or, why Eddie Brock can never return to his favorite coffee shop

“You’re an investment,” Pat had told Sid over and over. “You’re a talent, and we’re not letting the league freeze you out for this.” The NHL demands omegas be bonded to play. Sid, unwilling to lose hockey, agrees to enter into a bond with the Penguins' draft prospect Evgeni Malkin. It does not go as they planned.

The fight is brief and unsatisfying. The whole thing takes no more than five minutes and no more than two swords. They still hum for blood as Zoro sheathes them and faces the gang's growling, pissed off boss. “Fine,” the man shouts. “We’ll take you then, huh? Plenty of folks will pay to bring a big man down low,” he says nonsensically. “What—” A sharp pain in his ankle cuts him off. A downed man pulls a needle out of Zoro's skin.

“Now you get to help me stall them since you almost blew my cover.” Keith shifts in his lap and Shiro’s fingers tighten on his hips. “We gotta act like we’re into public shit. They’re gonna leave otherwise.” Shiro freezes where he’d been mouthing at Keith’s bare shoulder. “I’m serious, Shiro, don’t blow this fucking mission,” Keith hisses. “We’ll deal with this later.”

The wedding’s going to be tonight, presumably so no one involved has time to get cold feet, which gives Geralt just enough time to clean up and get the dirt off his armor and overthink every tiny little detail of this arrangement.