They shuffled into the slow-moving line down the aisle, Paige’s hand brushing against Azzi’s back in that absent, grounding way that made Azzi’s chest ache a little.

The air inside the jet bridge was thick and warm, heavy with that distinct L.A. heat — not humid, exactly, but dry and heavy, like the sunlight had weight. Azzi adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, already peeling off her sweatshirt as they stepped into it.

Outside, beyond the wide airport windows, the sky was a blazing, endless blue, not a single cloud in sight. The palm trees swayed gently, impossibly tall and a little ridiculous against the concrete sprawl of terminals and highways. Azzi caught herself smiling.

Maybe it was stupid, but there was something about being here — back — that made her feel a little lighter, like she could breathe a little easier. LA always sort of had that effect on her, but the idea that these few days were just for her to enjoy it, made the feeling one hundred times better.

"Feels good, huh?" Paige said, watching her.

Azzi shrugged, but she couldn’t quite hide the small, quiet smile tugging at her mouth. "Yeah," she admitted.

They made their way toward baggage claim, the hum of the airport around them — rolling suitcases, announcements crackling overhead, kids chattering excitedly about Disneyland.

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly against Azzi’s. "We’ll get the bags, grab the rental, and then—" she wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly. "—hit In-N-Out?"

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. "You’re such a tourist."

Paige grinned unabashedly. "Hey, I have priorities."

They found their bags quickly — Paige’s worn black duffel and Azzi’s old, sticker-covered suitcase she’d had since college — and wheeled them toward the rental car shuttles, the hot pavement radiating up through their sneakers.

Azzi tipped her head back, feeling the sun warm her face. It was a small thing, but God, it felt good — this simple, stupid thing of being somewhere familiar with someone who felt like home.

Paige slung her arm casually around Azzi’s shoulders as they waited for the shuttle, squeezing her lightly.

"Welcome back," she murmured.

And even though the city was chaotic, overwhelming, too much in all the ways it had always been, Azzi found herself grinning.

The rental car smelled vaguely of plastic and industrial cleaner, but neither of them cared. It was a beat-up white Jeep — nothing fancy, but it had working air-conditioning and a sunroof, and Paige immediately declared it perfect.

Azzi just shook her head, amused, as they tossed their bags in the back.

Paige adjusted the seat, pulling a pair of sunglasses from the collar of her t-shirt. She looked maddeningly cool without even trying, the late afternoon sun glinting off her hair.

Azzi slid into the passenger seat, stretching her legs out with a satisfied sigh.

It had been a long flight. And a long year.

"This is still the worst airport layout in America," Azzi said, watching the tangle of lanes and honking cars as Paige carefully pulled into traffic.

"Hey, now," Paige teased. "Show some respect. This city gave you your degree."

Azzi snorted, resting her elbow against the window and letting the dry, golden breeze wash over her face. It felt like breathing in sunlight.

"Speaking of," Paige said as they merged onto the highway, "you gotta show me your old stomping grounds sometime while we’re here. UCLA tour, led by a very reluctant former student?"

Azzi laughed. "God. I’m not sure I even remember half of it. But sure. Only if we can hit up some real food spots too."

"Deal," Paige said, holding out her pinky finger dramatically as she drove.

Azzi grinned, hooking her pinky with Paige’s for a second before pulling back. The little gesture left her chest feeling strangely warm.

"First," Paige said, steering them off an exit, "we honor tradition."

Azzi blinked. "What?"

Paige pointed at a bright red-and-yellow sign coming into view.

"In-N-Out, baby."

Azzi groaned, half-laughing. "You are such a tourist."

"Embrace it," Paige said, unbothered. "Besides, you’re getting something too. You need to soak up some of that Cali nostalgia."

They rolled into the drive-thru line, which was predictably about a mile long. The scent of grilled onions and french fries hung heavy in the air, making Azzi’s stomach rumble.

"I forgot how good it smells," she admitted grudgingly, reading the tiny, simple menu pinned up on the side of the building.

Paige glanced at her, smirking. "Told you."

They ordered — two Double-Doubles, fries, two chocolate shakes because Paige insisted they "do it right" — and pulled into a shaded spot to eat.

Paige tore into her burger immediately, groaning around the first bite. Azzi tried to look unimpressed but she wasn’t fooling anyone. The first taste of the greasy, perfect burger made her hum quietly in pleasure.

Paige noticed and grinned like she’d won something.

"Tastes like college, right?" she said, still chewing.

Azzi nodded, mouth full. She swallowed and leaned her head back against the seat.

"God, I missed this."

They ate mostly in silence, windows down, the heavy smell of french fries and the warm, dry breeze filling the car.

It felt strangely sacred — like they were suspended in a little pocket of time where nothing bad could reach them.

After they finished, Paige wiped her hands on a napkin, grinning.

"Okay," she said, starting the car again. "Next stop: a sunset drive? You can pick the playlist."

Azzi felt herself smile without thinking. "Dangerous offer."

"I’m brave," Paige said seriously, pulling back onto the road.

The sun was starting to dip lower now, casting everything in a golden haze. Azzi let the warm air whip her hair around as they sped down the freeway, the city unrolling around them — endless and messy and alive. She glanced over at Paige, who was tapping the steering wheel in time with the music now pouring through the speakers — an old song Azzi loved but hadn’t heard in years. Something in her chest loosened, breathing easier.

They hit the freeway just as the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, spilling molten gold across the landscape.

Paige had rolled all the windows down again, the wind rushing around them, loud and warm. She kept one hand loosely on the wheel, her other hand drumming lazily against her thigh.

Azzi scrolled through her phone, thoughtful. 

Paige almost never gave up aux — it was kind of an unspoken thing between them. Paige was the one who always set the tone, picked the soundtrack. But now, Paige had just handed her the cord without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi tucked that small, important detail somewhere deep inside her heart.

She picked something older— but a classic— Lauren Hills’ Ex-Factor. When the first chords started, Paige shot her a sideways smile, instantly approving.

Azzi sank lower into her seat, the breeze tugging at the ends of her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the music and the light soak into her skin. The city blurred past — palm trees silhouetted against the orange sky, billboards and taco stands and rows of pastel houses flashing by. Everything felt slow and wide open at once.

"This feels fake," Azzi said after a few minutes, her voice soft.

Paige glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly. "Fake?"

Azzi smiled to herself. "Like... too perfect. Like a movie."

Paige’s mouth tilted up at one corner. "Guess that’s LA for you."

They drove in easy silence for a while, trading off songs. Azzi surprised herself by choosing songs she hadn’t listened to in years— songs that reminded her of old dorm rooms and beach days and walking home late at night with nothing but the stars overhead. Every once in a while, Paige would hum along under her breath, her fingers tapping on the wheel in time.

It felt... comfortable.

It felt like breathing with someone else's lungs and realizing you weren’t alone in it. Paige eventually took them up into the hills a little, winding roads that looked out over the whole sprawl of the city. They pulled off at a lookout point— nothing official, just a dusty patch of dirt at the side of the road where other cars were already scattered.

Paige turned the engine off but left the music playing, softer now.

They sat there for a long moment, staring out at the city stretched out below them — endless lights starting to flicker on, stitched into the earth like constellations.

Azzi tucked her knees up against the dashboard, wrapping her arms loosely around them.

"It's beautiful," she said quietly.

Paige didn’t say anything. Just reached over and gently hooked her pinky around Azzi’s again — that same small, almost reverent gesture she’d made earlier. Azzi smiled without looking away from the view, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest.

Yeah.

It really was.

[pangolin-404]

Finished suturing kit last night (It broke me) and just saw the "She's careful with her teeth" art. Tell me EVERYTHING abt Sam x Hellen 👀👀❤️

you've caught me at the perfect time (doodling them)

I'm still getting a solid grasp on their relationship (both platonic and romantic) but so far:

Hellen is extremely blunt about many things, but not cruel. Sam appreciates this. It's kind of unclear how much of a toll the Visitor took on her mind, or if she was just like that. Did she kill anyone pre-Visitor? Sam's not sure.

Hellen likes Sam's kindness and general demeanor. He's endearing, honest, and extraordinarily patient with all he has to deal with. Strangely collected and soft, even in such an environment.

generally strong mutual respect for each other's skills and tenacity

Sam tends to shoulder a lot of responsibility, which Hellen normally allows. She sees that he's got a good head on his shoulders and doesn't intend to get in the way of the latest plan he's zeroed in on (besides, she's got nothing better to do). But when Sam steps back from the front, he gives the reins to Hellen.

Both Sam and Hellen like doing things for people to show they care. Sometimes they get in each other's way about this. Sometimes it works out (Sam cooks, Hellen does the dishes after).

They try to get into each other's interests. Hellen will lean over the back of the couch to watch Sam play games with Joel (or whoever he's with that session), but wouldn't have any interest in playing herself. Likewise, he'll listen to Hellen talk about plants, and the garden she maintained pre-Visitor. She rarely talks about herself, so it's nice when she opens up a bit. Maybe, eventually, she admits she wants to return to it when everything's over, even if the plants get weird.

the day Sam digs up a gardening game is a beautiful day of bonding

Sam is afraid of, or unsettled by, Hellen's face for some time, but he's seen enough horrors to not react to it. She knows it scares him. Neither of them could put a finger on exactly when Sam stopped being afraid. Over time, and depending on who else lives with Sam, Hellen grows more comfortable leaving the mask off in the apartment.

They're each, in their own ways, unused to human contact. Sam was extremely lonely pre-Visitor, and Hellen's whole perception of herself and her relation to others shifted when she looked outside (she views herself as objectively frightening and something unpleasant to look at; she doesn't want to scare everyone on sight <- I'm still tentative on that take but she's got SOMETHING going on). tldr they're awkward about each other and holding hands

Even during the apocalypse, time to take things slow is rare. They're always either in the trenches or recovering from a fight or stressful encounter. Hardly enough time to be with each other, or even the other people in the apartment, in a peaceful way. Always other things and other people (mainly the kids) to worry about. Not quite such a thing as domesticity, out there.

If Monty and Xaria have kicked Sam out of his own room, he occasionally sleeps against or on top of Hellen while she keeps watch.

even though Hellen is careful, she does end up accidentally biting Sam while kissing him at least once she's bitten him on purpose too

the goofy rabbit drawing kinda gives away part of what I think the rest of hellen looks like. but yeah that, just to a far greater extent. all cuts across her flesh opening into teeth and sometimes eyes. she doesn't have a lot of sensation or control over those mouths but she gets kissed there too because why not, she deserves it :)

Fifteen days wasn't enough for them to know each other as well as they would've liked.

[galedekarios]

Not sure if you still do Gale meta asks so if you don’t, feel free to ignore me, but after replaying BG3 recently and getting to Gale’s third artifact explanation, I realized I’m actually a bit lost on his character on that slot.

I am of the opinion that Mystra groomed Gale and their relationship was unhealthy (I’m pretty sure you’re on agreement with that.) For a long time I thought Gale sought out to bring her the Netherese orb in an act of love and because he did not feel worthy or equal to her, but when he explained to me again I noticed at first his motives seemed to be based in the fact that Mystra closed veils to him despite how close he was to them while with her. So it leaves me a little lost because he also swore it was to serve her better, which I don’t get how that could be.

My current personal understanding is Gale, being with Mystra, was constantly looking into the “precipice” others could not access, and Mystra restricted that as she did with others. Gale, feeling like he wasn’t enough, desired to instead prove himself worthy in her eyes to access this knowledge. Perhaps it was still an effort to feel equal to someone he could not be? I’d love an explanation, ty!

thank you for your message!

yes, i am still doing them. i apologise for the wait, but they do take a lot of time, with the amount of research and time that goes into them (outlining, writing, putting together quotes and screenshots if needed). i hope you are still seeing this! 🖤

as for your confusion as to gale's motives:

i think the fault doesn't lie with you. i think the fault lies with larian.

the problem with re-writes and purging

i don't think your confusion is down to you not understanding, but rather it's larian's fault for their at times sloppy re-writes of early access in general to re-work it for the full version based on the fan feedback they received, as well as fitting the story they originally had planned within the scope of the possible.

they rewrote characters (gale, wyll, shadowheart, astarion, etc), they rewrote entire plotlines around factions and npcs while cutting others (halsin's and ketheric's relationship and how it pertained to the shadowcurse and isobel, cutting candlekeep and the astral plane, etc).

they softened up a lot of characters -- gale included -- and, important to your question, they sought to largely remove any dialogue that hinted at lingering feelings or had too many mentions of mizora from wyll and mystra from gale to placate players who felt upset by those mentions made -- even though it (imo) harmed the overall narrative for these characters -- both of which larian discussed prior to release and after release in their panels from hell and interviews, for example:

What is, in your folks opinion, is the funniest (and non-spoilery) addition or story that’s occurred because of either fan reception/feedback? Baudelaire Welch: We mercilessly purged any references to Gale or Wyll being hung up on their exes.

the fandom in general has talked many times about larian and their tendency to adopt popular fandom narratives and/or compromise their stories and characters over fan feedback so i won't rehash it at this point once again, although you can be sure i do have some less than charitable thoughts about it all.

however, i'm of the opinion however that these "purges" often left scars in the stories and character, and they left old traces that lead to a poorer characterisation for it, they messed up timelines, motivations or caused inconsistencies in characterisation and lore -- especially because in gale and wyll's cases, these "purges" were not substituted with new scenes.

things were only taken and scrapped, and nothing new was added in its stead.

the "purging" and re-write of gale included not only changing aspects of his personality, but removing scenes that were very much integral to his character and to understand not only what happened to him and mystra, but also the direness of his situation, the sheer loss of power and status he suffered -- from a waterdhavian archwizard able to wield silverfire to a, essentially, level 1 adventurer struggling to hold onto a fraction of the control he once held over the weave.

these two "purged" scenes are the loss scene and the deer stew scene, as well as a rewrite of the first romance scene, which then took place during the tiefling party.

i have detailed many of these scenes and cut dialogues in my series re: early access gale's cut content. if you wish to read it, you can do so here.

early access gale vs full release gale: why did he seek out the orb?

the loss scene and the tiefling party scene revealed early access gale's intentions: he sought the orb to proof his love to mystra and to win her back after she abandoned him.

it was the actions of, as he puts it, a very young and very naive man, who was in love for the first time, lost that love and tried to win it back.

i think it's very important to keep in mind here also that originally, gale's entire story was set on different premise than the full release version storyline. i, and others, have speculated that he was physically even more affected by the netherese orb housed inside of his body to the point of where auntie ethel was able to smell the rot on him. i have written another meta on that original storyline here.

but back to the dialogue explaining why gale sought the orb as it was in early access:

i have written down and edited here a part of the tiefling party scene after the protag and gale spent the night together, which is when he would reveal the full extent of what happened mystra, after having hinted at it in the loss and in other smaller dialogues before:

Gale: Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. Such was his skill that it earned him the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady Of Mysteries, Mystra. Protag: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.  Gale: Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely. Protag: The veils draped across the Weave? Gale: Indeed. What most wizards perceive is but the ripple of the Weave’s surface. Untold wonders lie beyond. I enjoyed them for a while, as we enjoyed each other. Gale: Alas it was Mystra’s interest that didn’t last. One day all too soon, the whispers stopped. The goddess spurned the mortal. The veils were drawn once more, and the wizard was left behind heartbroken. Protag: Poor wizard Gale: Poor wizard. Silly wizard too, for he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Protag: What happened next? Gale: Like so many of the heartbroken, he did something infinitely foolish. One has to think big if one seeks to win back a goddess. So the wizard thought big. Protag: Define big. Gale: Here goes; once upon a time, very long ago, a mighty lord lived in a tower. A flying tower to be precise. I’ll save his story for another time, but the gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?” Protag: What was the answer to his question? Gale: The answer was to try, and the outcome was to fail. Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you. Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in. Into the dark. You see through Gale’s eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It’s teeth, it’s claws, it’s unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever hungry… Protag: Yank your hand away. Gale: Terrifying isn’t it? And that is only the beginning This Netherese taint... this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as it absorbs Weave it remains stable – to an extent. The moment it becomes unstable, however... Protag: You will die, obviously.. Gale: Rather worse, actually.  It will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry… It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep. Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through... After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side.

the reason for the full release version of gale is curiosity and thirst for knowledge and wanting to feel equal to mystra:

Gale: Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady of Mysteries. The goddess Mystra. She revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover. Protag: Are you telling me you made love to a goddess? Gale: Oh yes. We enjoyed each other's company - body, mind and soul. But even so, I desired more. You see, no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can become, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave. Mystra keeps us in check. There are boundaries she doesn't let us cross. Yet every time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that lay beyond. I sought to cross her boundaries. Protag: How exactly did you try to cross those boundaries? Gale: I tried to convince her. I pouted, I pleaded, I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and told me to be contented. As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess and yet I wasn't satisfied. So I sought to prove myself worthy to her instead. We come now to the crux of my folly. Shall I share the story behind it, or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale? Protag: I'm intrigued. Tell me all. Gale: Very well. Here goes: Once upon a very long time ago, a mighty lord lived in a tower. A flying tower, to be precise. I'll save his history for another time, but the gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed, but not quite, and his entire empire - Netheril - came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, roiling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. Even the Weave itself could not withstand the onslaught. It fractured, then shattered, and all magic was lost to the mortal realms until the day Mystra returned. She restored the Weave, reuniting all its scattered shards. Or so I thought, until in the course of my studies I learned of a book. A Netherese tome in which a piece of the fractured Weave had been sealed beyond her reach. 'What if', I thought, 'What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?' Protag: So your grand plan was akin to emptying a cup of water in the sea. Brilliant. Gale: I certainly thought so. Sometimes there is great strength to be found in symbolism. I was certain that this deed of raw power draped in romance would convince Mystra to take me by the hand and welcome me into her hitherto forbidden domains. I was mistaken. I obtained the fabled book and took it into my study. As for what happened next... Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you. Narrator: *You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in.* *Into the dark.* *You see through Gale's eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened.* *Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces.* *Its teeth, its claws, it's unstoppable as it digs through and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever-hungry...*

in conclusion, early access gale did it out of love for mystra as a young man, as a chosen, and as a romantic trying to win back his lost first love, however naive and grand (and ultimately doomed) the gesture was, which was then cut to appease those who thought gale was "too hung up" on mystra, and changed around, purging some scenes and dialogue while keeping others.

(on a tangent: this also once again shows, imo, how ultimately it's completely futile to try and appease these sort of demands/complaints since this is still very much a big complaint that is levied against gale's character.)

it's now more about power, curiosity, knowledge and a desire to be equal, while the new narrative of the full release version still to some extent kept the relationship with mystra intact.

with the removal of the deer stew scene, of the loss scene, and all those little dialogues, purging and cutting away to re-write gale's devotion to mystra as the embodiment of weave and his first true love, while still leaving in some of that, with lines from those very conversation, is where your (as well as other's) confusion is coming from.

i'm only rambling now so i will stop and say that i hope this was at least somewhat helpful for you!

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Quinn Hughes

Mob Boss Nico Hischier, Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: angst, blood, violence, guns

Previous chapter

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

All Chapters

~~~~

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.

[nothingspecialherern]

"Sit down. I need to read something to you."

Jaskier quirked his lips. "Read something? What are you planning?"

"Nothing. Just listen."

Jaskier nodded, sitting on the fallen log they had picked. Geralt felt around for the book in his bag. There was a pockmarked page for the poem he had picked out. As he turned around, Geralt noticed Jaskier trying to track the name of the book. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that Jaskier recognized the book-- he was fixed on the cover, eyes darting between the flowery title lettering and Geralt's face. Geralt suddenly wasn't sure what the etiquette was-- should he say the title? The poet's name? In a panic, he just started.

"The, uh, the light does funny things to people." He looked up to Jaskier, as if to get assurance. Why did he feel like he was reciting for a teacher? Jaskier smiled, though he didn't respond. It was enough to keep going.

Did he always sweat this much?

"The light does funny things to people. It reflects on tears and laughter the same. It..." Fuck, he was panicking enough to forget how to pronounce these stupid words. "illuminates and re-ju-vin--rejuvenates the soul, both in feel and name." He was losing his confidence. "Yet so much lies beyond the enlightened skin and unkept, wild mane..."

Again, he glanced at Jaskier, who simply nodded for Geralt to continue. He took a breath to steady himself. "It is the image of you that comes 'round to the same. Yes, even in distracting light-" Geralt was all but buried in the book by now, afraid to see Jaskier's reaction. "You and love remain unerringly the same."

Jaskier stared at Geralt, almost unsure what to say. "You like that one?"

Geralt barely lowered the book, just so his eyes could peak over the top of the pages. "Do you like that one?"

Jaskier pressed his lips in amusement. "I daresay I do."

There was a pause. Geralt didn't know what to say. Jaskier watched the light dance in the leaves above them. "What is it you like about that one, Geralt?"

"I like..." His eyes caressed the words again. "I like how light is too many things here. Like, it's good and bad. And..."

He glanced back at Jaskier, then to the forest floor. "I like how you can put 'love' in the poem instead of 'light'. It still works. And it's a more... it's real. Some poets ignore the blood and guts of the world. This one doesn't. There are tears."

Jaskier nodded. "That's very astute, darling. A lot of people don't pick up on that." A pause. "Why did you read this to me?"

"Because-- because it's good. It's how... It's how I feel." He looked to Jaskier again. He didn't seem upset yet. "It's... it's how I feel about you. You look good. In light."

Jaskier's lips quirked. "In love?"

Geralt blushed. He bit the inside of his cheek, angry at his own embarrassment. "I... I don't know how to say it. I thought... if I could read it..." He grunted. "I like this one."

Jaskier finally took pity on him, rushing off the fallen log to wrap Geralt in a hug. "Oh, don't worry, darling, it was perfect." He laughed. "I can speak enough for the both of us, I promise."

Geralt smiled, hugging him tighter. Perfect.

Geralt, determined to confess his love to Jaskier, decides the best way to do it is through poetry—after all, it's what Jaskier loves most.

The only problem? Geralt isn't exactly gifted with words. So, the witcher turns to a book he picked up in Oxenfurt, hoping its verses will speak for him.

The book, penned by the poet J.A. Pankratz, might just help him say what his heart cannot

[ilostthewar]

Hello children time for angst. The 141 boys come home and their SO has packed up and left while they were deployed. Left a breakup note on the bed, and just left. Who's tracking them down to sort this out, all proper like? Who's getting smashed at the pub? then blasting a boom box of love songs outside their apartment? (it's probably Soap).

Firstly, thank you for the ask! Secondly, they’re all going to be horrendously toxic in this, so warning for that.

How the 141 react to you up and leaving?

John Price saw the signs. Knew what those displeased expressions and charged silences were leading to. He had been foolish enough to think he had time to sort this out. He thought he had more chances to smooth this over, have you complacent again. John wasn’t a perfect man by any means, but he did his best to do right by you. Ensured that you never had to want for anything, except for maybe his attention. But that’s alright. John realizes where he went wrong. Too much freedom and not enough structure leads to rebellion. And what’s what he decides this is. He determines that this is you acting out. He wishes you would have said something sooner instead of this out of control fit you’re throwing, but that’s fine. He’s patient and he’s tracked much harder targets. He’ll be finding you soon. Til death do us part, remember?

Simon Riley hadn’t known what to do at first. The last time he entered a house that should have been lively only to meet silence… he couldn’t stomach the idea. So it was almost worse to find your note, to realize that you hadn’t been taken from him, rather you willingly walked out. Took the life from your shared home and left him with the undead remains. He had wandered the rooms, searching for any bit that you could have possibly left behind. And that only compounds the rising dread in his chest. Everything of yours is meticulously scrubbed away. This was preplanned, not an act in a moment of hectic frustration. And in the place of pain grows betrayal. You know his name, his face. You burrowed into his chest nestled in his ribs and you just… left? He exposed parts of himself that he swore wouldn’t see the light of day, you cradled those fragments and now what was he supposed to do with them? You can’t just leave him now, not when you are engrained in his routine, in his life, in his very DNA. So you will be coming home.

Kyle Garrick had been staring at his phone for the better part of an hour. No calls or text messages went through. He had tried just about every messenger and app you both shared only to find himself blocked. So. this was really how you wanted this to end? This long together and this is what he deserved? No conversation, no chance to fight- just war wounds and a concussion and an empty house. If you won’t talk to him then Kyle can work with that. It’s not hard to whisk the story together, reaching out to those who would give him the information he knows he wants. Your mutual friends, your family, your boss. And the story isn’t hard to whisk together, truths layered into overly sweet deceit. That he’s worried, concerned, about you. That he just got back, after weeks away in war-torn places, and you aren’t home. That your mental health wasn’t always in the best place and he just wants to make sure you’re okay. Planting doubt wrapped in sympathy for the boyfriend who just wants to be sure. It’s child’s play, really.

Johnny Mactavish walks into his flat and nearly turns around and walks right back out. He almost assumes you have been robbed, though that thought is quickly squandered when he realizes how neat everything is. Nothing of his is out of place, no, only the items that were yours. Your shoes no longer beside his, your blankets no longer over the couch. The only thing that is yours is the key left on the table and a letter that he almost tears apart in his eagerness to open it. He almost assumes it’s a cruel joke, a prank at his expense, but no one is laughing and he is alone. His calls all go to voicemail, all of which range from desperation for answers to anger. He takes a drink to try and cool the edge off, to level his head. Of course, this doesn’t entirely work. Instead, he ends up on your doorstep. Rage fine tuned into something more precise, something deeper. He’s overwhelming, it almost escapes you that he’s managed to find you already, before you even realized he knew you were missing.