#to not only reach out but hold on as long as possible...

[leighsartworks216]

Cookies And Kisses

Zayne x gn!Reader

I am YEARNINGGG for a Zayne kiss so badddd (and also cookies) I also wrote this like minutes after my friend sent me the trailer for the new banner cuz ough Zayne why you gotta kiss like that and NOT BE REAL

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, kissing, baking, established relationship

Word Count: 1,229

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It was only a matter of time before the sweet fragrance of baking cookies beckoned Zayne to the kitchen. Even though he was in his office, working away on his reports and research, it's the most surefire way of getting him to take a break. You've only just put in the second batch when he wanders in with that round-eyed interest, honing in on the fresh tray of sweets.

"You're baking today?" he asks. You hear the excitement in his voice, even if he's trying to act natural.

You slip off the oven mitt with a smile. The counter is a bit of a mess - flour, baking soda, vanilla and almond extract, sugar both powdered and crystalized. You tried to keep it contained, for what it's worth. Cooling racks are spread out on the kitchen island, empty for now. A full one sits beside the oven. Twelve golden sugar cookies, with coarse rainbow sprinkles pressed into their tops. You are the only thing between him and the cookies.

"They're still hot," you warn, walking over to meet him so you can hold him back for as long as it takes to let them cool for just a couple minutes. You wrap your arms around his neck. His hands rest comfortably on your waist, slipping around to your back to hold you close. Eyes focus down on you, momentarily distracted by the one thing he loves more than his sweets. "I thought it would be fun. I was going to bring some to Yvonne and Grayson."

He glances back at the cookies. "How many are you making?"

"The recipe makes about 50 cookies. I don't think either of us need that many to ourselves."

He hums noncommittally and asks, "How many are you giving them?"

"Eight each. Will 30-something cookies be enough to satisfy you?"

"With your baking, no amount could satisfy me."

You laugh softly. Your fingers begin caressing the back of his neck and playing with the short ends of his dark hair. His eyes soften behind his glasses, warm with affection as he soaks in your touch. "With your sweet tooth, no amount of anyone's baking could satisfy you."

His ears grow warm, but he just smiles. His long fingers trace light patterns against your spine and lower back. He glances at the cookies once more. You try not to laugh at how obviously he's restraining himself. "Can I have one?"

"Just one?"

"Mm, or two, or three?"

You peck his lips with a snicker and pull away. His hands slide away, falling down back to his sides. You miss them immediately. Still, you grab a napkin and carefully settle two cookies on it. The third you take for yourself, taking a bite as you turn to rest your back against the counter, holding out the napkin for him. He stands close, comfortably within arms reach, as he eagerly accepts the cookies and takes a bite of one.

Still warm, the sugar cookie crumbles in the best way possible. The subtle vanilla, the sweet almond, the added crunch of sugar crystals. He hums in content. You reach up to wipe away the crumbs at the corner of his mouth, and he looks at you with a smile.

"They're delicious," he praises after he swallows his first bite. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. "Thank you."

You catch his lips again before he can fully pull away. A quiet sigh escapes him as he reciprocates, fanning across your cheek from his nose. He tilts his head. Sets his partial cookie back in the napkin to hold your cheek as he licks the seam of your mouth, tasting the cookie's lingering sweetness on your lips, on your tongue.

Zayne kisses like he'll never kiss you again. It wasn't always like this. When you first started dating, kisses were hesitant. Light pecks, chaste and quick. Even your first make out, there was always something restrained in the way he kissed. He allowed you to lead, to take what you wanted from him. Now that you've grown as a couple, discovered each other's quirks and habits, moved in together, begun intertwining your souls, his kisses aren't the quiet, reserved pecks they used to be. He's always aching to kiss you deeper. Tilting his head from one side to the other as his hands hold you in place, pull you closer. His breaths grow heavy with excitement, soft sounds escaping the back of his throat. He devours you. Kisses you as though it's the last kiss you'll ever share and he needs to make the most of it. Kisses you like a soldier off to war, saying goodbye to his partner before he's shipped off. Kisses you like you're sweeter than pure sugar.

The oven beeps. You pull away with a sigh, sad to see the moment end. He smiles reassuringly as he kisses your cheek, silently promising to continue this later, before he steps away to lean back against the island. Those lithe fingers slipping from your cheek to pick up the cookie again, bringing it to his kiss-swollen lips and-

The oven beeps once more and you push away from the counter to stop the timer. You slip on the oven mitt, open up the inferno to let its dry heat caress your already-warm cheeks, and retrieve the tray of fresh cookies. Zayne watches as you hold the tray in one hand and pick up the spatula with the other, one by one depositing the cookies onto a cooling rack.

He's halfway through his second cookie when you begin scooping an array of dough onto the tray. Sneaking a third from the first batch when you're pressing divots into the center of the dough-balls and dispensing pinches of sugar in them. Finishing the third when you're slipping the tray on the top rack of the oven and setting a new timer. You grab his hand before he can grab a fourth, tugging him away and toward the kitchen doorway.

"You're gonna make yourself sick one of these days," you playfully chide. "No more until after dinner. Or at least until I've boxed up the ones for Yvonne and Grayson."

He chuckles as you drag him all the way back to his office. Smiles like a lovestruck fool as you push him into his chair. He grabs your hips before you can pull away, settling you to be standing between his legs as he looks up at you like you're the moon itself.

"Will you tell me when you've finished?"

You brush his bangs aside from his forehead. Trail your touch down his cheek. Hold his chin as you run your thumb along his lips. "Finished baking or finished separating theirs out?"

His eyes close as he presses a kiss to your finger. "Both."

You lean down and kiss his forehead. "So long as I don't catch you sneaking out before then."

"I won't."

"Mm-hm."

He tilts his head back, eyes flickering to your lips. "I won't," he insists.

"You won't get caught, you mean." You brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He turns to fully catch your lips again. Draws you into him, until your knee is resting on the chair right up against his crotch. He murmurs breathlessly against your mouth, grinning with a subdued playfulness, "Now, I never said that."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @whisteriaremembers @leiakitty

[yamumsyadadd]

hidden

part 1, part 2.

this one is short, i had to find the best spot to cut it in half. there will be 1 more part :)

Returning home was supposed to be relaxing, but instead it filled you with anxiety. You hadn’t been bothered to turn your phone back on, not wanting to deal with Alexia’s excuses.

But as you sat in your childhood bedroom, the same room that saw you confuse your love to your best friend, the same room that you kissed in, you couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in your chest.

You want Alexia to be here, experience your childhood house, your parents and brothers to embarrass you with silly stories. But that wouldn’t be happening. Instead, you were stuck in your room silently crying.

There was only one place you could think to go. Portland was your home for so many years, it’s where you grew up, fell in love for the first time and soccer your first professional goal.

It didn’t take long for someone to join you. You knew who it was as soon as she sat on the swing next to you.

“Your mom is worried about you.” You didn’t look up, just continued to kick the bark beneath the swing, “do you want to talk about it?”

“I was seeing someone.” You looked up at her, really looking at her. She was older now, as were you, but she was still the girl you fell in love with, even if you weren’t in love with her anymore. “I love her Sam. I really do but I can’t kept being a secret. I didn’t even want to go public, just met her friends and family. Every time I tried to push it, she would snap, and we would fight. Loving her is so exhausting.” Sam let you sit there and cry, and when you were done, she reached over and hugged you.

“you don’t deserve to be a secret, if she cant love you loudly and proudly, then she doesn’t deserve to love you in private.” You knew she was right but that didn’t make it hurt any less. for while, you both just stayed there. It was like you were kids again, talking about everything and nothing, while swinging on the swings or sitting o the slides.

When camp started you felt lighter, you were focused and ready to go. After the last Olympics and the disaster of a world cup, you were prepared to fight as hard as possible to medal.

The USA was grouped with Germany, Australia and Zambia. Out of the three teams, Australia and Germany were the two toughest, you never knew how the games could go.

France in the summer was beautiful; it was the best place for the USA to play some beautiful football and you did. The first game was 3-0 win against Zambia, then another win against Germany and finally the hardest game you’d have to play, against Australia, winning 2-1.

The communication with alexia had been silent and you were glad for that. She tried a few times to call and text, but once her own camp started, she left you alone. The Barca girls didn’t though, the group chat with Cata, Pina and Patri was consistently going off.

Mainly the conversations were about the Olympics and a quick trip away before pre-season, expect there was one comment that made you hold your breath.

“Alexia is upset. Irene seems to be on the war path about it.”

To them it was just gossip, but to you. To you it made your chest tight, your hands clamming and your eyes hurt. Alexia had obviously mentioned something to Irene. Your other captain.

You threw your phone onto the desk and walked out. This was not the time nor the place for this. You needed to focus, to do better and be better. There wasn’t time for feelings or apologies. Later, if the time came, you could deal with it then.

As the Olympics continued on, you secretly watched Spain play. They were going well, by the time the knockout round came, you could see how exhausted they all were. It was their first Olympics, none of them had been here before, felt how exhausting it was, bone crushing, soul burning, exhausting.

You were sure Spain would make it through to the Gold Medal game, but when Monste didn’t start their best player, Alexia, a horrible feeling washed over you. By the time she could subbed on, it was too late. The damage had been done, Brazil had scored four goals and that was a lot for them to make up in less than thirty minutes.

As the camera panned over the Spanish team, their tears and disappointment was clear but it wasn’t until you saw alexia that a few of your own tears fell. Your heart broke for her, she looked so sad, so exhausted and you wished you could reach out but you couldn’t bring yourself to face the hurt again.

After your own game against Japan, your phone was blowing up, as it turns out, the Spanish girls had also watched. They sat through the entire 120 minutes, some cheering as you tackled and won back the ball. You must’ve watched the videos back three or four times, watching everyone’s different emotions.

The bronze medal match between Spain and Germany took place the day before your gold medal game. You were holed up in your hotel room, away from the conference room and your teammates. You wanted to keep a little bit of dignity.

When Spain went down 1-0, you almost cried. They were playing so hard, pushing their bodies as much as they would go but it wasn’t enough. There was hope, a minute before the end of the game, a penalty was given to Spain and you knew that Mario was the first in line to take them, but then she didn’t. Alexia did.

And she missed. Your heart broke all over again, and for different reasons. You knew she was getting older and by the next Olympics she might not even be playing or selected. When the game ended a minute later, your eyes stayed focussed on her. She went through the motions, shaking hands, swapping shirts, but you knew behind it all, she was broken and exhausted.

The only text you sent off was to the group chat, extending your apologies. You wanted to reach out, to say something, anything, but you were pulled away for dinner.

Everyone knew the game was going to be hard, this would be Marta’s last chance at an Olympics, a chance for someone completely different to win. But somehow, the football gods were in your favour. When you scored in the 57th minute, the team crashed onto you. All you could think about is holding the led, even scoring again.

At no point did you think to look at the crowd, it was something you didn’t do until the end of them game. So when the final whistle blew and the celebrations finally slowed down, you finally took the time to look around.

The stadium was packed, different people, friends, families, strangers all littered the stand. They were all there because they wanted to be, they wanted to enjoy the atmosphere and enjoy women’s football.

When you spotted your Barcelona teammates, a smile broke out on your face, you made your way to the barrier but stopped just before you reached them. Admits the team, there she was. A white tee shirt, jeans and her favourite sunnies covering her face.

Alexia.

For a split second, you let your emotions show all over your face, forgetting about the cameras and the people around. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The girls all said their congratulations, gushing over how well you played and how proud they were. Only two people were silent, alexia you expected, but Irene you didn’t.

The post-Olympic celebrations carried on all night, the drinks were free, and the music was loud. You were so happy, almost the happiest you’d ever been. There was a moment, as the couple filled the dance floor, that hurt. You needed air and left.

You let the tears fall as you watched them all dance together, sharing their love with the ones around them, laughing and enjoying yourself. It made you remember the night on the beach with Alexia.

“After I win the Gold medal with Spain, we will go away. Somewhere quiet, on the beach, just the two of us.”

“oh you think you’re winning the gold over me?” you laughed as she scrunched her eyebrows.

“of course. I will win the Gold, and you will win the Silver. What is that Vicky says? We would be a power couple.”

“a power couple?” you laughed again as she pulled you into her and spun you around.

You didn’t hear the doors to the balcony open or the footsteps towards you. So when two different people wrapped their arms around you, it startled you.

“it’s okay baby girl. Your okay.” Christens voiced filled your ears and you couldn’t help but cry harder. You loved alexia, you loved her so much that for entire year you put your own wants and needs on hold. She was more important, and you would do anything to get back to her.

‘I’m in love with alexia Putellas… I don’t want to be a secret anymore�� it hurts so bad.” You sobbed out, barely able to make any sense.

Sam had watched you leave the room in a hurry, she knew she couldn’t follow, she wasn’t what you needed anymore so she got Christen and Tobin. They would know what to do, they always did.

For an hour they sat with you, calming you down and sharing their own stories of their hidden relationship. By the end of it, you were exhausted, from playing a full came, the excitement and the sadness.

They helped you get into your hotel room, leaving you with water and Panadol for the incoming headache. Before you passed out from exhaustion, you finally let yourself message Alexia.

To Alexia: I am very sorry that you lost. You were defs the player of the Olympics, you deserved to win. You deserve everything Ale.

Your stupid drunk brain couldn’t just leave it there though.

I love you. I love you and you broke my heart, but I still love you. I don’t think ill stop.

You didn’t notice her reply in the morning or for the following weeks. Somehow, you had managed to mute the text thread with her in your drunken state. It wouldn’t be until you went back for pre-season that things would come out.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

parenthood w/ mrs. burrow ~ blurb

wc: 855 ish

joe burrow masterlist

The house is quiet, which is extremely rare for 2 PM, but by some divine intervention, all the kids are napping at the same time. So you're using this time to catch up on your new hobby, crocheting. You’re not that good yet, but that’s from a lack of practice.

Your husband walks into the room as you're undoing your last stitch.

“I see those lessons from my mom didn’t really work.” He smirks, lying down on the couch with his head on your lap.

You roll your eyes and attempt the stitch again. “For someone in choking distance, I’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Like you’d ever choke me, but I might return the favor if you’re lucky.” He winks, earning a smile from you.

You lean down and place a small kiss on his nose.

“What, that’s all I get?”

“Yup, and speaking of your mom… I saw her on the news making your favorite. I’m not gonna say it because-

“Because it’s on the long list of foods I have to stay away from during the season? Yeah thanks for the reminder.” He groans dramatically, turning his body and smushing his face in your thighs.

“Aww my poor baby…” Putting your failed project aside to rake your fingers through his soft hair and lightly scratch his scalp.

“Mmmhmm..” He relaxes under your touch and hums against your leggings. “Yup, poor me. Poor poor me..”

You snort, continuing the scalp massage. Letting your blunt nails glide along the tender skin and pads of your fingers rub with just the right amount of pressure to induce his light moans and groans of pleasure.

After a few minutes, his body is completely relaxed as you’ve lured him into a light slumber. Reflexively, your fingers part and scoop strands of his hair into small braids throughout his head.

Snapping out of the trance you were in, you have to hold back your giggles as you take in your work. Biting your bottom lip, you reach over for your phone to snap a picture. But the second your hands leave his head, he looks up at you. His face relaxed, eyes half open and pink lips curled into a soft closed mouth smile.

“You know, I was just thinking…” He starts, seemingly unaware of his current hair situation. “You should go on the news and talk about your job.”

Your shoulders untense, and a smile finds your features as well. He understands how much you enjoy working with youth and counseling them on navigating the pressures of adolescence while maintaining a healthy state of mind.

“You’re a great youth counselor, the kids love you… All kids love you, even mine.” He smiles lazily, putting his head back down in your lap.

“Your kids are my kids, baby.”

“Exactly. They love you like I love you.” You have a soft spot for when he gets like this. His tone was loving, relaxed, and almost slurred as if he were under the influence.

“Well, Mr. Burrow, that would mean I have to make something original on the show.” You ponder the idea for less than a minute, then mutter. “The only things I know how to make from scratch are babies.”

His usually boisterous, carefree laughter is muffled by the fabric of your leggings, but you can feel his wide smile warming your skin. “I love doing that with you.”

“I know you do. There’s a reason why we have 3 under 4.” You chuckle.

“What can I say, we make great babies.” He turns to face you once more then leans up to kiss your lips, his lips move slow and almost cautious against yours. He smiles softly against yours when you begin to kiss back, before taking your chin driving his lips more passionately against yours.

Your love for each other speaks for itself as your lips move rhythmically against his. Nothing could possibly interfere with the peace and serenity of this moment except maybe the yells and cries coming from upstairs, from two distinct examples of that love.

You pull away with a sigh, but it’s not of disappointment; your smile mirrors his. “I think our presence is needed.” You chuckle softly.

“Yeah, I’ll go investigate the damage our offspring have caused.” Joe pecks your lips once more, then lifts himself off the couch and jogs upstairs.

He reacts only after you hear the door to your son’s room open. “Oh shit.”

Usually he’s able to handle your munchkins all by himself, but the four letter word he mutters worries you.

“Babe!?” You call out, promptly standing from the couch.

“Uhhhh... Thing Two had a blowout on Thing One’s bed.” He relays as the cries only get louder.

“I just cleaned-” You shake your head, neglecting to finish the thought because this is just one of the joys of motherhood. “You handle bath time, I’ll strip the sheets!”

“Got it!” He replies as you grab an old laundry basket, then join them upstairs in your oldest son’s room.

“At least Princess is okay.” You mutter, pulling off the soiled sheets.

“Mama!”

Nevermind.

“Dada’s hair funny!”

a/n: inspired by the interview @joecoolburrow posted. i wrote this in one sitting, first time in forever for that. so... how my people doing? I'm currently in the finals trenches with 4 different injuries, but I'm doing grrrreat..

[moon-ttokki-x]

Heya there 🤠 Hope you're doing well! If it's good with you, can I please request something ispired by this - https://www.tumblr.com/moon-ttokki-x/777609369726681088/ ?

I think all of the guys would always take their 9th member as plus one on those events so... how do you think it would be like to go to events like that with each member?

I hope this isn’t too confusing 😭 I'm not good at writing 😕

i already did chan's ver. so here's the rest of the members hehe . . .

₊✩ ot8!skz x plus one! 9th member reader ✩‧₊

pairing: ot8!skz x 9th member!reader

summary: skz find out you're coming with them as plus one to an event.

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, hints of mutual pining, mentions of eating and drinking, kind of groupmates to lovers thing ig, nervous minho awww, jeongin tries to be cool, changbin's is the sweetest ever. literally just fluffy, like tooth-rot worthy fluff. literally no other warnings i'm pretty sure . . .

a/n: i feel like it's been ages since i wrote smth tbh :/ div by @dollywons

skz masterlist | chan's ver.

Minho who is an absolute gentleman. is rather quiet on the ride there but that's only bc he's a little nervous himself (and also bc he's sitting next to you; do you even know how good you look??). has to stop himself from constantly reaching to hold your hand when you both step out of the car, but he can't resist offering you his arm. he's not one for much physical affection, but there's a small part of him that wants you close. shields you from the cameras if the flashing is making you uncomfortable, and introduces you smoothly to people once you're inside the event. literally stays by your side the whole night, glancing sideways every few minutes to make sure you're okay.

Changbin who is the literal king of comforting you. he knows you're a little apprehensive about attending the event, but he distracts you and makes silly jokes to ease the tension floating around your head. if you're worrying how you look, he'll literally drop to his knees and flatter you. he can't believe you're not sure whether you look good or not; rest assured, he'll be reminding you for the rest of the night. locks his pinky with yours as you both wander throughout the crowds to reassure you. he couldn't be prouder of his little maknae attending their first major event, and makes sure to congratulate you and then treat you to something delicious afterwards.

Hyunjin who insists on wearing matching colours and outfits; throws a playful tantrum when you refuse to let him pick the colour. you both spend almost two hours bickering over what to wear, but he gives in and lets you choose anyway. is almost knocked over by the blinding lights of camera flashes once you two arrive at the event, and he waves people off before turning to check on you. leads you through the crowds with a gentle hand on your lower back, and makes sweet, subtle comments to you throughout the night (in front of and away from people; he couldn't care less if anyone else hears him). you're the most stylish duo at the event that night.

Han who whines about having to go to the event before he finds out you're supposed to go with him. literally shoots out of his chair and insists on getting ready (even though the actual thing isn't supposed to start for at least a few hours). promises to help you with interactions and nods encouragingly when you move to approach people at the event. stands by your side, nodding and gently prompting you to talk, shooting you a cheeky wink when you give him a subtle nod in thanks. normally tries to escape these events early, but stalls for as long as possible (partly because he's actually enjoying himself, and partly because he wants to keep admiring you).

Felix who refuses to leave your side and insists on having some part of his body touch yours as you both watch the event start. whether it's his shoulder brushing yours as he shifts a little, or his hand 'accidentally' skating over your thigh, the comfort is far more enjoyable than this event could ever be. isn't actually as invested in the goings-on of the show like he usually is; all he can think about is you. for once, he's too shy to talk to the other people at the event; he makes a mental note to thank the company once he gets back. he quietly begins planning a way to bring you to these outings more often.

Seungmin who initially rolls his eyes and brushes past you when he finds out you both have to go together; softens up when he sees you all dressed up and even offers you his hand when you get out of the car. is bored, as per usual, but he puts on his most convincing facade and steels himself throughout the night. lightens up a little when you lean across to whisper a snide comment to him, and he throws one right back, trying to fight the slight colour rising on his cheeks. thinks about the proximity to you for the rest of the event, and can't seem to get rid of the strange, warm feeling in his stomach. oh well. must have been something he ate.

Jeongin who immediately puts in 200% effort into trying to impress you. dresses up well and makes himself look amazing, makes sure he smells good, and even practices a few english sentences in the mirror to avoid stuttering like he usually does. in a bid to show off a little, he talks to people he normally wouldn't have and is sick of the english language by the end of the night (though he doesn't complain bc that's not cool). succeeds in his attempts to impress you, and doesn't realise how much he talked until he's called into the office the next day. is confused when he's told that he somehow managed to network with every single person at the event.

a/n: skz just one chance pls take me with you

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627

send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !

[returnofeternity]

hear me out, tattoo artist nat getting freaky when a new customer comes in and wants to get her first tattoo on her lowerback or like on her cleavage (plus, if possible the dear customer looks too innocent to get a tattoo?)

you searched for only the best (and cheapest, you're on a bit of a budget here...) tattoo shops in the city. the name that kept popping up on almost every search was natalie scatorccio from 2525 tattoos.

she had the best reviews by far. barely any negative ones, and if they were low, they always ended with how nice she was and how she gave them a discount if they disliked the end result.

so you booked her. talked to her a bit on the phone and explained what it was that you were going for, and soon enough, you were walking through the front doors of the shop, nervous as fuck, and looking for the most "natalie" looking person in here.

you shuffle up to the front where some guy is. "hi, i have an appointment with natalie at 2."

after giving him your name blah, blah, blah, you follow him to the back where he tells you to sit and get comfortable while he fetches "nat."

you sit nervously on the black tattoo bed, looking around at all the picture frames and tat supplies as you try to calm your racing mind. you're intimidated. this place might be too cool for you.

just as you reach over to inspect a stencil on the table, a dark-haired girl walks in, making you jump back in embarrassment.

she chuckles at you and you flush, especially after getting a good look at her. gosh, she's handsome and gorgeous at the same time.

"you're my 2 o'clock?" she asks skeptically while placing down some ink. "the cleavage tat?"

"yeah..." you mumble, gulping hard as she walks around you to set up. her perfume makes you dizzy. "why, did you have someone else scheduled?"

"no, you just don't seem the type. too innocent looking." she smiles and bites her lip, snapping the black gloves on her hand. "i like it."

· · 𖦹 · ·

thinking about nat touching your body after telling you to scoot up on the bed just so she can feel you... nat who says "good girl" when you scoot to where she wants you.

nat who helps you out of your shirt and undoes your bra for you, nat who accidentally brushes her gloved hand against your nipple as she places it to the side.

nat who tells you that it's perfectly fine if your nipples get hard and not to get embarrassed.

nat who's in for a long ride when you whimper the second she starts inking you up... she loves it. but you need to relax so she can do it without fucking it up. she's whispering for you to take deep breaths while her thumb is rubbing your hips, just as affected as you are because as she looks down at you, face flushed and lip trapped beneath your teeth, you look so innocent.

nat who has to hold onto your breast as she does the tattoo. nat who jokes about how hard your nipple is while she subtly gropes it.

nat who notices how you're trying to rub your thighs together.

nat who has to stop what she's doing to hold your chest down because you keep arching your back the closer she gets to your nipple 😵‍💫 you knew it would be somewhat ticklish plus painful getting this type of tattoo, but you didn't know it would turn you on so much... you feel so pathetic.

nat who asks if you want her to apply numbing cream... you agree because you think you might die of embarrassment if you let out another whine disguised as a cough. it happens again when she rubs it on your nipples :(

nat who gives you her number after she's done, telling you to text/call her if you need something like advice for aftercare. thinking of her face when you send pictures of your chest, asking if bleeding is normal. she has to touch herself to it...

nat who is very excited when you book another tattoo appointment with her :)

[dragoneyelashart]

I MISS YOU, I'M SORRY 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

authors note: not a part 2, but another angst! love u guys! warnings: mentions of cheating, breakup, slight toxicity if you squint

it’s been a year, and somehow, the silence between you two is worse than any argument you’ve ever had. a year since billie walked away, a year since she shattered you, since she broke everything in ways you never thought possible.

you don’t even have to relive the details anymore—they haunt you in your sleep, a broken record that skips over and over. you know what she did. you know how it felt when you found out, when everything in your world came crashing down. but no matter how many times you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter, that she doesn’t matter, the ache never quite leaves. it’s there, gnawing at the pit of your stomach every time you hear her name.

billie cheated. it wasn’t a simple mistake. it wasn’t a single moment of weakness. no, she chose someone else. chose them over you, over what you shared. the betrayal still stings, even now, but that’s not the worst part. the worst part is that even after everything, you loved her. you loved her in a way that was deep and desperate, that burned your chest and made your throat tight whenever she’d whisper something sweet to you, something that made you forget about the mess of your life, your insecurities, the things that were broken inside you. you loved her first, and you still do, even if it hurts to admit it out loud. and maybe that’s your curse.

you tried to hate her. tried so fucking hard. told yourself it was just another toxic chapter in your life that you needed to close, to walk away from. but it never worked. there was always something inside of you that clung to her, something desperate that whispered, you can’t walk away from this. because no matter how many ways you tried to spin it, you couldn’t stop craving her. she felt like home. she was home.

now, here you are—staring at the screen of your phone. your heart’s racing in your chest, your thoughts tangled in a mess of guilt, confusion, and longing. the name on the screen isn’t hers. it’s someone else, someone you’ve been seeing, but they don’t feel right. there’s no spark. no warmth. no fire. it’s like putting on a coat that doesn’t fit right—it’s just not the same. and you know why. because she’s not billie.

it’s almost laughable how obvious this all is, but you can’t seem to pull yourself out of this cycle. you’re stuck. and the only thing that makes sense in this chaos is the thought of seeing her again. you need her. maybe you don’t even know why anymore. maybe it’s because you’re weak, or maybe it’s because you’re still in love with the version of her that made you feel invincible. that made you feel like you could take on the world, as long as she was by your side.

you reach for your jacket without even thinking, your heart pounding harder, your hands trembling just a little. the cool night air hits your skin when you step outside, and you don’t even feel it. the only thing you feel is that pull—stronger now than it’s ever been. you know what this is. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. but you can’t stop yourself.

you knock on her door, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness of the night. your breath catches, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. you know this is a bad idea, but you’re too far gone to turn back. too far gone to listen to the voice telling you that this will only hurt more. you need her. more than you’ve needed anything in the past year.

when she opens the door, it’s like you’ve been transported back in time. like nothing’s changed. she’s still the same—effortlessly beautiful, her hair falling messily around her face like she hasn’t tried at all, and yet she looks perfect. the world feels like it’s holding its breath as her eyes meet yours—surprise, confusion, but something else, too, something softer and more dangerous. fear. because she knows. she knows what this could do to both of you.

“what are you doing here?” her voice is quiet, almost uncertain, like she doesn’t know how to handle this. doesn’t know how to handle you.

you take a shaky breath, but before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“i miss you. i… i need you, billie. please.” your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it, hate that you sound so small. but you don’t know how to be anything else right now.

there’s a moment where she just stands there, looking at you, and you see it. you see the conflict in her eyes—the way her shoulders stiffen, the way she’s trying to figure out how to handle this mess of you standing in front of her. you wait, your heart hammering in your chest, praying for something—anything—anything that feels like it used to feel when she was yours.

she looks away, closing her eyes like she can’t bear to look at you for too long. and then she sighs, a sound so full of regret, of something broken.

“y/n… you can’t keep doing this. we can’t. i’ve told you—i can’t do this again.” her words are soft, but there’s something sharp behind them, a truth you’re too afraid to face. she’s trying to protect you, and you can see it in the way she steps back, the way her arms fold across her chest like she’s trying to shield herself from you.

“i know what you did, billie. i know. you cheated, and it… it fucking destroyed me. but i can’t stop wanting you. i can’t stop loving you.” you take a step forward, your voice trembling. “i tried to move on, but she’s not you. she doesn’t feel like you. i don’t feel at home with her. i feel… lost.”

billie’s eyes flicker for just a moment, and you catch the way her breath catches. she wants to reach for you. she does. you see it in the way she hesitates. but then the guard comes back, stronger now, and she pulls away.

“y/n…” she whispers your name like it’s a plea, like she’s trying to make you understand something you don’t want to. “what we had—what we are—it wasn’t healthy. i wasn’t healthy, and i’m still not. you think you need me, but you don’t. i can’t keep hurting you like this. i won’t.”

the words hit you like a slap, but you don’t let it show. you’re so tired of pretending. so tired of being strong. of being the one who doesn’t let the world break her down. so you give in. give in to the weakness, the yearning. you take another step closer.

“i don’t care if it wasn’t healthy, billie. i don’t care. i can’t breathe without you. please. i just need to know if you still love me. if you can love me. even just a little. i’ll do anything. i’ll change. i’ll become whoever you want me to be. just… just don’t let go of me.”

her eyes darken, and for a moment, you think she’s going to pull you into her arms and make everything feel right again. but she doesn’t. instead, she shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes now, too, but they’re not the kind you want. not the kind you crave. no, they’re the kind that say goodbye.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” she says quietly, her voice breaking. “i’ll always care about you. but it’s not enough anymore. i can’t be the person you want me to be. i can’t do that to you again. i won’t.”

you want to scream. want to beg her to stay. to take you back. to fix everything that’s broken. but there’s nothing left to say. the truth has settled in, cold and final. you can’t make someone love you. not when they’ve already let you go.

billie swallows, her lips trembling, but she holds your gaze one last time. “i don’t want to hurt you again. i’m not the person you need me to be.”

and with that, she closes the door softly. not with force. not with anger. but with a quiet finality that leaves you standing there, a broken version of yourself, out in the cold, alone. again.

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee@iamnicoke@jayjaywetforbils @eloiseluvsbillie @bxllxebxtch @ifnot-foryou @giannaeilish | send me an ask, or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[frangipani-wanderlust]

Have you ever actually been to Indonesia? IDK if you have, but you seem extremely American to me. And I say this because it's a weird example to pick when talking to me since I lived in Indonesia growing up. But I didn't live on rich-people Java. Or tourist Bali. I lived on the other side of the country in Papua, and I've been out to the actual, proper jungle. I've met people who were scared of me because I was white. And I know, through the skin because I lived it, that all cultures have good and bad points. And that you can't rewrite another culture's morality, and it'd be weird to try, but it's actually okay to say the bad points are bad so long as you are willing to recognize bad points in your own culture. I'm familiar with Asia's major religions and beliefs because I actually interacted with people who believed in them and actually, most Asians do in fact believe in souls. They just don't use the English word for it because that wouldn't make sense in non-English-speaking countries.

As it turns out, humans are humans wherever you go and Asians aren't really so different from Americans. We're all just people. I learned to be multi-cultural through the skin growing up and discovered that it's really just being a normal human and taking other people as they come.

I don't feel satisfied that you've really explained why or how you're making a distinction between faithful/not-faithful here, so I'm not going to address that part. I feel like we wouldn't even be talking about the same things on that score. Instead I will go back to addressing what you said and doing so via the original direct quote I picked out.

we often see christian authority as a purely human problem. it's not softened by the possibility that maybe scripture has it right. we don't see holding onto that faith as a virtue.

Regardless of whether you, standing where you are right now and being who you currently are in this moment and having all the changeable traits you currently do (immutable traits are not under discussion here) would personally like at this particular moment in time all the fallout of the Bible being true, that is precisely what you posit in these three sentences. The possibility that Scripture has it right.

If that is so, if the Bible really does have it right, the logical consequence is that God as He is described in the Bible is, in fact, the only source of good and joy in the universe. There isn't even a "second best" option, it's God or nothing. In such a scenario, there's no possible choice but two: give over to God or intentionally choose misery.

If you are in a situation where Scripture has it right, it isn't only virtuous to become a follower of God, it's also the only way to be happy because everything else becomes a lie on some level.

And maybe that's where these supposed critiques of Christianity break down and why they're boring, perhaps? Because when you say, "Okay, sure the Bible is true and God is real and Jesus died for your sins and the cross is the only way to Heaven" but then also turn around and say, "But also, all of that is miserable and Heaven is bad" you've reached a logical impossibility. If the Bible is true, it's impossible for that to be miserable. Yes, the consequence to you will be that you have to give up some aspects of your life now that will be very hard to surrender, but that's true for everyone. And no, it isn't more true or more singularly true for "queer" people than it is for anyone else. God always demands that we die to ourselves so that we can live for Him. That demand is made of every person who follows God and it's always costly and it always hurts. But, much the same way that exercise is temporarily painful but results in deeper and more lasting health and strength, following God is temporarily painful but results in deeper and more lasting peace and happiness. To start from the premise of "Okay the Bible is true" and then go "but I reject it anyway" is the same thing as saying, "okay germ theory is true" and then saying, "but I'm going to get a terminal disease on purpose." In that story, the character is just carrying the Idiot Ball around the whole time and that isn't very entertaining.

@imissthembutitwasntadisaster, what do you think for this as a possible underlying explanation for what makes this a boring trope?

Sometimes I'm not even mad at something cause it's blasphemous I'm mad cause it's boring

[iamthecomet]

Comet my beloved my darling. Can I invite you to consider: Aeon, causing problems on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of Dew, because Dew is just so much fun when he's Mad. And Dew knows all the little tricks, knows exactly what that little shit is up to and refuses to give him the satisfaction.

Buug's about to have the slowest, softest lovemaking he's ever suffered through and he's gonna hate every second.

Mal, my sweet, this made me black out it's delicious. This is my favorite type of Dew/Aeon dynamic FUCK.

700-ish words of Dew giving Aeon exactly the opposite of what he was hoping for, under the cut.

"Please, Dew. I—" Aeon's voice is a desperate, disappointed whine. Dew grins against the inside of the little ghouls knee, lips curling against tender flesh as he fingers him. Just one finger—though Aeon is definitely ready for more. Dew's hand is slick with lube, more than he needs. He presses in again, feeling Aeon clench around him. There's no friction, no stretch, no burn. Dew nips at the inside of Aeon's knee just to see what a little pain will do to him and Aeon bows off the bed.

"I'm just giving you what you wanted," Dew murmurs. He keeps his pace slow. A promise of what's to come once he finally get inside. He can do this forever. Finger Aeon open nice and slow, fuck him like that too. Facing him even. Forcing Aeon to look in his eyes as he takes him so gently it's basically torture. Satanas he hopes Aeon cries. He wants to press his lips to those flushed cheeks and taste salt.

It is torture after all, considering what Aeon's put him through today. Pushing every button. Desperate for Dew to break. Dew knows the game, can smell the need all over Aeon. If Aeon had asked him nicely—had told him what he really wanted—Dew would have obliged. Of course he would have. He would have pinned Aeon down, shoved himself inside, bit down so hard on Aeon's shoulder as he railed him that he drew blood. But Aeon didn't ask. He badgered. He bothered. He tried to dig himself so far under Dew's skin that Dew snapped.

Dew adds another finger, Aeon makes a sound between a moan and a sob—relief. Dew scissors his fingers apart, then presses deep. He skims his fingers over Aeon's prostate once—just to hear the strangled sound Aeon makes. Just to watch Aeon's cock bob and spit. Aeon looks down at Dew, stricken, panting. Cheeks flushed an adorable violet, hair—sweaty already—plastered to his forehead. Amethyst eyes wide and wild, black eclipsing purple as Dew works him open as slowly as humanly possible. He's a caged animal, Dew holds the only key to release.

Dew kisses his thigh again, feigning reverence, love, when really they both know this is a crueler torture than Aeon ever could have asked for.

"I need—Dew I need more."

Aeon grinds his hips down on Dew's fingers, and Dew rewards him with a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed.

"Don't move. You don't have to do anything. Let me take care of you," Dew peers up at him, eyes molten amber, holding him with a gaze that is equal parts devotion and demand. "I know what you need."

Dew takes pity on him and gives him another finger. He hitches up on the bed to press a line of soft kisses to the shaft of Aeon's cock. It kicks beneath Dew's lips. Hard and velvet soft. Dew presses in deep, drags his tongue over the head of Aeon's cock tasting salt and musk and longing.

"All you've ever wanted was for me to love you," Dew whispers against the sensitive underside. "And now that I am you don't want it anymore."

Aeon whines. Past words as Dew strokes his prostate, makes out with the head of his cock. Aeon fists his hands in the sheets, always so good about playing by Dew's rules and keeping his hands to himself.

Dew slips his fingers free and shifts onto his knees. He presses the head of his cock against Aeon's hole. He reaches for one of Aeon's hands, lacing their fingers together by Aeon's head. The other he curls around Aeon's hip, finger so hot they feel like a brand.

He pushes forward, the head slipping in, surrounding himself with the warm tight heat of Aeon's body one slow centimeter at a time. Dew bends to kiss Aeon's jaw, reverent mouth dragging along that prominent bone

"If you hate it so much," Dew whispers pressing deeper, closer. "Tell me to stop."

Aeon looks at him, eyes wide, wet. Tears catching in his lashes. He shakes his head.

Dew nudges forward. Seats himself to the hilt with a low satisfied groan.

"Yeah." He nips at Aeon's lower lip. "That's what I thought."

[heeseungsbunny]

GENTLE GIANT

pairing: sam winchester x injured!reader

summary: you get injured during a dangerous hunt with sam & dean and sam does his best to help you

notes: reader being naked without any sexual intentions, reader is too weak to eat, fluff, slight angst, reader almost bleeds out to death NOT PROOFREAD

“hey you alright back there?” dean looks back to check on you because your silence is unusual and he heard you breathing heavily. you barely heard him breathe and still trying to stop the gash on your stomach that was still rapidly bleeding when it first got there. “y-yeah, just tired” your voice came out weak and fragile. your weak response immediately concerns sam, making him want to look back as well. it’s dark outside so he can barely see you or anything, only your glistening eyes staring right back at him, knowing he would soon enough smell the blood leaking through your jacket. he reaches and rubs your knee, “we’re almost back to the motel, but we’re getting some food on the way so you can rest back there”. you couldn’t rest, you afraid to fall asleep and not waking back up, plus the tummy aching pain was undeniable. just 30 minutes…

once dean pulled into the driveway, the only thing really exciting was the food, but you still had to take care of the bleeding. sam steps out the passenger seat and opens your car door for you, you can’t help but imagine how he would react if he saw this. you try to act as normal as possible, trying not to limp as your drained body is practically begging for help. before sam even gets to give you your food, you dash to the bathroom. you shut the door and stare at your tired self in the mirror. how could let this happen, now sam & dean won’t ever take you hunting with them again. you lift up your hoodie and see how disgusting it looks, making you scrunch your face. you start to scramble for the med kit, while holding your jacket, that’s halfway soaked in blood already, to slow down the blood more. once you get it slow down, you try to properly bandage but then you realize you have no idea what you’re doing. first, you’re too weak to even rap the bandage around your waist, and second, you don’t know because sam never wants you to do it and wants to take care of you. sam notices how long you been in the bathroom both him & his brother already finished their food, so he decides to check on you. you’re mind is so clouded you don’t even hear his footsteps, or him knocking on the door. “hey babe, you alright in there” he was ready to break the door down after not getting a response from you on his 5th knock. “yeah i’m-good sammy, just so eat your food or something” you leaned against the door to talk so he could hear you better. he noticed your hesitant response and starts to open the door, pushing your body with the door with ease. you try to react quickly and hide it but sam is quicker. his eyes go wide and just stares at it. “s-sam i-i got it, i’ll fix it-” you tried to hide it but sam firmly but gently grabs your wrists. he doesn’t ask any questions because he already knows the answer and he swiftly places you on the sink. he still hasn’t made eye contact with you and has a worried expression plastered all over his face. he’s too focused on bandaging your injury. the pain gets too overwhelming, making you wince and squeeze his shoulder. his eyes shift up to you and then continue to bandage your wound. then he finally finishes, sighing like a weight was lifted off him. “you still hungry?” he says while putting away the med kit.

you nod and he lifts up off the sink. he doesn’t put you down and opens the bathroom door with his other hand. he sits you down in a chair and starts rummaging through the bag for your food. luckily, it was still warm so he placed it in front of you before sitting down across the table. you sigh from just seeing food. you move your fidgeting hands from your lap and pick up your burger. you could barely hold it in your hands because you couldn’t stop shaking & the headache impossible to ignore. you look up at sam before hesitantly taking bite. sam noticed your shaking long before you even go inside the motel, but it had gotten worse since you were in the car. “do you need help?” you saw those puppy eyes looking at you when you met his eyes. you hated asking for help, especially with something so simple. the exhausted look on your face is an answer for him. he takes the burger from your hands and holds it up to your lips. you hesitate but still take a bite anyways, sam had never done this for you but you just love when he babies you like this when you don’t have to worry about anything. your bites are slow & small but sam is being patient with you. once you really started eating, you noticed how hungry you actually were. sam even wiped the grease of your face for you when you finished eating. you both just sat there for a minute and you felt so full it was making you sleepy now. sam saw your fluttering eyes and remembered you needed to bathe & get the dried blood off of you. “hey you still need to take bath and get that blood off you” he spoke suddenly.

“i’m too weak right now, i’ll do it in the morning” sam frowns at your answer and picks you up from your chair. “i’ll bath you so you won’t have to tire yourself out and you can sleep as soon as i’m done” your eyes widen at the suggestion, you’ve would’ve never thought sam would do something like this. he sits you down on the toilet seat and start running warm back water for you. “i’ll be back, i’m going to get some clothes for you to sleep in”you nod as he walks out the door. you’re just staring at the water filing up the bathtub, it strangely reminds you of your wound, how much blood you lost and you could’ve died in that bathroom if sam didn’t walk in to help you. sam walks in with one of his hoodies & a pair of your pajama pants and places it on the sink counter. “do you need help taking off your clothes” you snap out of it and realize you should’ve taken your clothes. you tell him to turn around because you’re still shy when he sees you naked. “of course baby, but i’m gonna see you anyways when i’m washing you up” he says as he still turns around. after you peel your clothes off your sticky body, you step into the warm, skin soothing water. it felt better than you expected and you were more relaxed & didn’t care anymore if sam saw you naked or not. he hears as your feet dip into the water and slowly turns around. you look absolutely beautiful, even though you almost bled out to death and is incredibly weak, you still look beautiful. sam sits on the floor and rolls up his sleeves. he grabs a rag and soak it in water before washing the dirt and stickiness of your neck & face. you catch yourself leaning into his soft & gentle touch. you still kept your eyes closed and slowly starting to drift asleep, but then you felt bad for sam, who was taking care of you, and still fought to stay awake for him and talk to him. you finally open you relaxed eyes and find his focused but soft eyes on you. he slightly pushes you forward so he wash your back and feel the warm water run down, rubbing slow circles all over. he takes a second to think what needs to cleaned next. he pushes you back against the back of the tub so your not hunched over and leaned back. he washes your chest and does his best to not make your feel uncomfortable, but you don’t feel uncomfortable at all because he’s just so caring. then he reaches and grabs your legs & scrubs them down. once he fully cleans you, you grands your hand and help you out so you fall. he opens the drains and gives you a towel, “i’ll be in the room, call for me if you need anything” he says giving you those same puppy eyes that makes you cave in every time. you nod & smile before you start to dry off. you try to avoid rubbing against or pressing down on the wound while still getting fully dry. you slip on sam’s larger hoodie and your pajama pants. you brush your teeth and just wash your face to feel fully clean. taking a bath and being clean just feel so refreshing, all you wanna do is sleep. when you step into the room where sam is, you seeing making the bed for you so there’s no struggle for you. “there’s some water for you on the dresser if you wake up thirsty” he says when he notices that you’re standing there. you smiles lazily and crawl into the bed, next to where he’s sitting. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, laying you down under the blankets. being in his arms, under the blankets, makes you feel safe & warm all over. “thank you for taking care of me” you say as you snuggle into him before falling asleep. “i’ll always take care of you” he kisses your forehead as he feels your body relax into him.

[cherry-coffees]

Caitlyn getting (accidentally) TikTok famous

Caitlyn getting TikTok famous is not something you had planned on.

It isn't something she had planned on, either. One moment, she's filming a short clip showcasing her outfit of the day; and the next, she's getting thousands of likes and hundreds of comments. She had only been wearing her simple black turtleneck, high-waisted pants, and heeled boots: Caitlyn doesn't see the fuss.

But oh, other people do.

Do you do weddings? (As the bride)

Just one chance 😫

Her accent??? I'll do ANYTHING

Caitlyn barely looks at her comments. She's not really on social media to begin with, only posting a few TikTok a week and scrolling for five to ten minutes. They're short: usually only about her outfits, some event in Piltover she went to, or a particularly intense training routine that she worked up a sweat from.

Needless to say, those comments were particularly unhinged.

You sit in bed one night, the comforter pulled over your body as you lay back against the pillows. You're glaring down at your phone, each comment you read succeeding in further pissing you off. Who even are these people, and why do they think they have a chance with your girlfriend?

"What's wrong, darling?" Caitlyn steps out from the bathroom that's connected to your shared bedroom. She's gorgeous: a towel wrapped around her body and her wet hair reaching her shoulders. Loose droplets of water run across her collarbone and down her chest, and you can't help the flare of jealousy that rises inside you.

You know your girlfriend is hot. Still, these sights are for your eyes only.

"Darling?" Caitlyn repeats as she dries her hair with another towel. Her eyebrows furrow in concern at your lack of response, and she steps over to sit on the side of the bed.

You huff out a sigh, holding out your phone so that the screen faces her. "Have you seen these?" Your eyes narrow as you gesture to a few of the many comments on her most recent video.

"Yes," Caitlyn shrugs like it's obvious, like there's no reason why she should care for them. "I don't know why people like it so much."

"It's cause you're hot." Your voice morphs into a petulant whine as you state the truth. You can't help it; why should you have to share what's yours?

"That doesn't matter."

You cross your arms, sulking as if you're a child. "Yes, it does."

Caitlyn laughs softly, endeared by your pouting form. She considers your words for a moment before she sets your phone on the bed and brings your hand up to her lips. She presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. "I think it's time that people met my girlfriend, hm?"

The next day, a new video is uploaded to Caitlyn Kiramman's TikTok. A clip from the song Out of My League plays in the background as Caitlyn backs up while facing the camera, pretending to accidentally bump into a girl behind her. Then, when the beat drops, she suddenly spins around and lifts you into her arms, carrying you offscreen as she gives you the sappiest smile known to mankind.

And the caption?

Meet my future wife 💕 #wlw

My upcoming idol!Caitlyn fic is SO long and I'm trying to make it the best quality possible for you lovelies! Here are some of my silly Cait ideas while I finish it and try not to die <3

~Cherry 🍒

[pinecavity]

You don’t mean to go through Caleb’s bag.

It’s sitting open on the side table—half unzipped, one strap hanging off like it’s waiting to be noticed. You’d only been looking for the extra thermal blanket he said he packed. That’s all. But your fingers brush past it too quickly, and then they find something else.

The crinkle of foil.

The shape of a box.

Your stomach sinks before your mind processes what you just saw.

Condoms.

A whole box of them. Tucked next to his screwdriver set and that little plastic case of gummy candies you’d mentioned liking once. Like it belongs there. Like it’s not some giant flashing sign that—

He’s seeing someone.

Your breath catches. You blink. Once. Twice at the thing in your hand like it’s not real, like you can’t possibly be reading it right. But it is. Ultra-thin, feather-touch, heat-enhanced.

Intimacy optimized.

It feels like a slap.

And then you hear his voice. Behind you.

“Hey, did you—?” He trails off.

There’s a beat of silence so long it presses down on your chest.

You don’t turn around. You can’t. Not with this still in your hand. But you feel him freeze at the door, feel the weight of his eyes, the sudden way the air shifts like he’s bracing for impact.

You hold up the box like proof of a crime. “What is this?”

When you finally turn, his expression is frozen—eyes wide, face drained of color. He looks like someone who’s been caught red-handed with something far worse than a box full of latex.

You can see the internal scrambling behind his eyes, the war between telling you the truth and keeping himself safe from what it might cost. He’s already turning pink at the tips of his ears, collar tugged like it’s suddenly choking him under that DAA uniform.

His hand reaches toward the box, like he might snatch it away—then freezes halfway, because what would that look like?

“They’re not…” He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“Didn’t mean for me to see what? That you’re sleeping with someone?”

“No!” His denial is quick. Too quick.

You flinch.

He winces.

“No,” he says again, quieter this time. “I’m not. I wouldn’t. I—” He swallows. His hand drops.

He trails off. Because he can’t finish it. Can’t say I wouldn’t do that to you—not when that implies a claim he doesn’t think he’s allowed to have.

You stare at him. “Then why, Caleb?”

His hands are at his sides, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. His ears twitch like they do when he’s anxious. Like he wants to crawl out of his skin and vanish.

“I just…” he whispers. “I like to be prepared.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t say it—for you. For if you ever looked at him differently. For the impossible, unspeakable hope that one day you might want him that way.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says instead, eyes darting to the floor. “I promise.”

But that makes it worse. makes your chest ache.

Because he did. He meant everything by it, even if he doesn’t have the courage to say so. And now he’s standing there, flushed and visibly spiraling, looking like he thinks you’re going to throw him out for something he hasn’t even done.

You swallow the lump in your throat and look away.

“I’m gonna… go cool off.”

You don’t wait for him to respond. And he doesn’t. Just stands there, stricken, the box still sitting between you like a confession that never quite made it to the surface.

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Quinn Hughes

Mob Boss Nico Hischier, Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: angst, blood, violence, guns

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

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~~~~

What do we do?

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

“I might be dying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nola scoffs. “Oh shut up you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah I guess,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ok,” he pants, voice rattled.

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

“It was the snacks, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if on autopilot, he bobs his head.

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

“Yes,” Luke croaks.

“You trust me?”

Luke nods again. “I trust you.”

“Then we’ve got this, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that it matters really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinn sighs. “Come on Lukey-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haven’t you already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

“You run everything out of a hockey arena?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know Alex?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What size Hischier’s?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hitting the ice or what boss?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both give you a hard stare.

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

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

“I have Nico’s pretty face.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out a snicker, eyes crinkling sweetly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have they been there?”

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

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

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

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

“For us to stay out of his way.”

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

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

~~~~

“Ew did you two shower together?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alone?” Nico presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same look he gets before a deal.

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be safe baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then we’ll all be covered, right?”

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” Quinn says, “let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A letter C.

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

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

A sacrifice as big as flesh and blood.

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

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

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

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

A sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Canucks are unwilling to shoot their own.

Nico however holds no reservation, pausing at the intersection of the bar and hall to fire a shot straight down the hall. It meets the target with a grunt and the wet sound of wounded flesh.

Eyes still watching the patrons scramble to the front doors as the Canucks attempt to push in the opposite direction to you, Nico fires a few warning shots at the flooring, waving you and the boys to the back door.

“Y/n, come on!” Luke exclaims, rising to his full height and taking a hold of your wrist. His legs move quick, strides bigger as he yanks you down the hall.

Quinn goes crashing through the door first, an ear chattering horn noise erupting throughout the bar. Jack follows behind him and then you and Luke, stumbling into a gravel lot. Trusting Nico to be close behind, you take a moment to look around.

There’s no way of getting to the cars you arrived in. It’s a whole new lot, blocked by a large wall of hedges and the bar, a few oldie cars in the lot. You spot an old black one, still slick and well cared for, windows tinted.

“That on, go!” You shove Luke towards it and he scrambles forward with the others. You get to the passenger door, yanking the hoop out of your ear and shoving the long end into the lock.

The lock releases with a click and you yank open the door, unlocking all the doors for the boys. The three Hughes pile into the backseat as Nico bursts through the back door of the bar.

You’ve already thrown yourself over the bench seat of the car, clawing at the compartment under the wheel to get to the wires. They spring free and you strip them with your nails, unable to feel the sting on the bed of your nails even though blood blooms from underneath them.

Something metal crashes to the ground as you twist the wires, manipulating the ignition wire to the battery wire.

“What are you doing?” Jack calls frantically from the back seat, “we have to move!”

You don’t bother shushing him as you hold the bare copper of the starter wire to the others, flinching when the sparks burn at your hands.

The car sputters and you try again, holding the wires tightly in one hand and stretching the other out to press the gas. The car rumbles to life, headlights and radio flickering on and you scramble up from the seat.

Nico is in the doorway, looking down at you with wild eyes and panting. You slide back, making room for him to get in but he pauses.

“I can’t drive stick,” he says, glancing over his shoulder and letting out a “fuck, we gotta go.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “passenger seat, go.” You shove him away, slamming the driver door shut. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast, your hands shaking and breaths coming out too quick as you shift the car into reverse.

Nico fires a few shots as he scrambles around the front of the car, aiming for the last few in the lot. The tires you realize, that way you can’t be followed.

He’s barely flung himself into the seat before you backing out of the spot. “Seatbelts, all of you!” You bark, and through the windshield you notice that Nico’s has thrown something in front of the door, a large hunk of metal that had been in the back alley and it’s enough to delay the men trying to get out.

Arms peek out, clawing and shoving at whatever it is he found to show them down. Nico reaches over your head, getting a hold of your seatbelt and yanking it across your chest as you peel out of the lot, sending him flying back into the leather seats.

“Who were those guys?” Luke asks from the backseat, breathless and frantic. You don’t get a chance to answer him, flinging the car out of the alley and down the road, pressing the clutch in to quickly shift up to second gear, then third.

Behind you, headlights shine into the rear windshield, flickering as the car recklessly bounds over the road and you know immediately it’s unwanted company.

“Nico,” you warn, getting cut off by the dinging of bullets hitting the back of the vehicle. In the backseat Luke and Jack duck down, hiding their heads behind the seat and covering each other.

You can’t see Quinn not that you even care too. He wasn’t in your protection plan tonight, not that he’d need it with his own men being the perpetrators. Yet here he is, perfectly safe in the backseat of your getaway vehicle.

After offering no help, no assistance to his brothers. His supposed family.

Nico cranks his window open, shoving the top half of his body out and you want to reach out, to grab at his leg to offer some sort of safety but you can’t.

All you can do is drive. The single lane road turns into the four lane drive you came down when you drove out to the bar. Faintly, you can hear Nico firing shots of his own back towards the vehicle but you’ve joined Saturday traffic now, cutting between cars to weave your way through traffic.

Nico wobbles where he’s perched on the window, slipping back into the seat when it becomes clear he can no longer fire into cars full of citizens.

“How many of them?” You ask as he anxiously looks through the mirrors for the car trying to match your driving, following you through red lights and scraping by cars you pass on the shoulder.

But they’re slower and bulkier, unable to keep up enough.

“Just the one,” he pants, “I think your losing them-“

A bullet hits the front hood of the car, ricocheting into the windshield and splintering it. Nico flinches, makes a move to dive in front of you but stops, knowing he can’t block your view.

Just ahead, coming at you straight on from the other side of the overpass is a silver SUV, the barrel of a gun sticking out the passenger window.

Gripping the wheel, you hit the gas harder, yanking on the gear shift. Barreling at the oncoming car, Nico braces himself on the dash, glancing at you worriedly.

“Baby you can’t win a game of chicken when they have a gun,” he exclaims but you’re not trying to. You just have to beat them to the overpass of the highway.

You don’t know if they’re stupid or caught off guard by you heading straight for them, but the shots have ceased, at least for the moment and by the time they have their bearings back, your yanking the wheel to the left, just barely scraping past the SUV as more bullets ping into the side of the trunk.

Nico slides into the side of the door with a thump, the boys in the back letting out exclamations you can’t even understand as you ramp the car across the median and up the ramp.

“Holy fuck,” Nico gasps, and you weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns as you try to put as much space as possible between you and the two vehicles before they can get flipped around and join you on the highway.

You glance in the review mirror, find Jack and Luke both turned around and peering out the back windshield. Nico, chest heaving is watching his side mirror, knuckles white on his gun.

“Do you see anyone?” You ask Nico, still barreling down the left lane of the highway at 120.

“No I think you lost them at the highway. At least for now.”

You shifts down, slipping over into the next lane, steadily making your way until you’re cruising in the right lane. Then you take the next exit, running the yellow light as you direct the car down a commercial street, the buildings compact and streets narrow now that you’re nearing downtown.

Finding a public parking sign, you yank the car into a parking garage, tire squealing on the cement. You stay on the first level, navigating to the back far corner where you pull in between two cars, hoping they’ll hide your damaged one if they somehow manage to track you down.

Throwing the car in the park, you cling to the steering wheel, fingers numb and arms jittery. The boys don’t move either but you can hear them all taking deep breathes, no doubt trying to calm their racing hearts the way you are.

You slump forward, the horn letting out a hunk when you rest your head on the steering wheel. The sound makes Nico jump, his knee hitting the dash and he winces but it seems to shake him out of his stupor.

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into the tense muscle and you’re thankful your hair is hiding your face when tears sting at your eyes.

You force back the lump in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut. “Are you ok?” You ask, your voice just a croak but he hears it.

“M’fine, he swears, massaging at the lower spot on your neck. “A little turned on I’m not gonna lie.”

“Same.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah me too.”

You can’t see him, but you can feel Nico turning to the back seat, glaring at three boys back there and you could laugh if it were for the way something is bubbling in your chest, expanding into a terrible pain.

Suddenly you remember Quinn, feel his presence in the car like rotten leftovers forgotten in the fridge. You bolt up right, shoving open the door and it bangs into the car next to you with a crunch but you don’t care.

It’s like something else is moving your body, jittery as you rip open Quinn’s door and grab at him, catching the collar of his shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” He yelps but you’re yanking him out, his legs stumbling and hitting the door as you drag him out and onto the concrete. By now the other boys are clambering out of the car, coming around the trunk to find Quinn on his knees, your skirt hitched up as you grab your gun.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks, reaching for your arm but Nico wraps his arms around him, pinning him to his chest. “Stop! Let me go!” He demands but he won’t fight Nico. You both know that.

Clicking the safety, Quinn looks up into the barrel of your pistol.

“Talk,” you spit, watching him shift into his haunches, his arms hanging pathetically at his sides. Even so, he looks up at you with wide, terrified eyes.

“W-what did I do?” He whines, lip wobbling, “they were shooting at me too ya know?”

“Bullshit!” You kick at his knee, pressing the gun in closer. “I saw them today. All of them at the rink, watching us.”

Quinn trembles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He looks to his brothers. “Luke, Jack come on. You know I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!”

You don’t take your eyes off Quinn and it’s Luke that steps closer, reaching a tentative hand out to you. “Y/n,” he whispers, “you don’t know it was him, let’s at least talk-“

“Pull his sleeve back,” you demand, “the right sleeve pull it back.”

The color drains from Quinn’s face, his fingers shaking as Luke crouches down and grabs his wrist, pushing the sleeve up to his elbow. Sure enough, inked proudly into his skin, in the Canuck C.

“The bartender had one too,” you say, Luke backing away from his brother “and the one playing pool.”

“And the one Nico shot,” Jack says weakly, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I-I didn’t see what it was but it was that same spot.”

Finally, a look of defeat washes over Quinn and he slumps down into a pathetic mess at your feet, yanking his sleeve back down and squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

“No one was actually going to get hurt,” he says through a sigh and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“We were shot at!” Jack exclaims with a hysterical lilt.

“I know, I know,” Quinn concedes, hanging his head as he spills the rest. “It was part of the plan.”

The story tumbles from his lips in a low tone, heavy as they hit the two boys beside you. Quinn swears to them that he did want them to visit, did want to see them now that he was no longer under the boot of Horvat. Now that he could make decisions.

But the mob here is different, he claims. It’s religion, it’s life, it’s everything. He can’t have any hint of disloyalty or they’re kill him. He had to prove he was a Canuck through and through. The only real way he could do that is by offering up the only thing away from the Canucks that he cares about: His brothers.

He set the plan, promised he’d get them out here and in the bar tonight so the other men could take their best shots. If they missed tonight, that was it. Quinn had done his part and they fumbled theirs. He was all clear.

Which is why he let you and Nico come along. The safety of Jack and Luke was supposed to come down to you two, exactly how it had. He knew he couldn’t do anything to throw off the plan, but he could ensure you and Nico were suspicious enough to read it all. So he pushed your buttons, put you on edge, threatened you until you hated him. Until you were angry enough to analyze everything about him. And he knew Nico would follow you, could tell from the minute you stepped off the jet that while Nico led all the boys, you led him.

“I wanted you guys to be safe,” he croaks, eyes red and teary as he looks to his brothers. “But you wouldn’t be safe with me, I couldn’t do it. I swear I did it all to protect you.”

The story hangs in the air, a pathetic excuse for the selfish actions of an older brother. All of this, the hope he gave the boys when he invited them, playing into their past with the nicknames and jokes, putting them at ease at the rink was all for his own benefit.

All to save his own skin.

A hand locks around the front of your gun, thin fingers wrapping around the barrel and nudging it down. You slowly drop it, watching on edge as Luke comes to stand in front of his brother.

Wiggling out of Nico’s hold, Jack joins him.

“Say something,” Quinn sniffles, “say you believe me, please.”

“We believe you,” Luke nods, voice sounding detached. You glance at Nico, find his gun held readily in front of him as he analyzes Quinn, just in case. “But we don’t care.”

Quinn’s mouth drops open, lip quivering as he blinks up at Jack. “Rowdy, I had no choice. I made sure you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Shaking his head, Jack croaks, “You were right Moose, he’s not our family.”

Quinn scrambles forward, shaking his head desperately. “You don’t mean that,” he insists, “you don’t mean that. It’s us guys, it’s always been us.”

“No,” Jack spits, “it’s always been me and Luke. And now it’s us,” he waves an arm out towards you and Nico. “Us, no you.”

“What’s the difference Jack?” Quinn asks, “what’s the difference between me rigging a deal and what Nico throws you into everyday?

“I know about Philly, how you all shot up Fargo, how it burned. Did they think about you Jack, about your safety when you ran in there?”

“I did it to save my family,” Jack scoffs, “not to prove myself. And Nico wouldn’t even let me in the building anyway. Because it was too dangerous. He’s never put us in something like this. Especially not without us knowing.”

Throwing an arm around his brother, Luke stands taller. “We choose to go into fights with them. We choose them every time. Because they chose us when no one else did.”

Just like that, the door for any more begging is closed. Jack steps back, guiding Luke with him as they move to huddle behind Nico. In sync, you and Nico surround him, guns still armed and ready.

Quinn wipes at his wet cheeks, face tormented and pitiful. “Hischier,” he murmurs, “you gotta know I didn’t want them to get hurt. I trusted you and you did exactly what I thought you would. Tell them please.”

You don’t know what to do if you’re being honest. Quinn used them, he walked all over them exactly how you thought he would. They were a stepping stone to his legacy here. Even if he seems genuine in his belief that you and Nico would keep the boys safe, even if he were certain that they’d be ok, he still used them. He still broke that trust.

“You told me to stay out of your way,” you remind him, clicking the safety on your gun and letting it drop to your side “so I am.”

All that stands before him now is Nico. The devil himself, the last person you want hovering over you. Skillfully, Nico lifts the gun to Quinn’s forehead, finger on the trigger. For the first time, you notice the trail of crimson red blood smeared down his right arm, not enough to be concerning, but your throat goes dry realizing that somewhere along the way, he got caught.

“Nico…” Quinn trembles.

“I’ll kill him,” your fiancé calls over his shoulder, muscles tense under his black shirt, strained with anger. “They’ll come after us eventually, but I’ll do it.”

Jack and Luke duck their heads together, clinging to each other the way they did in the car, protecting each other. You think of Nico’s story about them, huddled together on the curb outside the Rock. Did they look just like this? Faces shrunken from hunger and exhaustion, the smaller frames of teenagers?

“No,” Jack says after he’s lifted his head. “We just want to go home.”

It takes Nico a moment to drop the gun, to fully accept the decision Jack has made and you know it’s because he doesn’t agree. He wants to kill Quinn, he wants to keep him away from Jack and Luke forever. His boys, you recall, from the moment he first met them.

He does listen though, dropping the gun to his side and backing away from Quinn. You stop him with a hand on his lower back, half hiding behind his large frame. Without looking away from Quinn, he nods towards the parking garage exit.

“Let’s go, I’ll call a car.”

You let the boys go first, arms still wrapped around each other as they lifelessly trudge towards the street. Nico nudges you to follow, but you can’t. Because no matter what he did, no matter how much Quinn hurt Jack and Luke, you know it’s not enough.

They’ll always love him. They’ll always ache for him.

“You can fix it,” you say and his head snaps up to look at you. “Not anytime soon but you’re right about one thing. You’re their brother. If you decide that means something though, it’ll be them or the Canucks. You can’t have both.”

With that you and Nico turn, following after your boys and leaving Quinn Hughes behind.

~~~~

The room is dark, only the yellow glow of the city lights coming through the window acting as a guide for you to round the bed on the far side of the room. The one closest to the door lay empty, the sheets pristine and untouched after housekeeping refreshed the room earlier.

It’s Jack’s bed, his clothes thrown in a ball on top and his half open suitcase on top. Silently, you pick up the inside socks littering the floor, tossing them onto the bed with the rest of his clothes.

Jack and Luke are tucked into the bed, soft snores coming from the younger boys mouth. He’s curled up small, a pillow mashed and folded to his chest. Despite the events of the night, he sleeps like the dead.

And Jack, as usual is star-fished across most of the bed, his arm thrown over Luke and mouth hanging open.

With careful fingers, you ease the blankets out from under Jack’s limbs, pulling them up and over his chest. Gently, you tuck them in around his neck, leaning down to press a kiss to forehead, cautious to not ruffle the hair fallen into his eyes or wake him.

Then you tiptoe to Luke’s side, tucking him in the same and leaving a kiss on top of his head. For a moment, you just watch them, reminding yourself that they’re okay, that they’re safe. You already checked the locks on their door, made sure the deadbolt was turned and chain in place. You’re about to go check again, just in case when Nico stops you.

You can’t make out his face in the shadow of the doorway, the silhouette of him taking up the whole frame. He’s propped up against it, arms crossed over his torso and still as a statue. But when you don’t move, just look at him and feel that same bubble of rage from earlier still pressing on your heart, he reaches an arm out to you.

His palm is rough and warm in yours, strong as you pulls you into his chest. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he grabs the back of your neck in gentle fingers, urging you out of the room.

You stop, reaching back to close the door until it’s just cracked open. Enough so that if the boys need you, if they call out you can still hear them.

Clinging to Nico’s arm, cheek against the bicep that had flexed as he toyed with the trigger of his gun, as he protected you and the boys, you walk in silence back to your room. You heart pounds in your chest, painful and all consuming.

By the time you’ve crossed the threshold, Nico leaving your door open just a hair too, your breathing is ragged and panicked. Not a panic attack though, not something heavy and sinking.

No this is rage. Hot and burning, rising in your gut and chest, up your throat until you feel like you’re going to explode. Faintly you can hear Nico shushing you, walking you back into the elegant bathroom until your back hits the cool tile of the sink.

Two hands catch under your arms, heaving you up onto the counter and you bite at the inside of your cheek, feel tears rolling down your cheeks, hot and fat.

“Talk to me baby,” Nico says, cupping your face and you blink, the hazy blobs of color you were looking through focusing into him, into his dark eyes, his handsome face.

“ I shouldn’t have said that,” you mutter angrily, “I shouldn’t have told Quinn he could fix it, that he could be better. I should’ve let Jack and Luke walk away and then put a bullet through his head.”

If he’s taken aback by your anger, he doesn’t show it, not really. His eyebrows simply knit together in concern, lips parting. “No you couldn’t have, they never would’ve forgiven you. The same way you did with Rino, you made the right decision, the one a boss makes. You didn’t listen to your emotions, didn’t let it get personal-“

“It was personal!” You shout, furious at him for disagreeing, at yourself for even coming out here in the first place, at Quinn for every decision he’s made since getting to Vancouver. “It’s more personal than Rino and Lena, Nico because they’re kids!”

You feel hysterical, out of your body and you cry and yell at him as if any of this is his fault at all. Later, when your same again hopefully, you’ll apologize but right now you can’t stop.

“They were just kids and he left them,” you wail, spewing out more hurtful words about how Quinn abandoned them. How he left them in Michigan with just an ill mother, knowing they wouldn’t be able to survive alone. He never checked on them, never visited. Lied about coming back for them. All before Luke was even old enough to have hair on his chest and before Jack could even call himself a teenager.

“He put them in danger,” you hiccup, furiously wiping at your cheeks “Kids, Nico, our kids!”

He helplessly shushing you, grabbing at your wrists and pulling them down from your face. Two strong arms wrap around you, pinning you into his shoulder and you bury your woeful sobs into his shirt.

“He was supposed to protect them. Why did no one protect them? Why did-“

Nico strokes through your hair, his lips pressed in tight by your ear when he starts pleading with you, voice tight and certain.

“We did,” he interrupts, “we protected them baby. You did, did you see yourself tonight? You were smarter and quicker than all of us, you spotted everything before it happened and had a plan for it. You protected them, you saved them.”

“I was too late,” you argue pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut. “It’s too late Nico. They’ll never get over being left like that, being unwanted by your family, it doesn’t go away Nico and I couldn’t keep them from that, I couldn’t-“

“That’s not on you,” Nico insist harshly, his hand tightening on your neck. “You can’t go back and fix things that happened before you knew them, can’t wrap them in bubble wrap. But you can do it now, you can help them heal now and you have.

“They know they have a family, that they’re ours and they’re ok. They picked us today, did you see that? They trusted you when you lead them to that car, when you threw yourself in front of them. Because that’s what family does, is protect.”

Hiccuping, you sniffle sadly. “I can’t do it anymore,” you whimper, “I can’t take how much it hurts to do this. I can’t live knowing that their family didn’t save them, Alex’s didn’t save him, even yours Nico..how am I supposed to just accept that? To fix that?”

He pulls back, eyes wet and pained as they trail over your face. “You don’t have to fix it, you just need to shoulder it for a bit. Until they can carry it themselves.”

You shake your head, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. His grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“You can do it, you’ve been doing it. There’s a reason they come to you, a reason Jack loved you from the first night he met you. A reason Alex comes to your side of the bed when he can’t sleep, when something goes wrong your his first call. And Luke, almost everything about him is you. His strength, his sense of humor, his protectiveness was drawn in by yours.

“Because you see them, you see these kids that have been left behind and instead of turning them away, you love them. You make them accept love.”

His palm dries your cheeks, thumb tracing a soothing line over your trembling lip. “And you did it for me first baby. I was a stupid kid when we met, not ready for any of this and you saw right through it. You picked me. And you carried things you never should’ve had to until I could deal with it.

“Yours the strongest person I’ve ever met, baby. So you can do this and you will because that’s who you are. That’s what makes you, you.”

He’s panting by the end of his speech, chest heaving and eyes wild, begging you to see, to understand. And he’s right. You’ve never looked at the boys and ever thought of turning them away. Everything about them pulled you in, tugged at your heartstrings, made you love them.

You saw yourself in them, with no family to love or want you. You saw Nico, used and tossed to the side by his family. No one saved him, but you could save these ones.

“Drag racing,” you cough out and his whole face twists in confusing.

“What?”

“The car,” you explain, taking in a ragged breath. “The driving and hot wiring. I learned it in high school. With a friend that used to drag race.”

A devastatingly beautiful smile takes over his face, eyes glossy and so full of love as they look at you. He presses his thumb into the dip of your chin, laughing softly.

“It was smart,” he says, “you were smart. And I mean it, you saved us.”

Slowly, you lift your hand to show him the finger’s you used to claw at the wires in the car, the cracks under your nails stained with blood from where they broke back.

“It’s easier with a knife,” you murmur, and he leans in, pressed a gentle kiss to the pads of them. You’ve never done that before, stripped a wire with your hands like that. You didn’t even know if it was possible, how you did it.

“I should’ve given you mine,” he murmurs, and he’s leaning back, hands falling to your waist. With the newfound space you take in a deep breath, look over his figure. “You would’ve been better off with it.”

“I lost the earring you gave me,” you say, eyes falling onto his bandaged arm. It ended up being just a nick, not even deep enough for stitches. A bullet had just barely caught him, popped off the taillight and up at his arm while he was hanging out the window.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he promises, grabbing at your chin again, tilting your head to look at him instead of the covered wound. “You saved us all tonight,” he repeats, “more than once. And that’s how I know you can do this.”

You take another deep breath, let his words sink in, let them press down on that bubble of rage until it deflates back into nothing. Nico’s never been wrong about you before, even when he was keeping you away for protection. He’s always known what you could do, what you could carry.

“Will you help me?” You whisper, fisting the hem of his shirt in your hand. He strokes through your hair, nodding.

“Of course I will,” he promises, “they’re our kids right? So we’ll do it together.”

Whatever comes tomorrow, whatever Jack and Luke you wake up to, if they’re angry, if they’re sad, if you have to drag them back to life the way Nico once did for you, you’ll handle it. You and him will carry it always.

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A PILE✦ 」

A Soft Message From Your Inner Child

Masterlist GET YOUR PERSONAL PAID READING HERE <33

Credits: divider by @/strangergraphics Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

Pile One -

Cards Pulled - The High Priestess • Page of Swords reversed • King of cups.

Hello my sweet Pile one! Today, your inner child wants you to know that you're wiser and more emotionally aware than you realise, and they're so proud of how far you've come! As am I!

The Hight Priestess is reflecting your inner knowing. Your inner child is gently reminding you that you've always been intuitive, even back then. You felt things others missed, and that sensitivity is a gift, not a flaw.

The Page of Swords Reversed shows that part of you is still curious and eager to learn. Though, you might be overwhelmed by doubts or mental clutter. Your inner child encourages you to let go of the need to always have the right answer, and to instead turn to wonder. You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to ask questions. It's okay to not know everything yet.

The King of Cups comes in as your emotional anchor. Your inner child sees the emotional maturity you've cultivated. They want you to give that same compassion and steadiness to yourself. You know how to hold space for others, now it's time to hold space for the younger parts of you too.

So, Pile One, my dears — the message from your inner child is to trust what you feel. You've always known more than they gave you credit for. Keep asking questions, stay curious, and hold yourself gently. They see you trying, and they love you for it.

Pile Two -

Cards Pulled - Ten of Cups reversed • Ten of Swords • Two of Cups reversed.

Pile Two, my dears. This one is deep. Your inner child is reaching out with a message that acknowledges pain, disappointment and the longing to truly feel connected and safe. This isn't an easy pile, but it's very meaningful.

The Ten of Cups shows a yearning for emotional security and belonging that might not have been fully met. Especially in the early stages of a relationship or family dynamics. Your inner child might be saying, "I didn't always feel safe or like I belonged." The comfort here is in recognising that those feelings were real, and that you are allowed to grieve what you didn't receive.

The Ten of Swords speaks to deep emotional exhaustion and perhaps betrayal and burnout. Your inner child is gently requesting you to acknowledge the hurt without brushing past it. But they're also reminding you that this is the end of the cycle. The worst is behind you now. There's nowhere to go but upwards. Healing from what you've been through is not only possible, but it's already beginning.

The Two of Cups here points to misalignment in relationships, especially with your self. Your inner child wants you to repair your bond with them. They want you to reconnect with your younger self in a way that is gentle, kind and affirming. You're perhaps pouring love into others, but forgetting to offer it inward. The comfort needed is reunion with your own heart.

Your inner child wants you to know that they know things didn't always feel safe or fair, but they're still here. They're still here waiting to be held by you. You don't need to be perfect. Just be with them. That's all they've ever wanted.

Pile Three

Cards Pulled - Four of Pentacles • Four of Wands • The Star Reversed

Hello Pile Three, my darlings! Today, your inner child asks for safety, celebration, and permission to hope again. Even if all such feels a little far away right now.

The Four of Pentacles here shows that your inner child has learned to protect themselves. Perhaps a bit too tightly. They've held onto what feels safe, even when it meant closing off parts of their heart. Their message to you is that you are safe now. You don't need to hold everything in so tightly. They want you to know that it is okay to soften. And it's okay to let go of some of that guardedness once you're ready.

The Four of Wands speaks of a longing you may have got joy, connection and a sense of 'home'. Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Your inner child wants to remind you that it's okay to celebrate yourself, even for the little things. They want you to create moments of joy and comfort. Build spaces that feel like home.

The Star Reversed suggests that your hope might feel dimmed. Perhaps you've been through disappointment, or your dreams have felt too distant. But your inner child is still holding a flicker of belief for you. Their message is, "Please don't stop wishing." Even when things begin to feel uncertain, even when you're tired — they want you to know that the healing is still ongoing, even in the background.

Pile Three, the message here from your inner child is that you don't have to do it all alone. You're allowed to soften, to celebrate, and to believe in magic again. Even if it's just a little bit at a time.

[ryzheling]

⟡ ݁₊ . of hardened steel and devotion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ character: knight!endo yamato (wbk) x princess!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖ contents: sfw, slight blood mention, banters? nothing much is happening rly they're just chatting :l ⊹ ࣪ ˖ a/n: didn't mean for it to get this long but royal au is fun :o ⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc ~ 1k (not proofread)

The final fleeting light of the hour shines through the thick velvet curtains when the last of the kingdom begins to retire for the night, the east hall now devoid of life as the doors shut behind tattling tales of the noblemen. The looming backrest sits plush along your spine, muscles tense and taut as the woes of the day lie heavy on your shoulders.

You would’ve thought to return to your chambers and hit the hay instead of dallying your rest, but the comfort of such silence in the hall is too precious for you to pass up. You stare at the rolled parchment on the side table just to your right, the frayed edges and blotted ink reminding– more like taunting you with the unfinished record of the event prior.

You have half the mind to tear it in two, the notion so appealing it almost had you reaching out for the scroll when the huge oak doors swing open, heavy and creaking loud. Your breath almost stops at the figure entering the hall.

Metal clunk against metal, and the particular sound sends a shiver down your spine when the man in steel and iron steps further into the hall, eventually reaching the dais where your seat, along with your parents’ – the kingdom’s rulers – line side by side.

The knight then descends to one knee, deliberate and methodical, the act a reverence in and of itself. His head is bowed low, one arm on his raised thigh while the other perches on the hilt of his sword.

Your sweeping eyes do not miss the crimson streaks splattered across one too many surfaces of his armor, though you pay them no mind as you drag your gaze to where his eyes are supposed to be through the helmet.

“I prayed for your safe return,” you mutter. “Glad to know the gods haven’t abandoned me yet from how often I have been cursing those petty old folks.”

“No god could ever wish upon my death if milady herself had graced me with her well wishes,” comes a muffled voice, and you know he’s holding back from shrugging a nonchalant shoulder.

You scoff bitterly, planting an elbow on the armrest before resting a fist underneath your jaw, “There is no such thing as that. You lot die so easily I almost think you were genuinely seeking it in the first place.”

His head rises just a tad bit, as if he’s peering up at you through the little slits on his visor, “Is that worry I sense?” You halt at his response.

Worry? For him? This man has got a knack for being so full of himself it seems.

You turn your head to the side to hide your eye roll. “What nonsense. The only time I’d ever worry about you is when this kingdom falls.” Which is never.

Hopefully… you think.

A quiet, breathless laughter fills your ears, sparing him a glance from you. “You wound me, princess.” He quips. You can see him shifting on his shin, though you make no move to gesture for him to stand.

You could, but there’s really no need, because he would’ve done it himself if he wanted to, that pompous man. And knowing him, he would stay down by your feet until he breathes his last, if only that was possible.

Another blanket of silence settles, profound yet pleasant in a way–

“You haven’t been sleeping, milady.” Nevermind.

You mentally include him among the denizens residing in your cursed list.

“Are you insinuating that I look unkempt and–” your face contorts then, clicking your tongue in irritation. “Actually, do not answer that. I rest just as soundly as anybody living in this castle, thank you very much…”

You falter, the words hanging in the still air and trailing themselves off. You stare quietly as he reaches out a gloved hand to tug his helmet off, slow and practiced with an ease that only he could muster. Gently, he places the headpiece onto the ground beside him with a faint tink.

The sight before you draws in all your remaining focus. Like it always has. Like it always will. Thick and messy lock of obsidian spills out, a pair of bright cerulean eyes catching yours in a swift trance as he runs a tantalizing hand through his hair.

“With all due respect, princess, even with my vision partly shielded, I could clearly see your unease from across the hall.” Endo’s voice is clearer now, so smooth and lilted with slight jest that your toes nearly curl at the baritone.

You finally grace him with a look, a proper one this time which he responds in kind. Too kind, in fact. A soft exhale, a heartbeat passing in sync with another, and he watches as you rise from your seat – your throne – to stand right before his kneeling form.

Delicate hands come to brush over the infinity mark displayed on his throat, his breath catching before you move to cradle his face. There’s a squint in your eyes when you lowly chide, “One more word from you saying I appear to be hideous, Yamato, I will have you scrubbing the bathhouse like some common peasant.”

He grins up at you, all teeth and canines, dirt and grime and everything you’ve grown to be fond of.

One thing about him, Endo’s ever so shameless in putting down his task in regards to providing you his undivided attention. He should be reporting to you about his recent expedition in lieu of… whatever line it is that you two are crossing right now.

But alas, you decide perhaps a forbidden apple is much sweeter than the ones served to you on a silver platter.

The shades of his blues swirl, you realize. Wild as the tattoos running down his arms, clear as the skies and burning like the sun as if they could scorch you alive in a flame of his devotion should you ever peer into them.

For the eyes that are signs of the soul within, his is one bound to duty and honor, and a prey to sin and temptation.

His armor chinks as he moves to splay his hands on the side of your waist, the fabric of your clothes heating up underneath his touch. Endo rests his head against your stomach, down facing the earth as if surrendering himself to the ground you stand on.

Such a strong, capable warrior, and yet just a man in the presence of his beloved.

He takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent until all his senses are drowning in it before he chuckles deep. “Put me in the worst of hell, and it is still you I seek both retribution and redemption from, milady.”

so locked in i have dents on my nose now from my glasses lol (will be resting my eyes now ..)

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!

[hehe-69]

Paul Lahote X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Paul being a softy, Paul crying, Reader crying, (author crying because I’m a sensitive bitch baby)

Summary: Paul suprises reader by making then breakfast in bed and it’s just Paul being a softy and them being madly in love with one another🤭

Reader and Paul are in an already established relationship for a while.

Inspired by this TikTok that is the breakfast he makes you.

—————

“Hey, watch it bucko.” You say playfully as you move your plate away for Paul, he’s going after one of your sausages. “Don’t call me Bucko you weirdo, and give me that sausage.” Paul laughs out and goes to reach for it again. “That’s what-“Y/N” Paul cuts you off, and he gives you the best puppy dog look he can manage. “Gah, fine!” You say giving up, you can’t resist Paul’s face. “Take the damn thing asshole.” Paul laughs out and takes the sausage, eating it before you can change your mind. “Thanks baby.” He says all cheerfully and teasingly. You glare at him, trying your best bit to smile.

“You’re lucky I love you.” And Paul grins at that. “That I am.” He kisses you once, then twice. “Now eat up before it gets cold.” He laughs and hops up off the bed to get himself some food.

“REALLY YOU JUST ATE MY SAUSAGE AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOUR OWN PLATE!!!” You yell out and faintly hear the sound of Paul laughing. You can’t help but smile to yourself, you and Paul might’ve had a rocky start but all of it was worth it to have this moment with him. It took so long for Paul to let you see this side of him, all soft and domestic.

———

Paul comes back with his own plate and sits on the bed with you. You have eaten about half of yours already so you and Paul will most likely finish your food at the same time.

As you sit and eat, the both of you talk and laugh together. You tease Paul about being such a good cook he’d make a housewife feel ashamed but seriously thank him for making you breakfast. It was really sweet and unexpected, he just smiles and kisses your forehead. There is something about his body language that gives him away.

The slight twitching of his mouth when there is silenc, that movment is a dead giveaway that Paul has something on his mind…but keeps chickening out on telling you.

———

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask as you lean against the headboard of Paul’s bed. He tenses up at the question. “It’s nothing.” You squint your eyes at him, Paul’s words were quiet and hesitant. You drop the topic for a bit, but as you and Paul lay down on the bed to cuddled. Your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as he plays with your hair. The combination has you feeling drowsy, so your lips loosen.

“I’ve seen every side of you Paul, there is nothing about you that I couldn’t love. You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind right this second…but just know, there is nothing in this world that could possibly make me love you less.” You say simply voice low and gentle as you begin to draw shapes on Paul’s abdomen with your finger, you don’t look at him till you’ve finished your sentence. But one you do, you’re floored by the sight of him. Paul looks so…soft, in a way only you get to witness. Soften by the peace and love you bring to his life.

“I love you, so much. There were times where-where I didn’t think I’d ever get something like this.” Paul is…he is impossibly soft spoken in this moment, eyes soft and loving as he caresses your face with the back of his hand. “I never thought I could be with someone like you. You’re like…” Paul’s voice falters, and his face frowns as he struggles to find the words.

You sit up slightly, waiting patiently for him to continue. After a while of thinking as he looks around the room, his gaze turns back to you. “I’ve never been able to be myself before…I was always holding back something. Using anger and aggression as a front. All my arrogance…my cocky attitude, I hid behind all of that…For so long I’ve felt like I have to hold myself apart from other, because…” You feel your heart drop as Paul’s eyes tear up. For all the time you’ve been together, you’ve only ever seen Paul cry three times.

You move so that you and cold him close to you, and he shoves his face into your shoulder. Breathing you in and letting out shaky breaths. “I’m a mess, I always have been. But…after phasing it all became so much worse. I was so scared…all the time-“Oh Paul.” You whisper out mornfully as Paul begins to really cry for the first time. For the first time he gets to fall apart with someone there to comfort him.

“I was so afraid of hurting people, and then I met you. And God, I became horrified.” Paul holds onto your shirt as he sobs out. “I was-“ Paul chocks the words out. “I was hooked on your stupid jokes and the way you smiled.” You let yourself bark out a life at that. “And then I got to know you, and I tried so hard to hate you. To make you hate me so you’d stay away.”

Paul pulls back and holds your face in his hands, he looks you in the eyes, theres so much emotion in those dark pools of his. You feel like you could drown in Paul’s eyes, and you’d never want to come up for air. “But you’re stubborn ass wouldn’t have any of it.” Paul smiles now, raw and beautiful. “You saw through my bullshit…and damn you. You made me fall deeper in love to the point I couldn’t even think straight.” Paul has never talked this much about how he feels. You feel so overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of he’s voice and the look in his eyes. Like he’s found a safe haven in the depths of a storm.

“You saw something in me I still don’t see today.” Paul puts his forehead against yours as you both let your tears fall. “I don’t think I can handle keeping how much I love you to myself anymore.”

You smile and pull him in for a most genuine and gentle kiss you can muster. And Paul just melts into it, he soaks it in like you’re the sun that fuels his soul. He puls back and smiles, suddenly he turns playful as he glared. “You keep this to yourself mouth.” You laugh as he pokes your side. “Oh I don’t know if I-AHHHH!” Paul cuts you off by pouncing on you and holding you down to the bed. Grinning despite himself. “You’re such a shithead.” He’s laughing softly. “Don’t ever change.” He whispers out as he face turns soft and loving. He leans down and kissed you gently, so completely unlike Paul in the best way possible.

He breaths through his nose and deepens the kiss, letting your hands slip from his grasp as he moves his own to cradle your face. You smile into the kiss, and you feel Paul smiling back, laughing softly as the kiss breaks due to the grins on your faces.

“I love you.” He breaths out before kissing you once more. “I love you too Paul.” You gasp out once the kiss breaks.

Paul pulls back, grinning and looking so happy it makes your heart soar. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that.”

———

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO MY WONDERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL WIFE @coldonez

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT POOKIE WAS GONNA WAIT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY BUT ILL MAKE A SHORT ONE FOR THAT SPECIAL DAY OF MY WIFE’S BIRTH

Did I mention I love my wife…

[yanderecrazysie]

If you don’t mind… May I request something for Akaashi Keiji— game of the insane. In which, the reader is the manager for Nekoma. The two are childhood best friends, and when they started dating, the reader feels down due to Akaashi being cold. They broke up then Akaashi soon regretted. That led to him trying to take her back by giving her gifts anonymously. That freaks the reader out, and when she confronts Akaashi, and talked to him he begs and reader disagrees. Which led to him having to kidnap the reader

(its weird I know, sorry for that🤧🙏 I believe in your power👆)

For context: Game of the Insane is the name of my Haikyuu one shot collection on Quotev and Wattpad. And I’m glad you believe in my power! Not a weird request at all though!

Title: Cold

Pairings: Yandere! Akaashi Keiji x F! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Description: You can’t stand how cold your boyfriend has gotten.

Your boyfriend had once been your childhood friend, until you moved to a new city. It wasn’t until you became Nekoma’s manager that you ended up running into him again. You loved to watch him play as Fukurodani’s setter and the two of you grew close during the times your teams met up.

Somehow, re-meeting your friend from childhood turned into a romantic relationship. Akaashi was so passionate and sweet. “Was” being the key word.

You watched him take a seat on the bleachers with a water bottle. He chose to sit several feet away from you instead of next to you, like you would have expected. You got up and sat next to him, trying to ignore the way he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“Hey, Keiji,” you said softly.

He looked at you, finally, and you leaned in for a kiss. He turned his head so that your lips met his cheek instead. Hurt, you pulled away and stared at the ground.

When had he gotten so detached and cold? He certainly wasn’t at the beginning… Was he cheating, perhaps? Sick of you? The possibilities made you sick with worry.

Akaashi took a sip from his water bottle, avoiding your eyes. The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and awkward. You curled your fingers into your palms, holding back tears.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Akaashi turned cold eyes on you, “No, you didn’t.” Then, he turned away.

It should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t. If you weren’t the problem, what was? Why wouldn’t he look at you anymore? 

You reached out and placed your hand on his arm, “Then talk to me…”

He finally looked at you, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But-”

“I have to go,” he cut you off, getting up and jogging back to the court. Leaving you sitting on the cold bleachers, wondering when the warmth between you had left.

You waited until the last game had ended, coming to a decision that you know would hurt… But a decision that wouldn’t hurt as much as this daily cold shouldering. 

Approaching Akaashi hesitantly, you looked down at your feet. “Um, Keiji…”

“What do you want?” he snapped. 

Your head snapped upwards, shock flooding through you. Then, your eyes narrowed, “I want to break up.”

Akaashi regarded you coldly, “Fine.”

But as you walked away, Akaashi felt an emptiness growing inside him.

—------------------------------------------------------

When he got home, Akaashi finally let the break up settle in. No more would he get to kiss your sugar-sweet lips, embrace your warm body, stroke his fingers against your soft skin… And it was all his fault.

Why had he allowed himself to become so cruel? Maybe he didn’t understand how much he’d lost until he’d lost it. How had he taken you for granted?

He tried to send you a long apology text, only to learn you’d blocked his number. He looked on social media, finding himself blocked there too. All he had left was your address.

Your house seemed to loom over him menacingly. He swallowed, his throat dry as a desert. He lifted a hand to knock but froze. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

He looked at the fluffy stuffed animal he had gotten you- your very favorite animal. He put it down on your doorstep and walked away. You would know who had left it.

There was no response from you in the days that followed. Akaashi remained blocked on all platforms. Still, that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Chocolates were left at your doorstep next. Expensive ones at that. 

Then came the letters. Each one more desperate than the last. I’m sorry. Take me back, please! I’ll do better!

You remained radio silent.

Akaashi sat on the bench at the park across from your house. He prayed he could catch a glimpse of you. One smile from you and he was sure his world would be bright again, and not colorless and depressing, like it now seemed to be.

Akaashi left a bouquet of your favorite flowers on your doorstep next. He put them down so gently, right where your stuffed animal had once sat, and took a step back, staring at the door as if you might open it and throw yourself into his arms.

He went home, still thinking of you. An hour later, the doorbell rang and, to his surprise, you stood on his doorstep, arms crossed, looking anything but pleased with him. He flung open the door, a smile spreading across his lips.

“Leave me alone,” you snapped. His hopes plummeted.

“I can’t,” Akaashi replied, his voice shaking, “I love you!”

“No you don’t,” you shook your head, “If you loved me, you would have shown that when we were together.”

“I made a mistake,” Akaashi said slowly, “But I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t,” you said coldly.

“I just need some time,” Akaashi said, completely ignoring you now. He took a look up and down the empty street and smiled.

You were seized by the arm and pulled inside his house before you could scream.