#sub!joe

Domme’s at the door, which Joe huffs about, because this late into the pregnancy it’s much better for her to rest. The doctors have given her a clean bill of health, yet Joe remains adamant about her not doing too much when he’s not around to help. “Mamas, what are you doing up?” he asks. 

“Well, I was snacking. But now, clearly, I am greeting the other humans you’ve brought home.”

“Sit your cute ass back down.”

Domme’s slipping from Ja’Marr’s quick embrace to Tee’s and she sighs. “He acts like I’ll blow away in a strong wind.”

“Nah, he’s right though. You look like you could pop if someone hugged you a little too hard,” Tee laughs. “We heard Jackson’s on the list. I approve of it.”

“What was the nickname you used?” Joe asks, calling out from the kitchen. Joe remembers it the fondness still seep into his bones, but he doesn’t want to take the thunder away from Tee who used it first. 

“Jack Jack,” Tee answers, helping Domme back to the couch. 

“Oh.” Joe catches the watery edge to her words and slips into the living room. Domme’s perched into her nest on the couch, clutching a pillow. Her eyes find him and her bottom lip is rolled out. “He’ll be a Jack of every trade and the master of whichever one makes him happy or so help me God.”

The entire room is frozen at the sight of the tears, except Joe, who slips in kissing her forehead. Joe is rather used to the swing of emotions, to the way Domme reacts sometimes to the slightest references. So he takes this in stride. “Yeah, baby, we’ll always be there for our baby boy. No matter what.”

Safe to say—Jackson is the name they have to go with now. 

_____________

The day Domme goes into labor with Jackson, Joe feels the change, the way his gut lurches at the thought of leaving her behind, even just for the few hours he’d be gone for practice makes him uneasy. He doesn’t want to go. Knows that he should, but can’t shake the feeling that there’s something about today. 

Domme’s the one that insists he get his workout in as planned. That should anything happen, he’d be the first call. His nerves are only marginally helped with the addition of both his mother and hers staying with her. Domme’s only a couple weeks out from the due date. While Joe knows how to stay calm under pressure, he can’t help the small blips of anxiety when it comes to Domme. That’s his wife for God’s sake, and his child, so sue him for being a little bit more on edge than usual. Such anxieties are eased by the knowledge that  Domme would have people around should anything happen. But Joe wants it to be him. He wants to be around. 

“You’re crankier when can’t get a workout in,” she laughs against his lips. 

Joe has one hand settled onto the bump, the other holds the back of Domme’s head. She holds an air of mild discomfort, which isn’t abnormal for someone this pregnant, but still Joe feels like it’s more discomfort than usual. “I just feel it. Today’s the day.”

“Go. I will be fine.”

Joe goes. As instructed. But no sooner than Joe could get back into the locker room, his pads not removed from his torso, he hears his phone ringing. The volume turned all the way up, habit now so that if he stepped out of any room without the device he can hear it. The entire room quiets, all the booming voices, even the chatting of the social media team silences. 

Joe’s over to his phone, in seconds, clears the distance easily and spots his mother’s contact on the screen. “Mom?” He answers. It’s nerves and not nerves all at the same time. 

“You’re having a baby sometime today, if not tomorrow. You’ve got time to shower.”

Domme’s voice floats in from the background, “For fuck sake. I can’t believe you two did all this. Some multiple times.”

Her joking is a good sign, a thing that allows Joe’s shoulders to drop just a little bit more but he can feel the twist in his gut, the churn. He doesn’t like knowing she’s in pain and there’s nothing he can do about it. A byproduct of their mutual decision. “I’m on my way.”

Ja’Marr’s voice breaks the silence of the room first. “Baby on the way?”

Joe gets the pads off before he starts to undo his cleats. “Baby boy is on the way,” Joe confirms. 

The entire room cheers, an eruption of clapping starts like a toppling domino effect. There's a few slaps to his back, whistles and Joe’s just barely grabbing the bag he came in with that has his change of clothes and stuff for the shower, before he digs out his keys. The practice pants and compression shirt are enough for him to drive home in. He’d rather not waste a second that he could be there for Domme, even if she fusses at him for coming home smelling like sweat and turf. 

Joe knows the route to their home well. He’s taken plenty of times before. Joe counts the turns, glares at the red lights, but does follow every traffic law in order to get home. He can hear Domme now laughing about him getting a ticket for speeding and he wasn’t even driving her to the hospital. Thus, he obeys the traffic laws, but he counts every light, every turn until he’s home, rushing through the front door because he can’t be bothered to move through the hassle of getting to the garage. 

Domme’s up, walking, hands on her back, working through the humming technique. She looks beautiful, but she winces—and well, she’s beautiful then too, but the wince reminds Joe what’s going on, what’s at stake, and he crosses the foyer to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’m here now. And I know I stink, so don’t even think about saying it, but I’m here. I’ve got you, love.”

 It takes Domme a minute before she can reply, what Joe assumes is the contraction finally moving on and easing away. “Shower. Now, please. You will not meet your son smelling like that.”

“Yes, ma’am. You are the boss.”

Joe doesn’t fuss in the shower with too much—rinses his hair one good time, washes the necessities and then he’s out, changing without much stopping before he’s back down the steps, double checking and then triple checking their hospital bags. Domme makes Joe stop on the way to the hospital for food, knowing that if she gets admitted they won’t let her eat again until she’s delivered. 

Her detour adds on an additional forty five minutes to get her favorite Mediterranean chicken bowl that takes them in the opposite direction of the hospital, which nearly causes Joe to pop a blood vessel when the line doesn’t move for ten minutes. “You would think they’d be prepared for a lunch rush. It’s not hard to do.”

Domme’s got one hand stroking at the back of his neck, teasing at the hair on the nape of his neck. “You’re handsome when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry. I’m worried sick about you. The contractions are getting a little closer together now. But you want this damn bowl, so we’re going to get it. Even though I think this line of behavior is a little asinine given the circumstances.”

“I’m not me when I’m hungry,” she laughs. “I think everyone will be happier if I eat now.”

Joe glances down to the radio. They’re now next in line which is good, if only the line would start to move. Joe thinks he can spot the brake lights cutting out up ahead. He reaches up to take her head from his neck. “Another minute and I think another contraction is coming.”

“Yeah, I can feel the tell now. But I don’t want to break your hand. You might need it one day. Or so I’ve heard it’s necessary for quarterbacks.”

“For dads,” Joe corrects, a tiny shake of his head. “New dads need both hands. And right now, I don’t care, okay? I just care about you and you being safe and Jackson too. But mostly you.”

The contraction hits and Domme breathes through it, takes it like a champ if Joe had to say. Yet, he can’t stop the ache in his chest. He really hates this, he realizes. Hates knowing that the only thing Domme can do is ride out this pain and the only thing he can do is be there. He can’t take it from her, only help her shoulder it. It’s not much, he knows that much, but god, he wants. 

They’re admitted, thankfully, upon arrival, the couple hours of Joe getting home, showering and food might’ve helped with that, but Joe hardly leaves Domme’s side. He’s there when she takes laps around the room, dances with her when she asks, speaks up for her when she doesn’t want another pelvic exam too, “My wife has made it clear that she would rather wait. I can come get you when she’s ready.” 

Joe’s in her ear through each contraction. “Breathe for me, mamas. Keep breathing. You got this. You can do this.”

Joe’s got the tennis balls and rolls them over her back well before Domme needs to ask. Her cup of ice chips could never ever be considered below half full with Joe around. He checks it constantly and the second he can see the cup nearing half empty, he’s scooting out of the room to fill it again for her. “Getting you some more ice, okay? Need anything else while I’m gone?”

“A donut would be killer.”

Joe would if he could sneak her a donut. “I can text my mom and when you’re cleared for food, we will get you that donut, promise.”

“I love you.” It’s a whispered confession. She’s tired, it’s clear, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“I love you more.” Then Joe scurries out, fills her cup, sucks down one of the granola bars from the snack closet available to him and then hurries back to her room. 

Joe would never admit this, but there was a moment, once Domme started pushing, that he thought Domme might actually have the grip strength to break his head. Her hold is getting tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter. Her grunt of exertion and of pain fills the room. And it’s there, in that brief moment that Joe has the thought, she could actually break his head. Even if Domme did manage to injure him, Joe wouldn’t care in the slightest. 

Not after the first cry rings out and there, resting on her chest is their baby boy—all eight pounds and 5 ounces of him at 21 inches long. Jackson’s face is tight at the sudden chill of the room certainly. But he’s there, or rather here. “He’s got a set of lungs on him,” Domme laughs, before it bleeds into a soft hushing. “You’re okay, baby. Oh, you’re okay.”

There are tears in his eyes, a blurring after the sting hits and Joe’s not sure what the feeling is—pride, relief, shock, awe, or some mixture—but he can feel the rattle in his chest, the sob that’s going to break free. Yet his first instinct is to cup Domme’s cheek, stroke the sweaty flesh. “How do you feel, love?” Joe asks, the words tight and hard in his throat. 

“I-I don’t know. Overwhelm. Relief. Hungry. All the emotions.”

“I’ll take that. That’s okay.”

The nurses call him over, are basically begging Joe to take a few seconds just to himself with his baby, but he takes another minute with Domme, nose and lips pressed into the side of her face. “I’m so incredibly proud of you, baby. So proud of you. Thank you. For doing this. For loving me. And him.”

“It’s an honor,” Domme hums in return against his lips.

Babies are shockingly much smaller than Joe anticipated them to be. Or rather, than what he remembers them being. Joe takes Jackson at the nurses insistence and places his baby boy onto his bare chest—settling into the chair pulled up next to the bed. “He’s so tiny,” Joe laughs. 

“Won’t be for long if your genetics have anything to do with it.”

The room finally starts to calm, sort of like after a party, where everyone has gone home and there’s still cups and plates to toss, but there’s a rush of relief like an exhale. Joe hadn’t the foggiest idea prior to this even after the baby was born, there’s still the placenta and a host of other things to still be monitoring and dealing with. So it shocked him just a little that there was still a bit of a circus in the room for a few hours after birth. 

And it’s after all that. After they get Domme swaddled into blankets. Her round of shakes sends Joe reeling before a nurse intervenes, “Pump the brakes, Dad. Mom is okay. This happens. We got her.” It’s the exhale, to have the room, mostly to themselves. Domme’s hand in his, Jackson on his chest, that Joe feels another round of tears. He doesn’t stop them, just lets them track down his cheeks. This part is done and then the rest of their lives and the start of parenthood extends out even further in front of them. 

Joe’s just glad both of them made it, that the worse that happened was the fucking wait at the drive through, that her doctors listened to what she wanted, that the nurses were helpful. That his family and hers are understanding that right now they still need just a little bit of time to themselves, that soon Joe will hit send on the ‘All Clear’ that’s sitting in his drafts. But for now, there is quiet, and it’s just him, and Domme, and Jack Jack. 

“Love you, kid. More than I have words for,” Joe whispers to the tiny frame on him. He wipes his tears slowly, moves inch by inch as to not startle or wake his baby boy. “And your mama’s the strongest woman I’ve met. Man, we’re blessed. She’s great. Can’t wait for you to get to know her.”

When Domme wakes, about an hour and a half later due to a nurse checking vitals, Joe offers her Jack Jack. “You went out pretty fast afterwards and I figured best to let you rest. But he’s your kid too, so I can’t hog him.”

Her arms open easily and Joe slides Jackson inside, careful of his head. A tiny corner of the blanket unfurls in the transfer, one tiny foot stretched out—as if seeking warmth. Joe reaches across the gap, slips his palm right under the bottom of his foot and strokes the tiny joint that feels almost too soft to be an ankle. The picture is easy to snap, quick too and doesn’t take away from Joe’s watchful ear as Domme converses with the baby. “Oh, you’ve got your dad’s frown.”

“Why does it have to be my frown? It could be yours.”

“Look at him,” Domme commands and when Joe peers down, he is met with a reflection of his own frown. He remains silent but Domme grins. “Exactly like I thought.”

“Shush. But you might be right.”

_____________________________

After the season is done, Joe takes the night shifts with Jack. Joe wants Domme to be as well rested as she can be during the days. Knows that she needs that, and it helps at the very least that they know that no matter what time of day, or time of night, there’s at least one of them at the ready to respond for each whine and cry.

It’s awkward at first. Joe’s not nervous as he is petrified. Jack’s hungry cry from his diaper change cry sounds different, but Joe’s still not learned which one is which yet. There’s still the initial, oh shit this tiny human needs me to figure it out, they cannot tell me moment, sometimes when the cries wake Joe in the middle of the night. But after a couple weeks, Joe sorts it out. 

It may have taken a few early morning phone calls to his mother to learn it, but Joe did and that’s all that matters. Jack Jack is howling in the background of the phone conversation. Joe’s peering back behind him to make sure Domme hasn’t woken up. “Mom, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to wake her but I’ve tried everything. Fresh diaper. He won’t take the bottle. I’m rocking him right now. He just seems fussy and for something, but I don’t know what.”

“Does he have a fever? Running hot by chance?”

Joe runs a hand over Jack’s chubby cheeks and forehead. But he feels cool to the touch, warm like he’s supposed to be, but not hot. “Negative.”

There’s the sticky sound of barefoot shuffling and Joe turns. “Mamas, go back to bed, I’ve got him.”

But Domme’s not deterred. “I woke up to pee and because I missed you both. So, you’re stuck with me. Tell your mom I said hi.”

Joe doesn’t believe for a single second that Domme woke up just to pee by happenstance. But she takes a fussy Jack into her arms, resting his torso into her chest and shoulder, a firm pat to Jack’s bottom. In an instant, he settles, the shrieks lowering to a huffed sniffle and sigh. “We’re a team, baby. We always will be,” she reminds him, softly stretching up for a kiss. A kiss that Joe gives easily.

“I’ll let you go, Joe,” his mother hums in his ear. “But I’ll keep my phone near me just in case. Tell her I said hi.”

Joe nods, but still staring at Domme. “Yeah, I’ll let her know, Mom. Thanks for answering. I know it’s late.” They hang up and Joe’s relieved to have his son satisfied but the fretting doesn’t cease. “When he’s settled again, you’re going back upstairs. You need rest.”

“We all need rest.”

“You especially.”

But that hot edge, the part of Domme that’s much too fierce even for Joe at times, peeks out. “And let you have all the baby time, I think not.”

That night, after Jack’s soft breathing deepens and he’s transferred with expertise into the downstairs crib, Domme snuggles right up to Joe on the couch, her face pressed into his chest. His arms slip around her waist, tugging her in even closer. “You’re so stubborn,” Joe whispers into the skin of her forehead. 

“But you love me.”

“Yeah,” Joe exhales, feeling the final tugs of sleep at the edges of his consciousness. “I do.”

They make it work—like they always do. Domme wakes before Joe to start the day for breakfast, the smell arouses him if Jack’s morning doesn’t get to him first. And in the exchange of breakfast, and soft still barely awake kisses, Jack’s transferred to Domme—sometimes like a football with Jack’s head still supported, Joe’s muscle memory being the only thing to tide him over, most often with a flurry of kisses to Jack’s head. “Be good for Mamas, okay?” is Joe’s last warning before he slips upstairs, to sleep undisturbed for at least four to five hours. 

This works up until camp starts again, and then they migrate back to a more reasonable schedule—working to get Jack to sleep through the night, finding a daycare for him, finding a new normal. Joe and Domme are tired, uniquely so, tired in ways they’d never imagined. Yet, they still manage to have date nights—once every two weeks they manage to slip out to a nice dinner. One of their parents will babysit for them. Sometimes for the night, sometimes just for the evening. 

Joe takes Domme out deep to a clear, sandwiches packed into the cooler. They leave the city far behind them, radio playing softly around them. It helps them stay connected to each other, huddled up in the backseat of the SUV, playing cards by flashlight. Until Joe loses one too many times and Domme slips up into his lap, her mouth working so expertly over his jaw and neck. 

Joe sighs at the latch, at how she touches him like she’d still devour him without a second thought. It lights his stomach with a fire that he never really wants to be put out. “Shit,” Joe moans, fingers taking hold of her waist. 

Domme chuckles, hand slipping up to the column of his throat. “Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

The windows fog on that particular date night, not that they do a lot. All mostly over the clothes, all touches, but it’s enough to remind them that they’re still partners rather than roommates at the end of the day. 

________________

Joe loved watching Domme while pregnant, even though he fussed over her every step, she glowed. He wanted to always be in the warmth of her smile, wanting to catch onto every twinkle of her laugh. When he picked out clothes for her, he’d be sure to pick the tiniest top possible, the bump much too big for the material. He has videos of her, in leggings, sneakers, and a tiny crop top ahead of him. 

“Are you recording me?” Domme asked, catching him when she turned around. 

“Possibly,” Joe laughed. 

“Oh my god. At least let me know so I can give you a show.”

And once Jack’s settled into daycare, and life feels normal for them again, their sex life comes to the forefront again, more than it did before in the first few weeks to months after Jackson’s arrival. They’re no less intimate, but they’re more careful. Joe’s not sure he can go through with their original plan for two kids. He’s sure his heart could actually break watching Domme in that kind of pain again. 

But Domme can’t be blamed, not when she’s watching Joe with a baby on his chest, or a carseat in one hand, or that hat pulled low onto his brow. She is at the end of the day merely human. Her husband looks like a deity carved into flesh. Sue her. But it’s in these moments when she’s trying to initiate and she can sense the tug, the leash Joe has himself on. 

“Baby, can we talk?” Domme questions. 

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Joe answers, but nods. “I just don’t want you to think I’m not attracted to you or anything. Because that’s literally the opposite of the truth.” His laughter is punctuated by the erection he’s currently dealing with, between them, Domme straddling his lap. 

“I’m willing to listen,” she offers, slipping off him now, settling onto the mattress, her hips only inches from his hips. “Is it fear?”

The nod is immediate. “A little. I just—I know we talked about two kids. And I don’t know, seeing you during delivery, that looked like a lot and I hated knowing there wasn’t anything I could do to take away the pain. I don’t know. I guess I’m more worried about it than you appear to be.”

“No, delivery…was tough. Tougher than I think either one of us could’ve planned for. But you did help. A lot. Speaking up for me. Never letting my cup get too empty. Encouraging me. It helped more than I think I might’ve previously let on. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else in that room but you, Joe. I know I could do it again too with you there. So, first, I guess, thank you. For doing that, for being there. And second, it’s okay if we need more time before baby two.”

His face lights up, almost like a kid in a candy store, his boy making his face look younger. Like somehow he can’t believe any of that made a difference. Though it did. It made more of a difference than Domme has words for, to feel that kind of support means more than words can truly encapsulate. “You mean that? That me doing all that helped?”

“Yeah, Papa Bear. It helped.”

Joe scopes her up, hooks an arm around her legs and pulls until she’s back in his lap again. “I do think I’ll take that extra time. However,” he starts, trailing kisses down her jaw, “I think I can find plenty to do until then.”

“You dog,” Domme grins but takes Joe’s face and pulls him up for a proper kiss.

___________________________

Joe’s not sure what he thought being a dad would mean. If somehow he’d gotten comfortable with the vague abstract concept of it as something that would just come naturally to him, that he’d fall into some sort of innate rhythm with it. But Jackson’s not what Joe anticipated. The two of them butt heads, not in a bad way. Jack’s a lot more emotional than Joe. They’re both much more introverted, which is a plus. Jack can be left to play and sometimes the house is much too quiet for a house that has a three year old in it. If anyone rounds a corner though, Jack can be spotted, at his desk, quietly coloring. Making something. Sometimes he’s found sitting in his parent’s closet, swimming in one of the very few suit jackets Joe owns, happy to pet the soft suede on a pair of Domme’s heels. 

“Buddy, what are you doing in here?” Joe asks with a laugh, phone lowering now after snapping the picture. 

Jack shuffles over, a grin on his face. “Look, I’m dressed like you!”

Joe nods, dropping down into a squat. “Yeah, Jack Jack, you are definitely dressed like me. Were you looking for some quiet time?”

“I think so. Roslyn was crying really loud.”

Joe exhales, a heavy and slow sound of his chest. Roslyn was being fussy before she finally settled in for her nap. Domme had been attempting to take her, to give Joe a little breather, but she didn’t want anyone but Joe and now that she’s asleep, it’s a tad more quiet in the house and thankfully Roslyn will stay asleep after the initial fight to get her down. “You’re right. She was loud. I can give you some quiet time, but I need you where I can see you. So do you want to continue playing dress up?”

Jack nods, “Please.”

“Alright. I can do that if you follow me. I need you to give Dad three minutes to grab the baby monitor from downstairs and to get you a snack. Sound like a good deal?”

“Do I get apple slices or animal crackers?”

“Which one do you want?”

“Animal crackers.”

“Yeah, we can do animal crackers,” Joe agrees.

 “You got a deal.” 

Jack’s hand doesn’t even come out the other side of the sleeve, but Joe takes it anyway, grinning to himself. “Thanks for working with me.”

“Of course, Daddy. And I won’t tell Momma about the animal crackers.”

Joe finds that secret hard to believe, but holds that remark back on his tongue and lets Jack lead the way downstairs. He does in fact only have three minutes and Joe intends to keep his word.  

It’s just abundantly clear that as Jack gets older, he feels things differently. Joe’s not trying to raise his son to be emotionally stunted, but Joe’s just not used to having to deal with someone who feels and sees the world so differently but doesn’t have all the words that they seemingly want or need to convey it. Who needs Joe to give him those words day in and day out. So it’s a challenge for Joe. A thing that Joe wants to sink his teeth into and do it well. But holy moly, Jackson’s not what Joe thought having a son would be like. 

Jack’s much more interested in the world at large, learning why and how things operate the way they do. He cares about how others feel, but Jack is also deeply offended by some of the rules of the world too. It just doesn’t make sense to him that he can’t wear his Spiderman suit to bed. Why do adults get the final say when Jack’s perspective could be just as valid as anyone else’s? Why can’t he just tell other people to be nicer to everyone and actually expect them to listen? Why can’t he have more yogurt two hours before bedtime? Wasn’t it good for him? Mom said it was good for him. 

Joe swears as Jack goes through ages 5-10, he never finishes the day more mentally drained. Joe’s had to learn playbooks, had to handle taxes, the prenup with Domme, juggling her pregnancy and cravings, but Jack leaves him with utterly nothing. There’s always more and more questions, questions that not even Joe’s thought of, that he ever thought to think of at that age. But Joe’s not going to stamp out his kid’s curiosity so when Jack asks, “How did purple get seen as a girl color? It’s a nice color.”

Joe steadies himself with a deep inhale and breaks out his phone. “Let’s find out together.” It’s his go-to phrase when Joe can’t find a quick answer. Hell, Joe uses it when he knows the answer, but has a feeling that it will just open up a larger can of worms. So it doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of the grocery store or at home, Joe stands, or sits and reads over whatever sources he thinks looks reliable to Jackson. Joe pauses for questions to be met with Jack’s tiny voice, “What does sociological mean? Did I say it right?” And no, a four year old doesn’t say sociological right, but Joe breaks it down piece by piece and then does his best to give a definition. 

So yes, at the end of the day, when both kids are put to bed, Joe climbs into Domme’s arms and sighs, inhales her scent off her skin. “I love him, Mamas. I swear I love him. But he asked why the color purple is seen as a girl color after frantically trying to get him to a bathroom. Traffic was horrible. He didn’t like any of the radio stations he usually likes. And I didn’t think I was going to make it through that Kroger because every answer just gave him more questions.”

“You will enjoy the fruits of your labor. Just give it another couple years. Promise, Papa Bear. Promise you will.”

_______________

Domme’s right. Because of course she is. Like she would always be, Joe thinks. Jack’s curiosity is a good thing. It is a thing to keep burning bright. It’s rewarding to see his boy on the playground or at home figuring out life, navigating the world. Like the time Jack Jack, at 7, hollers for Joe on the playground one weekend. “Dad! Orange alert! Orange alert!”

Joe clears the twenty, twenty five foot gap in seconds, mulch kicked up and flying from the absolute heat in Joe’s pace, just barely dodging the little bodies playing, to find Jack next to a little girl, who’s maybe five with a skinned knee. “She got pushed off the slide. Can you make her knee better? I watched the way the other kids went.” 

Sure, Joe feels a little frazzled at the little girl’s pain, but Joe’s much relieved that it’s not his kid hurt. They have a color system—orange for injuries, yellow for being only a little scared, green for feeling good, red for the absolute worst case scenarios/big scared/emergencies, which could be substituted for ‘fire’ too, in case they were in a crowded area. 

Joe nods all the same. “Don’t go too far from my sight, okay, Jack Jack. I need to see you at all times.” 

“My dad’s nice, don’t worry,” Jack warns the younger girl. 

Joe crouches down, “Hey, my name’s Joe. I’m Jack’s Dad. Is it okay if I pick you up? Want to see that scrape better, that’s all.” 

The little girl’s tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “Yes,” she hiccups. 

“Thanks. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“Okay, Lily, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay,” Joe coos, getting her up and into his arms. “Who are you here with?”

“My-my mommy.”

“Yeah, your mom. Okay. And where is she? Do you remember what color shirt she’s wearing?”

“I-I don’t remember,” Lily cries. The quiet sniffling returns to a full blown panicked sob. 

“No, no, don’t worry,” Joe soothes. He’s used to this. Has had to get used to it with two kids. “It’s okay. Just point in the direction she was sitting. All I need you to do is point.” The scrape doesn’t look terrible. Only a couple angry red lines, but still, no fun to take the spill off the slide. 

Lilly points and Joe starts in that direction, scanning the faces of the parents sitting in the shade. “Can I get Lily’s mom? Please?” Joe calls out. Immediately, a red headed woman pops up, her body turned away from another mother she was in a conversation with. “Is that your mom?” Joe asks the little girl, wanting to verify before passing her off. Lily nods, one hand wiping at her cheeks the other fist wrapped tightly around the shoulder of Joe’s t-shirt. 

“I’m her mom. Lily, what happened?”

“Some boys pushed me.” It starts the tears again, but Joe eases Lily over to her mother. 

“My son said he saw it happen,” Joe informs. “She’s got a few shallow cuts on her knee from the fall.”

There’s the crunch of the mulch and Joe spots Domme approaching with a first aid kit in hand. She rubs over his back—just a couple circles—and Joe understands what that means, Domme’s got this from there. He turns, locations Roslyn watching from the top of the playhouse, and she points, a furious jab. “You okay up there, Ros?” Joe asks. 

“Yes, Daddy. I’m fine. But Jack Jack, get to Jack Jack!"

Joe starts scanning the children in the direction of Roslyn’s point and only a few feet from him, Joe spots Jack. It’s less of a walk and more of a stalk. Like he does to his room when the house is too noisy sometime and he’s exhausted of everything, a fierce determination painted into his tiny gait. He means business, storming over to the jungle gym area.

“Oh shit,” Joe murmurs to himself.

“I saw you push her!” Jack hollers out. Joe’s heart races as he watches. “You cannot lie to me. I saw you and that was very mean. You hurt her. You’ve been mean to everyone here! Where are your parents?” 

“Oh, so you’re a tattle tale too?” The ring leader bellows back. 

“Eventually,” Jack returns close enough now to the group that Joe’s hoping he’ll still have time to intervene should this start going south. Joe’s shuffled in closer, keeping his distance, wants Jack to handle this somewhat on his own before Joe steps in. Jack’s usually pretty good with his words. So Joe’s less worried. 

But maybe he should be worried. Jack swings. Arm cocked back with ease and fires off the punch with all his might. 

Joe shouldn’t reward this behavior. He shouldn’t even feel the pride at Jack’s return of violence. But sue Joe, he is proud of his kid for sticking up for what he believes is right, for standing up to someone who is being mean for seemingly no real reason. Joe’s proud too of Jack’s form. Which is not the point at all. But it’s there, Jack’s got a solid fighting stance, which Joe himself has not taught him. Joe briefly wonders if it was Ja’Marr or Tee that taught Jack. 

However, this is going to be a fight that Jack is definitely going to lose. Joe scurries over, turning his light steps into a jog. Jack’s punch does connect, catches the kind in the stomach but the other older boys are more than ready to descend. One grabs Jack by the collar of his shirt, arm reared back until Joe slides in behind Jack. The shadow of Joe’s height casts gloomy clouds over the entire group. The hold on Jack drops and so does the incoming punch without ever landing. 

“Mister, this kid hit me. I didn’t do anything to him,” the ring leader cries. 

“I heard you pushed a little girl off the slide,” Joe counters. “Is it true?”

“He punched me and I didn’t do anything to him!” The older boy repeats again, incredulous that he’s not being immediately believed.

“Did you or did you not push that little girl off the slide?” Joe’s voice is firm, but his hands settle onto Jack’s shoulders. 

“He did, Dad. I saw him do it,” Jack answers. 

“Thank you. Now, I will need an explanation on why you hit him, if you did, and an apology as necessary. But first, we’re going to settle this conversation about this little girl.” 

And they do. The older boy confesses to pushing the little girl. Jack explains that he’d been tripped earlier by the older kid, told said kid to stop picking on people smaller than him. Jack then watched the older kid and his friends continue to terrorize others that didn’t stick up for themselves so Jack tried to get the other kids to say something.

“But the other kids were too scared,” Jack huffs, still not upset by the fact. “So, I was going to get you, Dad. I swear I was. And right when I went to go and leave the slides, they pushed that little girl. And then I just—I was angry. Very very angry that he kept hurting other people thinking it was funny. It’s not funny, at all. It hurts. A lot. And I don’t know, Dad. I wasn’t myself when I punched him and I know it wasn’t right. And not being myself doesn’t matter because I did it anyway. I could’ve stopped myself. So I am sorry,” Jack offers, “for punching you. And not getting an adult first to help. But you weren’t being nice at all.”

_________________________

Joe remembers that day on the playground rather fondly whenever asked about it. Though, that is the inciting incident for Joe and Domme to look into some kind of sport for Jack to work and redirect his anger through, to give him a little bit more discipline. It lands Jack in karate for a few years—throughout the rest of elementary and the entirety of middle school. By high school, Jack turns to dance and music, which Joe wasn’t expecting. Nevertheless, Joe shows up to the recitals, listens to every poorly plucked guitar string like it’s Slasher. 

That is until Jack gets really good and then Joe has to admit, sometimes, he’ll sit outside Jack’s door just to listen to his boy play. The boy absolutely shreds on the guitar. There’s a surge in Joe’s chest when he goes to performances and talent shows. Jack looks so confident, so at ease on stage where he’s much more reserved when he’s not performing.

When Jack’s still young, around 13, there’s still the excitement when he nails a cool riff, or something difficult where Jack will scurry through the house, guitar slapping at his back, “Ma! Dad! Come here!”

And come, do they. Joe and Domme pause whatever it is they’re doing and find Jack beaming. “Listen, listen, listen!”

It’s the Burrow spirit—through and through—with Jack Jack and music. Joe will come back inside from being outside with Roslyn, both of them dripping with sweat from her lacrosse drills, to see Jack sitting on the counter, Domme fussing over his hands, a first aid kit cracked open and the innards of said kit splayed out. There’s a twinkle of tags and Joe know they’ll end right in front of Roslyn at her feet, but Joe does take the brief moment to scratch at the top of the furry head. A pur, nearly too soft to hear, shakes up through his fingers.

“I had a feeling those cuts would re-open.” Domme’s careful with her words because Joe remembers the conversation. He’s caught Domme and Jack in identical placements just a couple weeks ago about the same thing too. But Joe can hear the frustration that’s simmering underneath her statement. 

“They’re battle scars in a way,” Jack laughs with a shrug. 

“Alright,” Domme hums, her laughter bubbling as she presses down on the sides of the bandaid, “you’re too much like your father right now. And Ros with her ankle, I normally have nerves of steel, but not anymore. I’m not going to have any nerves left with the house full of you all. None. Do you want that for your mother? No nerves?”

Jack laughs before looping his arm around her shoulders. “Mom, you’ll have plenty of nerves. Who else is going to scream at the coaches during Ros’ games?”

“That’s if she gets off her ban,” Roslyn tacks on taking the towel Joe hands her to wipe her face and arms off with. The ban isn’t real, all imposed by Roslyn, but Domme treats it like it is—acting on her best behavior from the bleachers instead of on the sidelines with Joe.

Joe’s not immune to a gripe or two, or a grumble about things he’s seeing on the field or in the coaching staff. However, he knows what it’s like to be on the other end of these scenarios, to be the kid praying their parents don’t embarrass them. So while most of the time he does agree with Domme’s complaints, Joe takes a calmer approach, no less loud in his own right, but leagues better than Domme’s vocal complaints about the coaching and the ref. 

Jack presses a kiss to Domme’s temples before slipping off the counter. “Thanks for patching me up. I’ll be back. Same time next week.”

“And I’ll still be here,” she agrees softly. “I’ll be charging you next time.”

“That’s what you said last time. But alas, no bill.”

“Oh, well,” Domme laughs with a shrug. “Son discount must still be in effect."

Later on, after dinner’s been consumed and plates have been washed, dried, and returned back to the cabinet, Joe’s climbing up the stairs to the bedroom—where he suspects given the quiet Domme’s probably already curled up under the sheets—and catches the strumming through Jack’s ajar door and nods to himself, with a tiny smile. “That’s my boy.”

___________________________

Joe and Jack are close, let’s not be fooled. They talk about sports at times. Jack’s absorbed what he can from his father, watching film side by side, nodding, offering up his thoughts between the bouts of silence as Joe prepares for the coaching week ahead. It’s how they bound aside from Jack’s music, and talking lyrics and musicians. It’s a quiet meditative practice the both of them shoulder to shoulder, talking softly to each other, sometimes laughing. 

Domme’s watched from the kitchen room, shaking her head when the conversation gets going. “He’s going to cut,” Jack murmurs. 

“Just keep watching.”

Something happens, she doesn’t see what, just hears, “No way! How’d he manager that? His release is insane!”

Joe laughs. “I do know a thing or two about this.”

“Clearly,” Jack teases and the room grows quiet again for another minute or so.

Jack comes to Joe about his first crush too, a quiet and shy, “Dad, can we talk?”

“Absolutely,” Joe answers, putting his files aside. Jack shuffles further into the office and then plops down on the couch. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, Dad. I just don’t want Mom to freak out so I’m telling you first to help ease the blow.”

The fact that Jack’s worried about Domme’s reaction makes Joe assume it’s about a girl, so he nods, stands up and ease the door closed. Slow as to not make too much noise and alert Domme. “You can tell whatever you need, whenever you need to say it.”

Joe settles next to Jack on the couch, but doesn’t push in too close, doesn’t try to make Jack speak sooner than he’s ready. But Jack exhales. “So there’s this girl,” he starts, peering up as if to asses Joe’s reaction. 

Joe only nods. “Okay. There’s a girl.” But Joe’s already anticipating what will come next, that Jack likes her, that his little boy’s actually grown up. 

“You’re strangely calm.” Jack’s suspicion narrows his eyes. 

“I mean, you’re allowed to be interested in a girl. I assume that’s where this is going.”

“And if it’s not always a girl?” Jack presses on.

That--that Joe is not anticipating, but he nods. “You’re allowed to be interested in anyone, Jack. I will love you no matter what. Mom will love you no matter what. We’re always in your corner, son. Always.”

“It is a girl, this time, just for the record. But it wasn’t before.”

“I’m sorry if we did anything that made you feel like you had to hide that from us.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, you and Mom didn’t. But I guess I was scared last year when I realized that I sort of liked him like that. I didn’t know what it meant and then it sort of went away when I realized when he was a dick to someone else in our class. So, I figured not to worry you until I was sure. But now there’s Lisa, and I like her the same way I liked him, so, yeah, now we’re here.”

“Sort of hit you that the feelings were the same and now where are you?”

“I don’t know what to call it. Or how to tell Mom. I don’t want anyone to look at my differently.”

“No, kid,” Joe reassures, opening up his arm to Jack. Jack slides in, pressed in closed to Joe’s ribs. “No one’s going to look at you different. You don’t have to call it anything if you don’t look comfortable and if it helps, I can tell Mom for you.”

“She’s not going to flip?”

Joe shakes his head. He and Domme would be hard pressed to freak out about anything of the sort. “No, she won’t.”

“I’d like to tell her. When the time’s right, I guess.”

“Sure thing. Ball’s in your court on that. But I appreciate you telling me. That’s brave.”

Jack winds up telling Domme the next day on the drive home to school. She pulls over into the parking lot of a shopping center and turns around in the seat. Jack’s fidgeting with his nails, a habit she’s seen in Joe too. “Hey, look at me, bud,” Domme coaxes gently, waiting for his gaze to float up. “Thank you. For telling me. It seems like that was hard. But I appreciate it. I need you to know that I love you. No matter what. All the time. Forever. Even when I die, I’ll love you.”

Jack huffs, eyes rolling. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest, Jackson. I love you dearly. So much.”

Jack talks to Joe about school and life. Sometimes, once Jack is older, and he can’t sleep, Jack will find Joe—most often in his office or in the living room if it’s late enough, and most often around Domme— and ask, “Dad, can we just, like, talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

And they talk about what Jack wants out of life and how sometimes Jack feels lost. “I don’t know. People compare me to you, you know? And it’s a little terrifying,” Jack confesses, quietly. The two of them are staring up at the sky, Joe leaning into his palms. Jack leaning into the railing of the deck. 

It’s a warm summer night. There’s the crickets of the night singing around them, a harmonious noise that falls into the background of their conversation—never an intrusion, but always present. 

“I don’t need you to be me.” Which is true, even if it took Joe a little bit to learn that himself. “You weren’t put on this earth to be me.”

“But I don’t know what I’m meant to do. It’s scary. You just, like, knew. I love music, you know. But it doesn’t feel practical.” 

Joe’s quiet, for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. The need for a practical lifestyle is no doubt from Domme, and from the realities of Joe’s life impacting Jack’s younger years too. But Jack’s still allowed to dream big, shoot for the stars, because if he misses Joe and Domme will still be there to catch him should he fall. “You’re sixteen, Jack. You’re going to try a thousand things and I think you should try things, and have them not work out. Try things that you think won’t work out, that don’t feel practice and other things that do feel practical. It helps builds character. You’ve lived life that way and you’ll, like, know that you lived. Have stories to tell. We’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

“What if I wind up in plumbing?”

“Then I want you to be the best damn plumber you can be.”

“So you’re saying you’ll still love me even if I unclog toilets?”

Joe laughs, hears so much of Domme in the jest. “Yes, Jack, I’ll love you no matter what. Unclogging toilets, clogging toilets, or whatever else you decide to do in your life.”

“It was one time, Dad.”

“No, it’s one time that you can remember. But you definitely did take your sister’s diapers before she was fully potty trained and tried to flush it down the toilet.”

“Okay, so by some accounts, twice. But I appreciate it, Dad. You just listening helps.”

“Any time, any place.”

________________

Make no mistake, Jack is a momma’s boy at the end of the day. When he’s younger, around 3 or so, he mimics Joe’s mannerisms to Domme. There’s plenty of videos on Joe’s phone saved of Domme recording the ceiling or the kitchen counter and Jack’s soft toddler voice can be heard, “Mamas, you look beautiful today,” or “There she is, the sun,” or “My gorgeous wife, my amazing Mamas.”

Jack helps Domme cook, which started out as him standing up taking a blunt plastic practice knife to help cut bananas or helping her stir things together. His little hands help her pour. But then grows into him stirring while the pot boils, which turns into him browning meat and chopping vegetables. And Jack’s the only person that Domme can handle in the kitchen with her to cook together. She has more patience, even when Joe can tell she’s dead tired. Joe’s not sure what it is, but it is magic watching them. 

Jack seeks Domme out when he gets rejected from someone or had a hard day. There’s never even any words, just Jack, even though he’s shot past Domme, curling into the sofa next to her, head on her shoulder. Her arms winding around his shoulders with ease, a kiss to Jack’s temple. Easy, and damn near effortless. 

If Jack wants something, he knows he can go to Domme first and then Domme will take it to Joe, and she can usually plead his case. It’s rare that it doesn’t work, and in those cases, it’s usually Domme who’s supposedly pleading Jack’s case that doesn’t get it off the ground. Jack eying a 2.5k guitar was one of those rare times that even with the soft spot Domme has for Jack, she can’t justify it. And Joe can’t either, so they deliver the bad news together and Jack takes it in strides. “Mom said something similar. I just wanted to try.”

But Jack does not get it easy. He’s learning how to do his laundry by about age 10/11. He can’t bat his eyelashes all he wants at Domme just to get what he wants, or to get out of chores, even if he tries. Moments where Jack definitely tries her. “I swear Ros can get whatever she wants. But I can’t. It’s not fair, Mom. I want to hang out with my friends.”

“Jackson, I recognize seeing this movie is important. However, we told you two weeks ago that we were visiting your grandparents out of town. Was that not enough advance notice?”

“I mean, like, yes, it is. But these plans just came up. Just this once, Mom. Please. I don’t want to be left out. Everyone else is going to see it without me and then they’re going to spoil it.”

“Why that specific weekend? Can another weekend not work? You’ve picked good friends. I’m sure they would at least hear you out.”

“Mom, please!” Jack huffs, voice pitching up. “You’re being difficult for like no reason! I can handle one weekend by myself!”

“Jackson, you’re not talking to her that way. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it,” Joe intervenes. He’d been watching from the threshold of the kitchen, pressed up into the arch that leads from the living room into the kitchen, behind Jack the entire time. “That’s my wife and your mother you’re talking to the last time I checked. We don’t talk like that to each other in this house and you know this. Why don’t you take a time out?”

“C’mon! I’m not asking for anything fucking earth shattering.”

“Excuse me?” The phrase is echoed between Joe and Domme. 

The scowl etched deeply into Joe’s face isn’t as scary as it used to be for Jack, but when Jack sees it, the sheer and utter crack of his mother’s face he knows the line’s been crossed. Horror and disappointment and her chin wobbles ever so slightly. He’s gone way too far. Way too far. Way, way too fucking far. “Can I still take that time out?”

“Smart idea,” Joe responds, nodding to confirm that Jack can excuse himself.

Jack hopes, as he turns, that his face says what he doesn’t articulate, that he is sorry. But he is still frustrated, but he recognizes that he absolutely took it too far. But she’s not looking at him anymore. Facing the fridge now with her back to him. Somehow that hurts worse, or maybe it picks at the gaping wound. Jack’s not sure. 

Jack pauses at the stairs, catching just barely to his father’s voice. “Hey, mamas, look at me, please.”

“I don’t want to be mean. Am I being too harsh?”

“Hey, hey, no, no. You’re not being too hard. But please, don’t cry. Or do, if you need. Just give yourself a second, my love. I think we all just need a second.”

“Saying no to him sucks because I know he’s a good kid. But I just—I don’t know where it went wrong.” The words shake as they’re spoken. Jack can imagine his mother’s distressed frown. Not one she wears often, but Jack remembers the few times he’s seen it. His chest squeezes.

“I know you want to give him the world. But we have rules for a reason. If he wants to ignore them, then he has to deal with the consequences.”

“I just—” The next words never fall, swallowed up by the heave from his mother. It’s such a broken sound to hear his mother sob. Shit, he was being a dick. His parents did tell him weeks ago. Jack was trying to get his friends to get a more solid plan together earlier in regards to seeing the film within the first two weekends of its release to avoid spoilers. Fuck, he really shouldn’t have snapped at her. 

“I know, Mamas, I know. Breath with me, okay?” Joe returns.

Jack carries on to his room, but the entire time he ascends the stairs, he wishes the sound of his mother’s crying could somehow be overwritten in his brain. 

Someone can threaten to tell Joe about something Jack’s done, which can be useful and can strike fear into Jack’s heart, but his mother—oh do not tell his mother or even threaten to tell his mother. That does put true fear into his heart. Jack’s struggling with math, though he’s good at it, the first year he’s in the advanced math courses, he feels like he’s drowning. He’s scared to tell Joe, because how lame would it be to have to go to his dad for help. He’s not sure how to broach the topic with his mom, because it sounds so stupid to be good at all the other math he’d been in but can’t pick this up. 

But he gets a D on the first test and the teacher basically warns Jack, “I see you’re getting the homework pretty okay, but this first test feels like something’s disconnected for you. I’d like to reach out to your parents and set up a meeting. Your mom—”

“Please, no.”

“Jack, I just want to set you up for success. Look, if you get help early, you’ll do well in this class. I don’t have to call immediately. But when we meet again, I need a note from either parent about setting up a meeting to look at your options. If you don’t have one by our next class, I will email.”

So Jack when Domme picks him up that evening, sighs, head hung on his shoulders. “You okay, Jack Jack?”

The question is soft from his mother’s lips. The car doesn’t move and not even an inch and Jack was hoping, praying that she’d take off before they had to have this conversation. “I got a D on that pre-calculus test.”

“Okay. How do you feel?”

No panic, and well, his mother’s rarely truly panicked, except for sports games that he or Roslyn are a part of. Though he’s heard the stories of the few times his dad took a few particularly nasty hits on the field that left her more rattled than usual. But still, at this point, nerves of steel are just her usual nerves. “Bad. I feel stupid.”

“You’re allowed to struggle.”

“I don’t like struggling.”

“No one does, honey.”

“The teacher wants to talk about my options in order to pass the class.”

“I’ll email them. Your dad’s not terrible at this stuff, if you feel safe enough to ask him.”

“But—,” Jack stops himself. His father may be busy, but how much of that is the truth. How much of that covers up the fact that Jack would rather hide his shame? “But he’s busy sometimes. And I don’t want to bother him.” 

“Jack Jack, he’s your dad before he’s literally anything else. If you need help from him, I know for a fact he would drop everything to do it. Do you remember the time you were, about 6? Maybe 7? And that little girl was pushed off the slide?”

Jack nods, though the memory’s 8 years old now. “I do. I remember I started a fight with a kid like three years older than me too.”

The car finally starts to give the gear shift now in drive versus park. “That part is also true. But you called an orange alert. Joe cleared that playground in seconds. He was in the middle of eating and he dropped everything into my lap. I mean, sandwich was barely wrapped back up before it was in my lap, the bread was sliding off the meat. I think the bread did fall off now that I think about it. I’m pretty sure we went to McDonalds because he was hungry by the time we left the park.”

“We did, because I wanted ice cream and you and dad lectured me on the fact that while I could have ice cream it was not a reflection of praise for getting into a fight.”

“Damn straight. And it never will be. But like I was saying, he was there, when you needed him. Without second thought. It’s okay to need us and it’s okay to not want to need us all the time. But we are here. I’ll email your teacher to see what we can do—tutoring and the like. But for now, if you need, we can ask your dad together.”

“But wait, Dad was eating?” Jack had no clue that his father was in the middle of anything when he called that orange alert. Just knew that the little girl was hurt and that a parent needed to be involved as quickly as possible. “I thought he was just, like, sitting there.”

She hums, eyes focused on the road ahead of them. “He was indeed eating.”

And it doesn’t hit Jack fully then, the extent of his parent’s actions, how much they both have given everything into him and Roslyn, but when it does hit him—decades later—he’s entirely grateful to have the parents he did. For parents that showed up, bone tired and all. For the care that they always showed him. 

______________________

On his first real date, that Jack can drive to and pick the person up from, Jack asks for Domme’s help on what he should wear and Joe’s help on the flowers. “You buy them for Mom all the time and I’d like an expert opinion.”

“We got you, not a problem,” Joe grins, but his heart is hammering in his throat watching his boy grow up. After Jack backs out of the driveway, Joe buries his face into Domme’s neck. Not to hide the tears, but to ground himself, to remind himself this is what it’s all about. 

“It feels like just yesterday, he was staring up in awe in the backseat of the SUV going through the carwash for the first time,” Domme whispers. 

“Oh god,” Joe laughs, recalling the memory of Jack at three months, gaping mouth and wide eyes from the video, his binky falling out due to the lack of Jack's toothless suction. “He was so enamored by it.”

“And now look at him.”

“Yeah, they grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Too fast,” Domme whispers. Her voice is thick and Joe winds his arms tighter around her. “But I’m proud of him.”

Roslyn Aster Burrow

Nickname(s): Ros, Astroid (only for her lacrosse team) 

Born: August 15th

Youngest child

____________________________

“Okay, buddy, Dad is not on the menu today. Promise you we’re going to eat here in just a second.”

Those are words that, in a different world, should be followed with laughter or another quip about how she can certainly put Joe on the menu. Yet instead, all that falls from Domme’s lips in a soft exhale are two words, “I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Joe questions just as soft, still fighting back on the rather ruthless and relentless gummy nibble of Jack. It is close to his normal lunch time, so Jack’s attempts at cannibalism make sense. However, at her utterance, Joe seemingly gives up the fight and reaches now for the stick in her hands. There on the digital screen the word: Pregnant will greet Joe just like it greeted Domme. All in an unfazed digital block, in all black—all undeniable. 

They’d been careful—for the first six months or so, but the older Jack got and the more they engrained into a routine, the more time Joe had to think, the more time the two of them had to converse, the more naturally they fell into a rhythm of less caution. Domme wasn’t breastfeeding. It was harder than she thought and she constantly fought against clogged ducts and pain—emotional and physical— to a point of near madness. Though it frustrated her not to be able to breastfeed like she planned, it was Joe that sat her down and told her that it was better for her to show up and give her best than to worry about showing up perfect. That he and Jack would take her exactly as she is, not for some lofty abstract idea that would surely crumble the second it was put to water. Her presence mattered more than perfection. So any natural lines of defense that breastfeeding might give her on avoiding pregnancy again were shelved. 

Now, they’re here just a month shy of Jack’s first birthday, a month and some change past the first prickling feeling in Domme’s chest that she might be pregnant again. Her period’s been rather evasive, but had just seemingly returned right before the small pinprick of suspicion. “Holy shit, you’re pregnant again,” Joe laughs, casting his gaze between her and the test. 

“5 cents,” Domme’s rebuttal is automatic and then she reaches for the test again. Because there’s no way it’s real. Yet, the screen reads like it did just a minute ago: Pregnant. “Holy shit.”

“5 cents,” Joe mutters in response. “How do you feel? You’re not saying much. Which is very much not like you.”

Domme doesn’t know really what to say, brain still trying to connect the dots back up again. She’s actually pregnant. A second time. Not that they’d been actively trying to avoid the possibility. But not that that’d necessarily planned for it right now. “Is it a bad time?”

The frown falls fast over Joe’s face, brows knitted together. “No, it’s not a bad time.” But of course, Joe would say that. Because the truth of the matter is that there’s no perfect time to get pregnant with the way their lives work. Something would inevitably come up. There’s only now, the present. 

But something about it just feels too far to touch. “You swear that’s real?” Domme asks. 

The test comes back briefly into view but she’s watching Joe, trying to remind herself that this is real because Joe’s real. Because it’s his body heat seeping in through the long-sleeved shirt. It’s their bathroom they’re standing in. It’s their baby boy reaching for her, that Joe keeps at bay in his grasp. 

“As real as the pee you stuck it in.”

Somehow that’s the thing that unravels the worry. Domme snorts, pressing her face into Joe’s chest, her laughter shaking her shoulder. It’s all real. Her eyes sting. The tears are warm but god, is she thrilled. Another baby. One more bundle of joy. “I hope it’s a girl,” she laughs through the tears. “I really hope it’s a girl.”

Joe melts beneath her touch. “Yeah? You’re okay?”

“More than okay. I just had to compute it all.”

“I get that. I hope it’s a baby girl too. I’m here for you, every step of the way, alright? Not going to go a step anywhere else.”

Jack Jack’s pregnancy was new, and challenging as Joe juggled the season on top of being there for appointments, putting together the nursery, attending the baby shower, handling the strange cravings, the mood swings. Here, now, there will be the majority of the pregnancy that Joe’s not focused on football. He’s never made her feel secondary in that, but it’ll be nice to know that aside from one baby, Joe will have a little less on his plate at the start. They have experience which helps too no more than ever. 

Domme believes every word Joe whispers into her temple—that he’s going to be there. Because he’s not once shown her that she’d need to believe otherwise. 

_______________________

Roslyn’s baby shower is quite theatrical. Jackson’s baby shower had been fun with Joe and Domme being team captains for the day. Joe voted girl. Domme voted boy. The teams for the games were divided based on people’s guesses. They’d slip a guess into a ballot box, collect a pin with their guess for the respective gender. A running tally was kept for the teams of who won, a thing they could’ve gone without but it made Domme giggle to see the quiet and swift stroke of determination in Joe when it was announced her team was in the lead by one game. But really, it’s not her fault that her teams were able to get the diaper made out of toilet paper faster than his. The festivities concluded with a dramatic reading of each person’s vote for the gender, canisters of flower petals in everyone’s hand—most white, but the two canisters Joe and Domme held contained either pink or blue petals to denote the gender. Their day ended with a pop! A cloud of white cut by two streaks of blue revealing the gender. 

Roslyn’s baby shower is less classic in that regard. They’re not as afraid to be unconventional now. But it’s Domme that asks if Joe would want a Draft style gender reveal, that they’d have custom hats made like the players do for their teams they’re drafted. The purpose wouldn't be to make the whole event football related, but they’d have someone with the envelope for the reveal and a banner. To make a whole thing of Ja’Marr placing a chain on Joe. Something fun that would stick with Joe forever, even if she knows that he wouldn’t really care much either way. 

“But the games won’t be football related right?”

“Not unless we want them to be.”

“You like the classic baby shower games, so we’ll keep a couple,” Joe insists. 

“You want to enact revenge for the diaper challenge, don’t you?” Domme asks with a grin. 

“Damn straight I do. I’ve been strategizing.”

They don’t have ‘teams’ like last time for the whole shower—as both Domme and Joe have a feeling it’s a girl. But when it comes to the competition, they do split the guests up between them again as team captains. Joe manages to pull the win out for the diapers, but Domme manages to secure the ‘Don’t Say Baby’ challenge—which her team failed to win last time. They manage to end in a draw—two wins for each of them in their games.

“Proud of my team,” Domme states, “hope you’re proud of yours.” She extends her hand out for a shake, attempting to cut the divide. 

Joe shakes his head, his grin bright. “I am proud of them, but I don’t know what you think you’re doing. None of that,” Joe hums, slipping his arm around her waist. It’s a chaste kiss, a soft press of their lips as they both grin into the action. “But I’m happier that it’s to you, even if I don’t love losing.”

“Technically, you did not lose.”

“Well, I didn’t win that’s for sure.”

“Okay, lovebirds, y’all already got two kids because of that mess,” Ja’Marr interjects. “Now, if I could have everyone’s attention, please,” he shouts. The music that’d been softly playing turns down and the group quiets. All eyes turn to Ja’Marr. Beside him, Tee stands, a box in his hand. Ja’Marr holds an all black envelope that reads NFL Draft 2030 in white. 

While Joe and Domme don’t know the sex, Ja’Marr does. His grin is sly as he ushers them both closer. It feels like trouble, but Joe tries not to think about that, that somehow Ja’Marr’s done something about this reveal. Joe takes her hand, thumb passing over the skin. “Still think it’s a girl?” Joe asks. 

Domme’s less worried about that now—she thinks. It’s much more important that they welcome a healthy baby than anything else. But if she had to guess, it’s a girl. “Yes. You?”

Joe hums at the question. They pause at her parents, who are holding a slightly fussy Jackson, his soft, “Daddy!” clear to Joe’s ears.

Jack stretches out for them and Joe takes him. “Oh, buddy, we’re right here. Want to come with us?” Joe coos. Jack nods. “Alright, let’s see what Uncle Ja’Marr and Uncle Tee have planned.” 

Joe does want a girl—perhaps he’d always envisioned himself with a daughter, or maybe it’s just the fresh hope that makes him picture life with one boy and one girl—an equation in life that Joe didn’t have. Much like he didn’t have siblings that were closer to him in age, a thing he wants to ensure for his kids, that they have each other, even if there is sure to be growing pains as they get older. In any event, Joe takes Domme’s hand again before he answers her question, “I hope so. A boy’s great too, you know? Either way, doesn’t matter really.”

It doesn’t matter, really. Their baby is still loved regardless of what the gender is. The three of them climb up onto the tiny platform. The podium is decorated like the one for the draft. Even though Joe’s content however this plays out, there’s still a spike of nerves that hits Joe’s gut as he stands there next to Domme. Would he make a good dad for a girl? Does the gender of the baby really change anything about the way he plans to be a dad? 

Joe’s palms grow just a little wet as Ja’Marr speaks. “Before we do this, I do want to say, Joe, I’m incredibly proud of the man you’ve become, the husband you are, the father you are. You inspire me in a lot of ways to do better for myself and my family. I’m honored that you have trusted me enough to do this for you and your wife. But thank the heavens, we get to reveal this now because it’s been the hardest secret to keep of my entire life.”

The group laughs, shorts bursts and Joe nods, his chest tightening at the praise from his friend. It means a lot to be seen, to know that even after all these years, there’s still something left in him that others look up too. “Thank you,” Joe returns softly, unsure if it’s heard by the crowd but Ja’Marr hears it. 

“Now, without further ado, with the first round draft pick for the 2030 season,” Ja’Marr starts, cracking open into the envelope. He keeps the page tucked into his chest, hardly glances at it before he grins over at Joe and Domme. 

Domme squeezes at Joe’s hand and he squeezes back, her It’s about to real returned with Joe’s I’m right here. It’s all okay. 

Ja’Marr continues on, “the Burrow’s select: a baby,” Ja’Marr pauses and it kills Joe. Like a shot to his heart, Joe swears he’ll die at the fifteen seconds of silence. “Girl,” Ja’Marr concludes and Tee cracks open the box—three pinks hats staring back at them. 

There’s shock, of course. The half a second between Joe seeing the hat and then registering the color. And the moment it connects, the moment Joe feels the neuron fire that confirms the color to the words, Joe spins, finds Domme to his right and hugs her tight. Jack wraps his arms around both of their necks, maybe not fully understanding what’s happening, but knowing that at the very least this is a potential group hug situation. Joe’s eyes sting, vision flooding immediately with tears. 

A girl. His baby girl. Fuck, Joe thinks to himself, there’s no way that’s real. But he wants it to be. Joe needs it to be real. “That’s real, right? He said girl?”

“Oh, yes,” Domme laughs. “Yes, he said girl.”

But Joe’s positive he’s hallucinated so he turns again, keeping one arm tight around Domme’s shoulders and Tee’s collecting a hat, pink, with Girl Dad threaded into the front of it. His own baby girl. Joe can feel his grin splitting his cheeks. The excitement buzzing from the bottoms of his feet upwards through the rest of him. Domme slips the hat onto him and he gets her hat onto her head. 

“Didn’t forget you, Jack Jack,” Tee laughs, placing a tiny pink cap onto Jack’s head that reads Big Brother. “Never forget my little man. Pound it.” The directive comes before Tee holds up his fist and Jack gives it a gentle tap with his palm. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Ja’Marr seems more than proud to pass along a chain with the phrase, Girl Dad, dazzling in gold too. “Proud of you, man.”

Later that night, once Jack’s settled in for the night and Domme’s already teetered off into sleep, Joe slips down to her belly, his palm wide and splayed over the bump. “I’m excited to meet you, pumpkin. Going to be there for you and protect you. Promise, baby girl.” 

Because now it feels even more pertinent that Joe does those things, that he sets an example for her in what to look for in a man, for what she should and shouldn’t accept. That even as cruel as the world could be in some ways, Joe would always be there. 

_____________________

There’s less worry when it comes to Roslyn’s name. Joe and Domme are a bit more aware of the process. There’s less panic. So they take their time on the name topic. They circle around it like one might do laps in a museum, pausing to take it in, and then ultimately moving on to the next thing to pause and take that in too. Leaving with a sense of satisfaction, but mostly simmering in the feeling of having experienced something.

They test names like tasting appetizers, a sprinkle of, “I like Maya, but I think it’s missing something,” and “I wanted to suggest Rina, but it’s too much.” Around and around and around until Domme slides a piece of paper across the table. Joe watches it dazzling in the purple glitter pen Domme insisted on grabbing to write their selections in. 

Roslyn is scribbled amongst the list. Various combinations of middle names behind it. But Joe nods. “I really like Roslyn.”

“I think I like Aster as a middle name with Roslyn. Salvia feels too long with Roslyn.”

“Roslyn Salvia,” Joe mutters mostly to himself. “Yeah, not sure. It doesn’t dance like I want to.” He writes it out himself in the same glittery purple pen next to Domme’s attempt. “Poor kid would hate us when filling out documents.”

“Well no one handwrites much anymore, but I get what you're saying.”

“Hey, hey, we’re doing hard science over here. We have to try it out in all sorts of ways, Mamas.” He glances back down at the sheet before speaking again. “Roslyn Aster. Now I love that.” He follows it up with him writing the name. The letters flow better. He continues on with the last name too, Burrow now dazzling on the page. 

Joe’s nod is slow but the grin creeps across his lips. “And to think, in just a few short weeks, we’ll get to meet her, Roslyn Aster Burrow. Talk about a star power name.”

“Do you know what asters are?” Domme asks. 

Joe doesn't have the foggiest idea what they are. He gives a quick shake no. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me though.”

“Flowers, specifically purple flowers with yellow centers.”

Domme grins as she answers, eyes soft and gooey in the middle. It’s possibly much too poetic, but Joe melts, knows that it’s Domme’s way of passing on a little bit of his time down in Louisiana, to carry it in such a quiet way just for the two of them. “You’re going to make me cry,” Joe laughs, sounding wet and thick in his throat. Possibly he’s already crying.

“Oh, come here, Papa Bear. I don’t mean to make you cry.”

Joe slides around the kitchen counter, slips right into her open arms and inhales. Joe’s heard that to be loved is to be seen, and no one sees him quite like Domme does. He doesn’t want to be seen by anyone else in this way either. He much rather it be Domme, because only she can call him Papa Bear and have it feel right—it’s only Domme that can nestle into his shoulder and press those feather light kisses that make his stomach flutter just a little. 

It’s only Domme that Joe can see as the mother of his children and God, is Joe blessed to have that as reality too. 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Domme’s water breaks later in the evening with Roslyn. In the midst of trying to do one last round of stretches before bed, her deep exhale is paired with the unmistakable feeling of something warm and wet. 

“Did you just pee on me?” Joe laughs. He’s had his fair share of dodging urine, and sometimes failing to dodge it too with Jack Jack’s diaper changes. Besides, given the toll pregnancy takes, he’d never hold the involuntary release against her if it happened. It still shocks Joe, but it’s easily overlooked. It’s not something a washer and a good steam cleaner for the carpet can’t get out. 

“No, at least, I don’t think so.” The mysterious dampness doesn’t smell like urine when Domme takes a caution swipe at her inner thigh and raises the digits to her nose. “Definitely not pee.”

Both of them seemingly move without much more prompting—now that it’s clearly not urine. It has a higher likelihood of being the warning sign, the first step in a rather lengthy process that is birth. Joe stands first and helps Domme up. “Baby girl’s early,” Joe notes, a hand creeping its way down to Domme’s lower back.

“Or right on time. Her due date was a bit of a guess to begin with since I hadn’t truly gotten my period fully back.”

Joe nods, finding his phone on the nightstand. His fingers dial for his parents instinctively. They have time. Again, now with one baby already here, there’s less worry about the total unknown, and more focus on executing the necessary steps. One foot in front of the other. Calling Joe’s parents, making sure Jack’s all good before they leave. His mother and father weren’t due to come for their stay for another week and a half. 

Robin doesn’t panic, but her voice is urgent as Joe tells her the news. “I’m getting into the car right now. Your dad’s behind me with our bags. But yes, I’m on the way.”

“Just remember to breathe, Mom,” Joe laughs. 

“I’m not the one that needs to breathe. She does!”

“She is,” he agrees, watching as Domme rocks her weight back and forth on her feet. “We’ll see you when you get here. Thanks again for doing this, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

The couple hours doesn’t feel as long as either one of them anticipated. It helps though that as Domme walks laps around the house, Joe’s there, the baby monitor to Jack Jack’s room clipped to the waist of pants, his wide palm warm over her back. It’s not even a terrible two hours. The bags have been packed for a few weeks now, since Domme crossed the 32 week mark. Both Domme and Joe know what they’ll need, lots of snacks, birthing plans, legal papers, their prenup, extra blankets and pillows, spare washcloths, the birthing ball, chargers, speaker for the dance playlist, a deck of cards, nerf guns (single shooters that Domme keeps close by for post birth because once Joe finally falls asleep, he will be down for the count and is pretty unresponsive to his name—which is fair, Domme won’t lie, but when she wants his attention she doesn’t feel like having to wait for a nurse to wake him), eye masks to help block out the lights, and a change of clothes for their release.

The time it takes for Joe’s parents to arrive is really spent huddled together, soft whispers, the almost silent peel of bare feet over the floors. “What are you feeling now?” Joe questions, arms looped around her shoulders as they sway in the kitchen. 

“Just pressure. Not pain pain, just a few aches. Less nerves too.”

“You sort of already know what to anticipate. Just lean into me whenever you need it, okay? I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, baby,” she whispers it softly into his chest, palms sliding over his spine. 

Joe can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers, but he allows it before dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course, Mamas. Let me know when you want something to eat too. That Mediterranean place will be closed by the time we leave.”

Domme’s groan is playful, her shoulders bouncing with her round of laughter. “I really wanted that chicken bowl too.”

“I can make you a chicken bowl. That’s not a problem. But you’re definitely eating before we leave. I can’t believe they starve you in that place. Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“But you get fed.”

“I know, but it’s still cruel and unusual. Hurts my heart.” And Joe doesn’t just mean about her not eating while he can. He means the whole ordeal. His whole chest tightens when each time Domme hisses. Joe is sure his heart could break watching her, listening to the long sustained groan of her pain. 

Robin’s knock is frantic though against the front door. Joe gives Domme’s hand one last squeeze before leaving her at the counter to finish the last of her chicken and rice bowl. “You are being very nonchalant about all this,” she laughs in greeting. 

“We’re prepared,” Joe reassures. The lights blink from the SUV and his father works up the driveway with their bags over his shoulder. His mother makes a rather direct line straight into the kitchen and Joe helps with the last of the few feet with the bags. 

“This baby girl of yours likes to run the show her way, it appears,” Jimmy teases. 

“It’d appear that way. Was the drive okay?”

“Pretty dead at midnight so I’d reckon that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

Joe and Domme are ushered out by his parents, a firm reassurance that they’ve got Jack all squared away. Just before Joe helps Domme into the passenger seat, she pauses, taking at his hip. “Papa Bear, I think you need to leave that behind.”

Still clipped to the waistband of his pajama pants is the baby monitor. Joe huffs a laugh before releasing the plastic clip. “Forgot it was on. He hasn’t been fussy tonight.”

“Maybe he knows.”

“Or maybe he exhausted himself with his marathon right before bed,” Joe returns. “I think he could be a track star sometimes. Come with me, I’m not leaving you out here by yourself in the middle of labor.”

“But it’s so many steps,” Domme whines. It’s silence with a stern raise of his brows. “Fine. Your dad face is very hot, by the way.”

“I think that just happens to be my face in general, but I will accept this compliment.”

Jimmy’s comment about Roslyn doing things her way at first just seems like a tease, a jest at how she’d arrived a little earlier than predicted. But it turns out to be a prophecy. Domme manages to dilate to about 4 centimeters before they even arrive to the hospital and then it plateaus for hours and hours on end. 

That is until there’s conversations surrounding medicinal interventions—which seem like the next best option given other concerns the doctors bring up too. And just as Domme goes to agree to it, things progress—4 centimeters turns into 7 and 7 into 10 in a matter of a few hours. As if Roslyn needed all the attention on her before she could make a grand entrance. 

Joe’s by Domme’s side, hands intertwined as he helps support her head. “You’re doing amazing, Mamas. Okay? Keep breathing for me.”

One push turns into two, and two pushes turn into the piercing cry. A sharp and huffy sound as if to say, I have arrived. Joe watches the nurses take Roslyn after he cuts the umbilical cord and then turns to Domme, taking the end of the washcloth they brought and dipping it into the slightly melted ice. Her hair stuck to her forehead, her breathing labored and huffy from the exertion, but he daps the cold water over her forehead and cheek. Roslyn’s cry has softened now and Joe assumes she’s probably warmer now, or soaking up the attention as the nurses coo at her. 

“Proud of you, baby. So proud,” he whispers. 

“Thank you.”

Joe continues to dab around her face, even dabbing the cool damp cloth to her chest beneath the gown too. Soon the chills will settle in for Domme. A thing he’s reminding himself now is normal and okay so there’s less panic later. For now, Joe’s focused on keeping her comfortable—which means for right now it’s about keeping her cool. And more importantly, fed now too. “What snack do you want? What does Mom want for all her hard work?”

“A kiss,” Domme grins. 

“That’s easy. But I saw honeybuns in the snack closet and a Big Texas. Sounds like both of those have your name on it.”

“I haven’t had a Big Texas in ages.”

“A kiss,” a phrase Joe pairs with exactly that, the soft press of his lips into hers, “and a Big Texas. I think I can arrange that. I’m going to check on baby girl, but if you need me, you shout, okay? Loud.”

“Aye, captain.”  

“I mean it,” Joe warns, running the cloth one last time over her face and chest. “Loud.”

“Will do.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

The thing about having a kid right in the midst of the preseason, and right at the cusp of the regular season, is that the newborn stage is the hardest and the easiest at the same time. That strange dichotomy is made even more apparent when there’s two kids at or under two as well. Newborns do very little throughout the day, but they require a constant level of vigilance—especially so given the way Joe operates. 

Domme watches the way Joe bounces Roslyn, eyes darting between her and the screen. Roslyn’s just a couple days shy of being a week old now. Her arrival just a couple days before the second preseason game meant that Joe didn’t play, nor could he be there to help the second string either. But Joe watches now, eyes dragging over the screen of the iPad, arms still lifting and settling Roslyn’s weight. His grip firm around her tiny body. He finds her forehead, presses a quick kiss, while he rewinds something on the film he’s reviewing.

Jack hums as he works down the cut of French toast. “Good, mamas!”

“Yeah, you like French toast?”

Jack nods. “Yes!”

“I like it too,” Domme grins and then encourages him to not forget his banana slices on his plate too. But she’s watching Joe, the way he works his teeth over his bottom lip. “You should go to the game on Saturday.”

His head snaps in her direction, brows furrowed. “And leave you with both kids by yourself? I don’t think so.”

“It’s just up the road,” Domme counters. It’s a home game and Domme’s not sure who she needs to thank for that. But Paycor’s not far at all from them. He’d only be gone through the early evening. It’d only be a few hours at most. 

“She’s not even a week old. And Jack Jack—” Joe pauses. Jack Jack’s only two, but does pretty well. They both know that much. He has his moments but any almost three year old would of course. “What if something happened?” Joe concludes. 

“911 first and then you of course.”

“I wouldn’t be able to go knowing that you’d be here by yourself. It wouldn’t be right. The guys will be okay.”

Domme catches the way the words leave him slow, like Joe’s measuring each letter, testing the weight before he commits to it fully. “What can we do so that you’d feel better about going to the game?”

“I married you. I have kids with you. Not football.”

“Weren’t you the guy that told me that I didn’t have to show up perfect, I just needed to show up when I struggled to breastfeed Jackson?”

“Dat me!” Jack interjects, his fist full of the fork’s handle.

“Yes,” Domme laughs, pinching at Jack’s cheek. “That is you.”

When Domme looks across the house, from the kitchen into the living room, Joe’s got one hand settled onto Roslyn’s back, cheek resting at the top of her tiny head. His face is pensive, lost in whatever thought that’s brewing. “She’s just growing so fast. What if I miss something? What if football takes me away from her?”

“Roslyn’s not remember everything, Papa Bear. She’s not going to remember if it was me or if it was you that changed every single stinky diaper. She’s not going to remember if you breathed in her newborn baby scent every second of every day. What she will remember is what you were like when you were there, that you were there as much as possible, that you were still yourself too. She needs her dad, no doubt. But she needs her dad who’s whole, who’s not at war with himself.”

Domme can see it, the part of him that wants to be on the field, that wants to still play. That knows he still has gas in the tank. The man that fought to prove everyone wrong at LSU. The man that fought tooth and nail to make a name for himself. “They’re still young, love. If there’s still something out on that field that you need, then you get it. You take everything you need from the field. We’ll stand by you.”

“I don’t want to play to the point that I tear myself apart,” Joe returns. “I still want to be able to play with them, you know? Crawl around, wrestle with Jack. Want to be involved when they need me.”

There’s words that Joe’s not saying. Domme can practically taste them in the air. “How many seasons then?” Because Joe’s been thinking, been marinating for weeks, if not months. 

“I’m capping it at six. By Jack’s eighth birthday, I want to cart him and Roslyn around in confetti too that February.”

Roslyn will almost six then. Old enough to have vague distant memories when they’re older. They’ll be elementary school. Domme nods. “Six, we can work with that.”

“Then maybe I’ll coach or something afterwards. Might take a couple years just to be a stay at home dad.”

“Whatever you want, baby, we’ll do it.”

“But I need someone here with you when I’m gone. Whether it’s my parents, or yours, or some kind of nanny to help with Jack. I just—I hate the thought that it’s just you. I know you could handle it, but I don’t want you to have to handle it by yourself.”

It’s a reasonable request; Domme can’t fault it nor would be arguing about an extra set of hands to help her out either. “We can make that work,” Domme promises. 

When Saturday comes around, Joe having not taken the night shift trading it so that he could be well rested before the game, Domme finds herself immediately grateful that Joe insisted his parents come over. The morning is filled with little peace, a problem that bleeds into the late morning. Roslyn fusses the whole time in Robin’s arms. Her protests are only temporarily suspended when she’s fed. 

Jackson clings to Domme and though he adores his grandparents, it’s clear that he favors her. The morning screeches into the early afternoon. Domme manages a spare two minutes in the bathroom long enough to regulate herself, but feeling the edges of her patience fraying thinner and thinner with the passing seconds. “Mamas! I want Mamas!” Jack hollers from the other side of the bathroom door.

The TV’s loud. The kids are loud—it’s clear Roslyn wants Joe and that Jack wants Domme’s attention. And she can’t be everyone all at once, not like this. Neither one of them seems to want to settle for a nap—either from the excitement or out of protest. But they’re both cranky and she’s cranky too. She’s not been near tears in a while—pregnancy hormones aside, but right now, Domme can feel them forming. The sting that tells her the edge is so much closer than she thinks. 

But she inhales, inflates her lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible and then exhales slowly. It’s alright. She can handle this. There’s a way through. There’s always a way through. Always.

“Everyone’s going into the car,” Domme announces after stepping out of the bathroom. Jimmy sets Jack down after another round of whines and Jack runs over to Domme. The radio stations will be covering the game live. So she can still listen while in the car too.

“Where go?” Jack questions, hugging himself around her legs.

“On a ride. We can look at houses and listen to Daddy’s game. Does that sound like fun?”

“Houses!” Jack cheers, his grin wide—apparently content now that he has Domme’s attention.

“Ros will settle soon,” Robin promises around Roslyn’s fussy wails. But it’s clear on the older woman’s face that she too can see how not well the kids are handling Joe’s absence. 

“I’ll take her,” Domme states in return. “I appreciate you two coming all the way up here too. We’ll only be gone for a little bit. Hour tops. If that doesn’t work, call the priest or God.”

Robin’s laugh is soft as she hands Roslyn over. “Call us if you need us. I’ll keep my ringer on.”

“Thanks.” 

Domme doesn’t even change herself out of the lounge pants and oversized t-shirt that she’s sure is Joe’s. However, considering she’s been living out of the shirt now for the second day in a row, she considers it hers now. The thing that she does is carry Roslyn up the steps to the bedroom and there, still on the corner of the bed are the t-shirt and shorts Joe slept in last night. She’s read that sometimes just the scent alone can help soothe babies. And today’s the day she’s going to find out if that’s true or not. Like a beacon of light has illuminated the darkness, Domme heads straight for it. Roslyn huffs against her chest, her cries gearing up again until Domme tosses Joe’s shirt over her shoulder and then settle Roslyn into the scent of it. Roslyn quiets, a little whiny but the coo that breaks through is enough to let Domme know that maybe the trick’s not so much bullshit anyway.

Domme grabs her wallet, slides into shoes and fishes the keys out from the bowl. Jackson’s light up car shoes shine behind her. Domme gets them both strapped in, Roslyn draped in Joe’s t-shirt. Her tiny face smoothed out now rather than wrinkled like before. Jack’s excited talk sustains the first few minutes of the drive as he points out the lights, houses, and cars that they pass to his little sister. 

The radio comes alive with the roar of the crowd and Domme gets a little lost in the excited quips of the announcers when they realize Joe’s out on the sidelines, “Oh my god, what is he doing here? It’s like Santa coming down the chimney!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” the second voice states, “Burrow’s not dressed out. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him play. But I think it is good for the other guys to have him around. It’s a good sign though, that delivery went well and his baby girl and wife are probably in good shape for him to be here today. The couple welcomed their second child just last week, according to Burrow’s Instagram post.”

“But you have to admit,” returns the first commentator, “you get a little bit of a swell of hope seeing him out there. Congrats to the couple again and I hope they continue to have good health. Do you think Burrow can change a diaper just as fast and as well as he can find a play on the field?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, that’s for sure. I think we’ve learned to never count Joe out.”

Slightly lost the pre game commentary, Domme’s not sure when Jack’s voice goes quiet. But when she glances back at a stop light, she can see his head loose on his neck, hand resting on Roslyn’s carseat as if keeping close to her. Domme keeps driving, keeping to the right lane so that she can ease the crew of them around town. The streets are mostly quiet right now, the majority of people already at the game or watching it. The grocery store almost looks like a ghost town—a handful of cars parked close together which Domme assumes were the crew that opened and an equally small amount spread out throughout the lot. 

She pulls into a space, near the back and eases the car into park. As the brakes give, Domme hears the soft gurgles of Roslyn. Whether or not she's awake, Domme’s not sure but she does fish Roslyn out of the carseat, keeps her tucked into Joe’s shirt and then settles back in the front seat. The door lock gives a soft click and around the rumble of the engine and the speakers. 

Roslyn settles again, apparently seeking the warmth of Domme. Jack lulls his head back, mouth still open as he sleeps. In the almost quiet, Domme exhales, thankful that something has given way and it wasn’t her sanity or theirs. Her phone rests nestled into the cup holder and with her one hand she places it into the phone holder slipped onto one of the slats in the air vents, just to see it better and also because she has to record this, wants to show Joe Roslyn’s tiny body swallowed up by his shirt. 

So she swipes to her camera app and then taps to record. “Okay, excuse my like entire face right now, but look at baby girl,” Domme eases Roslyn up towards the camera, the swaddle unfurling just a little bit. “She fussed and she fussed the second you left and the only thing that would calm her down was your stinky t-shirt. So, please show this as proof of my plea to your equipment manager to please allow you to bring home whatever smelly practice jerseys you wear for moments like this.”

Domme peers back into the rear review mirror and spots Jack still fast asleep. “Jack Jack is passed out right now. And if you’re wondering, yes, I am in the car. Because if I didn’t leave that house I think all three of us were going to go a little insane. And why am I holding her like I’m about to do a product review?” Domme giggles mostly at herself. It could be the lack of sleep, of course. Or maybe it’s the space, the freedom to allow herself to say that sometimes having kids makes her question her own sanity. “So here we have a one week old baby. Pros, she’s very cute. Cons, she is a little wild from the hours of 2-5 am. But that is the witching hour so we’ll excuse that. Not all of her defenses are up and running.”

Domme places Roslyn back against her shoulder. “Anyway, tune in next week when we get more solid poops for our next update.” She falls silent for a moment, gaze falling out of the front window. One car leaves, pulling out and passing her by. A customer or an employee, Domme can’t tell. But she watches the brake lights glow and then fade as they work their way out into the lane to exit. “I think it’ll be a challenge until Rosyln’s a bit older with you out from the house more often. But we’ll manage. I don’t want this to discourage you from doing what you love and what you want. So please don’t think you have to drop everything just to be a dad. Just wanted to be transparent, I guess. About what things will look like until they both get settled into a new routine. Until we all get settled into a new routine. But I need to get back to the house before Mama Burrow puts out a search party. I love you, Papa Bear.”

The first thing Joe notices when he’s back in the locker room after the game is that there’s several text messages. One from his mother just before the game started and two from Domme right after kick off. But there’s nothing else. So he tries not to panic, tries not to think the worst until he reads through them. The text from his mother is quick Rooting for you. The texts from Domme are a video, the frozen image is just her in the SUV, her text a witty, I think I should start a Mom vlog. 

So it’s not inherently bad, which eases his nerves and Joe fishes out his bluetooth earbuds before he settles into the chair in front of his locker, “Okay, excuse my like entire face right now, but look at baby girl.” He laughs when Roslyn comes into frame, her body wrapped into his t-shirt from last night. Joe listens though, to the way there’s a heaviness in Domme’s voice even if she’s laughing, Joe can hear it, the way her voice wobbles a little as it leaves her throat. 

Domme’s tough. Joe’s seen it. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t struggle. And it definitely doesn’t mean he’s going to leave her behind. “I love you, Papa Bear,” she concludes in the video. 

Joe’s off his feet the second the video ends. He warns the coaches, with a quick point to his phone, and then rushes to find a spot with good signal, skirts around the hallways towards the offices and dials Domme’s number. She answers on the fourth ring. “You should still be huddled up there, baby. You okay?”

“I got your text and I needed to hear your voice. Sounds like it’s quiet though, for now.”

“The nap earlier did them both well, I think. They’re less cranky now.”

“But how is Mamas doing? Hmm?”

“Tired,” she answers with an exhale. “But making it.”

“I’ll be home soon, okay? And I’ll have a talk with Roslyn about her being fussy with you during my absence.”

“Thank you, love.” 

Joe doesn’t return home empty handed. It was already on their agenda to do tomorrow, grab an extra set of wipes. There’s plenty to eat between Domme’s family and his, and the chef, the fridge is stuffed full. But Joe grabs some flowers, the wipes, an extra container of formula since it’s sometimes hard to get, a few of the protein shakes Domme likes, and a snack for her too. 

The moment the door opens that leads from the laundry room into the main house, there’s a slap of bare feet over the floor. Joe looks down, already anticipating the tiny body of Jack Jack. Who, as if on queue, comes down the hall. Joe shifts the bags to one arm, squatting down to embrace Jack in a hug. “Daddy! We listened! On da radio!”

“Yeah? You listened to the game?”

Jack nods, his head full of curls that sometimes terrify Joe. But with Domme’s help he’s learned how to care for. “You no play?”

“Yeah, buddy, you’re right. I didn’t play today. I will in two weeks.”

“Why?”

“Why didn’t I play today?”

Jack nods again at the clarifying question. “This is preseason. So to stay safe for the regular season, I don’t play. Besides, the other guys need rep too. I can’t hog all the playtime.”

“Because sharing is caring?”

“Exactly, bud. Because sharing is caring. Hey, I need to give Mamas her snack. Want to help me?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, you carry this,” Joe directs, fishing out the bouquet of flowers. “Get a solid grip on it.”

“No fumbles here.”

The laughter rumbles through the house at Jack’s rather loud quip. “Yeah, we don’t want those. If that’s too heavy, just let me know.”

“No, not heavy.”

By the time that Joe and Jack make their way to the kitchen, Domme’s already there, at the corner of the kitchen island, unchanged from this morning, the exhaustion clear on her face, but she grins, patiently waiting for Jack to waddle over with the flower. “For you, Mamas,” he states, proud to have walked them across the entire length of the kitchen. 

“Thank you, my beautiful baby boy.”

Joe places the rest of the bags down before wrapping Domme into a hug, the two of them meeting chest to chest, Domme sinking into his torso. Her exhale is heavy, shakes a little as it leaves her too. “Oh, it’s okay, baby. I got you.” Joe repeats the mantra over and over, one hand steady over her back, palm working up and down the cotton of the t-shirt. “You’re doing great, okay? I love you so much. I got you. Always going to be a team, okay? Always.”

It hurts to watch her struggle. But Joe knows that they’re both human. Their entire humanity would be plagued by the occasional struggle. He takes it in stride though, promises into the soft warmth of her skin that he’ll be there for every step Domme takes. He meant it when he said wanted forever with her. 

____________________

Roslyn is a dynamite. A mini version of Domme, down to the eye rolls and the way she laughs. Where Jackson is the quiet kid, who could color or play with his blocks/legos in the corner and be content, Roslyn wants attention. She is unafraid of the eyes on her. She drags anyone and everyone into her play if given even just a quarter of the chance to do so. 

Roslyn’s first day of daycare, to which Joe balled his eyes out after dropping her off, concludes with her proudly walking over to Joe hand in hand with another little girl. “Mariah, this is my daddy. Daddy, this is my new friend, Mariah.”

Joe gives a tiny wave. “Hi, Mariah. Did you have a good first day?”

She nods, but it’s clear to Joe that the little girl is quite shy. And he immediately knows how this is going to play out, how Mariah’s unfortunately been befriended by one of the most extroverted people that’s ever graced the planet, even more extroverted than Domme. He wants to apologize but Roslyn beats him to it. “Where’s your mom, Mariah? I’ll walk you over.”

Oh, God, Joe’s not sure he’s going to survive Roslyn as she grows up. That somehow life has found the one thing Joe can’t really handle in large doses and decided to gift him a child with that just—extroversion. Roslyn walks Mariah down the car line to her mother, with Joe carrying the rear. 

“Hi, Mrs. Tinsley, my name is Roslyn and I’m Mariah’s new friend.”

“Oh dear,” Mariah’s mothers laughs. “I love how polite you are. Hi, Roslyn.”

Joe introduces himself and Penelope, Mariah’s mother, introduces herself too. “I have a feeling,” Joe starts, “that there’s going to be no way out of this.”

“I don’t think so either.”

It’s not until the third week of daycare that phone numbers are exchanged for a playdate—meeting at a local bounce studio in order to keep safe for now. But Penelope’s husband, George, is clearly starstruck when Joe, Roslyn, Jack, and Domme walk in. It’s a loud cacophonous sound of children screaming, and adults chatting. But even still, Joe catches the soft, “Honey, when you told me we were meeting Roslyn’s family, you failed to mentioned it was Joe fucking Burrow as her dad.”

It turns out that George, born and raised in Pittsburgh, is a Steeler’s fan by birthright, but since moving for work has kept a closer eye on the local teams. The shock doesn’t necessarily stop amusing Joe. Even though it does make him cringe just a little whenever he does get recognized. Though, just like always, Domme steps in, introduces herself and Jack, who smiles and then asks if it’s okay that he plays along too. Mariah nods with ease and then the three of the kids take off and Joe stands behind Domme, relieved that she’s much more adept at handling these situations. 

Joe’s introversion becomes a trend though as the kids get older. As Domme hosts more and more birthday parties, or sleepovers, it becomes a joke at first. Though it’s rooted in deep truth. Joe hangs on the outskirts of such events. He’s there for the pictures, greets parents and children at the door. But he stays in the background, brings to the cake when needed, pulls pizzas from ovens, serves up the plates to kids, pops the popcorn, makes sure the sodas and water are cold. He changes out trash bags when they’re full. He’s there when someone trips or falls. One boy, at Roslyn’s sixth birthday jokes that Joe is like Batman. 

That’s all it takes. Parents call him that, kids do too. “Quick, someone get the bat signal. We’re out of juice!”

Joe appears with the jug in hand and a stack of cups in the other. “You rang?” he returns, in a bit of a deadpan that makes all the kids giggle. 

Domme watches from the midst, enveloped in kids too as they wait to get their faces painted. Joe catches her laughter above the rest of the noise. The sound carried through the breeze and he watches her watching him. “Batman’s kind of handsome. Does he need a Catwoman?” she teases from across the backyard. 

“There are children around, Mamas, please,” Joe warns, but he can’t help the flush of his cheeks. It’s easy to say it’s the August heat, but it’s not. They both know that. 

______________________

Roslyn’s extremely active from the second she can walk, she’s running instead. Her feet are stomping. If anyone needs to know where Roslyn is, she will let them know. But she’s aware of it, in a way much too mature for her age. As a young child, she notices that Jack seems to be overwhelmed by her noise and always tones it down. 

Back home from a trip to an amusement park, Roslyn felt like the day and really only started. But her attempts to get her brother to play once home, quickly fall apart when Jack shakes his head no to her offer. “But you love to play sock ball with me.”

Sock ball is a game that Joe, Jack, and Roslyn conjured up one stormy evening and they couldn’t go outside for t-ball. So Joe took a pair of clean socks, the empty trashcan from his office and painters tape to create a game in which they can’t cross the line of painter’s tape on the floor, and have to shoot the socks into the trashcan. Close enough to basketball without the backboard and significantly less threats to anything shattering among immediate impact should the socks not make it where they were aimed. 

“Not right now, Ros. Maybe later.”

She turns, after watching her brother drag himself to his room. “He gets tired after being out.”

Joe nods at the observation. “He does.”

“But I don’t.”

“No, you don’t. Jack Jack’s different than you in that way. You like being out and around people. And he prefers to be with a smaller crowd, around fewer people. Being around people makes him tired.”

“So, I should play a bit more quiet?”

“That would be kind of you, yes. But if you want to play loud, we can take it to the backyard too. There are plenty of options.”

“I’ll play inside. It’s hot. But I’ll be okay.”

“That’s very kind of you, Roslyn. What do you want to do?”

Joe knows that whatever they decide to do, they’re in for the long haul. And Joe’s glad for football in those moments, that he’s able to keep up with Roslyn and her energy. However, Roslyn’s Energizer Bunny disposition comes with a little wrench that rears up fully when she’s 3. At night, or even after a particularly in depth and rousing round of play, Joe hears the wheeze and rattle in her chest. As if her tiny lungs are working too hard to get air in and can’t. 

Joe and Domme bring it at appointments, persistent about it, but not rude. The primary care doctor makes notes when they bring it up and starts looking into a few testing, but it doesn’t far before the wheeze and rattle lands the entire family in the ER. That particular night forever burned into all of their memories. 

The night rests up at near 9 PM. Joe’s easing out of his office, normally when Joe’s home, he leaves football at the doorstep. But it’s January now, and with the playoffs bright and open in front of them, he does take an hour or so after the kids have gone to bed to review the film, take down some notes. 

Joe suspects to find Domme in their bedroom, reading, or attempting to read if she’s not already fallen asleep. Roslyn will be in their bed too—she’d been sent home earlier today because she threw up at daycare. The fever’s wavering, but not gone. Some coughs here and there, but so far, she seems to be weathering the cold mostly well alright. Joe will slip into bed next to them, wake Domme gently with kisses if she’s asleep and get a solid half an hour with her before they both fall asleep mid conversation. 

The thing he’s not expecting is Domme’s sure but quickened steps down the hall, Roslyn huddled up into her chest. “She’s wheezing bad, Joe. I don’t like the sound of it. At all. She’s saying she can’t breathe. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not just a cold. Something else is wrong.”

Joe doesn’t panic, not initially, though he can feel himself steeling his nerves, forcing himself to exhale evenly timed with his deep inhales. “You get her to the truck and I’ll grab Jack.”

Jack isn’t necessarily groggy as he is worried. Thankfully, he’s compliant and that’s all Joe can ask for as he slips the sweatshirt over Jack’s frame and slips on his socks. Jack can do it himself, but they don’t have time for it. “It’s about your sister. So we’re all going to go to the doctor’s, okay?”

“Are they open?”

“I think we’re going to the Emergency Room. Like the doctor’s but for when you need help after the other places are closed, when something really bad’s happened. Like your friend Wyatt, who broke his arm on his brother’s skateboard.”

That’s all that needs to be said before Jack’s face slips, a hard line replacing the spot his usual smile rests. “But Roslyn’s sicker than that?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, bud.”

Joe wastes no time with himself, slips into a hoodie, finds his wallet and shuffles into the Ugg slippers he leaves by the door. January is cold and this one is particularly snowy, but there’s no time to worry about that. By the time he gets to the car, Domme’s already in the driver seat. Jack settles into his carseat, helping to buckle it up and Joe cradles Roslyn in his arms during the drive. The rattle’s not terrible now, but he can hear it too, behind the phlegm, behind the mucus of normal daycare germs, something is tight and Roslyn burrows into his chest. “Daddy, please make it stop.”

“We’re going to figure this out, baby girl. Promise.” But even Joe can’t deny the sting of his eyes at Roslyn’s words, how small she sounds, though she’s usually full of life. He wants to promise he can make it all better. Joe wants whatever this is that’s plaguing his daughter to somehow plague him instead. But that’s not how any of this works. So he holds her tighter, kisses her forehead and promises again, “We’ll figure it out soon.”

Asthma—that’s the end all be all of it. A condition that thankfully can be managed, but is chronic. Roslyn winds up needing a breathing treatment to get the inflammation under control which should help her sleep, but now with awareness of the issue they can hopefully prevent another asthma attack from happening again in the future. 

The doctor’s have hope that she may grow out of it, considering it’s a milder case of the condition. She should still maintain physical activity, but it’ll be important for her and her teachers to notice signs of things getting worse and for the signs of an asthma attack and to have an additional inhaler for Roslyn at school. But Joe’s not sure he can feel much relief in that sterile room with the lights too bright, his baby girl hooked to a nebulizer, a mechanical whirring feeding vapor into her nose via the face mask. 

Roslyn appears, after the first few minutes of the treatment, to be breathing better, settled into his chest even deeper. Joe adjusts the mask so she can be comfortable but still get the medicine. Domme sits across the room, Jack’s sleepy frame in her lap. The little boy’s exhaustion battles against his well, eyes zeroed in on his baby sister. His frown is deep on his face. And Joe’s never seen himself more than he does now, sitting in the bed with Roslyn in his lap, staring down at his son and realizes that just as fiercely as Joe cared about his family Jack did too. 

“Buddy, you can sleep. She’s going to be okay,” Joe encourages softly. The doctor’s left for now, promising to return in another ten minutes once the treatment is done with the prescription in hand for Roslyn’s inhaler. 

They’ll have a follow up appointment with the primary care physician later in the week, on Wednesday, to have the diagnosis added to Roslyn’s records, and to ensure that she and Joe and Domme know how to care best for Roslyn with the diagnosis. 

“What does chronic mean?” Jack asks between the beeps of the monitors attached to Roslyn— wires that Joe tries not to pay attention to but can’t help but see, like the one monitoring her oxygen levels, or the blood pressure cuff. 

Joe looks to Domme, and Domme’s bouncing her gaze from Jack up to Joe. They’re wide eyed for a moment and then Domme nods, answering the question before it can form for Joe: Yes, yes, they should answer. 

“Chronic means that it goes on for a long time. Usually, without a specified time for it to end.” Joe answers. 

“So, forever?” Jack answers with disbelief and horror filling the two words. 

“No,” Domme hums, hugging him tighter. “It doesn’t always mean forever. Sometimes it does, but not always.”

“Is this asthma stuff forever for Ros?”

“We don’t know, hon,” Domme returns. “We hope not. But we really don’t know.”

Joe doesn’t sleep much that night—in short bursts of an hour to an hour and a half at time. In the morning, they’ll get the inhaler. But he watches Roslyn’s tiny frame curled between him and Domme, her chest falling evenly now and no longer the frantic gasps that filled the car on the drive. They do have her elevated a little, just to make sure. But he can’t sleep, can’t surrender himself over fully lest he miss a noise, a sign that she’s in distress. 

“Papa Bear, I can hear those gears still grinding.”

Joe looks up from Roslyn and from Jack—who also insisted that he sleep next to his sister to make sure she was okay too—and spies Domme’s blinking gaze in the dark. “You were hot in that hospital filling out those forms, you know? A whole mama bear situation going on as you dared anyone get in your way walking into that ER.”

She snorts, one hand coming up to brush away a stray piece of his hair from his forehead. “You’re not going to rest tonight, are you?”

“Just want her to be okay,” Joe whispers. 

“Fire watch? I can take the next few hours so you can get some rest.” 

Joe knows it’s ridiculous, that he should sleep. That Roslyn’s okay, because if not, the doctor’s wouldn’t have let them go home. But he’s extremely grateful that Domme doesn’t try to convince him of that, that she just merely accepts. “That’s a little ridiculous, but I like the way you think.”

“We’re both a little insane when it comes to our kids. The way we ought to be. Get some rest. I won’t make this offer a third time.”

“Some might say, you hardly offered it a second.” He pushes up to his elbows, then to his wrist and stretches across both Roslyn and Jack to kiss Domme, slow, unhurried—a kiss that feels almost like an exhale. “I love you, Mamas.”

“Love you too, Papa Bear.”

_________________________

For all the energy that Roslyn exudes, for all the socializing she can do, which has gotten her in trouble in her early elementary school days, she does have an eagle eyed awareness too. Like her big brother, her awareness extends to others as well. Not in the same way that Jack cares deeply about the way the rules work, and how fair must always be fair. She’s more socially adept. On her first day of 9th grade, fresh to high school, she spots some girls sitting in the halls outside of their lockers, they’re not necessarily who Roslyn would go for. It’s easy to say Roslyn’s easily more in the ‘popular’ clique than it would be to argue she’s not. A few girls who are in a grade higher compliment her outfit when she settles towards the middle of the bus. But inside the hallways now, those same girls are giggling and staring at the other girls while sitting on the floor in front of the library. 

Roslyn knows the manga the girls are sharing. She’s seen Jack reading it and watched the anime with him over the summer when he was in control of the living room TV in the afternoons after she had control of the living room TV in the mornings. “That’s a cool show,” Roslyn states as she approaches. “Didn’t realize it was a manga.”

“You—you know about anime?” The girl with black hair, in tight ringlets, tied back by a giant bow asks. 

“Yeah,” Roslyn laughs with a shrug, “doesn’t, like, everyone though? What arc are you guys in?” 

Though it could be seen as social suicide, Ros doesn’t really care. It costs nothing to be nice. Rod would rather be seen lower on the totem pole than to purposefully and maliciously humiliate someone else. So the three girls chat for just a few minutes about the show, before Roslyn decides that she should probably get to her locker just as the first bell rings to signal that classes will be starting in just a few minutes. “When do you guys have lunch?”

“We’ve got second lunch,” they answer. 

“Could I sit with y’all? If there’s space of course. I’ve got second lunch too.”

“Oh, sure, that would be nice. But like, are you sure?”

Roslyn nods. “I’m sure. It’ll be nice to know some other people other than the lacrosse team. And my friend, Mariah, she has the same lunch as us too, can she join too?  She’s nice, like really nice, not like fake nice.” Roslyn loves her team, but she likes seeing other people happy more. 

“Uh, sure,” the two girls agree. 

“Cool, see you guys then,” Roslyn waves over her shoulder and heads to her locker. Oya and Melinda--the two girls wind up becoming fast friends with Mariah as well, the entire quad of them solidified as a clique thick as thieves. Roslyn includes them on invitations to games and it turns out that they don’t live too far either so the Burrow house is always full of some configuration of the girls, most often it’s all four of them together in the den or in Roslyn’s room. 

Joe and Domme make sure to keep the snacks full stocked. A habit they have to keep in order to sustain Jack’s growth spurts and his small collection of two other boys from middle school as his tight weaved knit of friends too. 

_______________________

Roslyn, unsurprising to literally anyone with eyes, has her father wrapped around her finger. A fact sprung into life the second Joe and Domme found out they were having a girl. For a little bit there, only Joe could sooth her. The first few weeks of her coming home, whenever her fussing was not directly correlated to needing a diaper change, or being hungry, it would only be the rumble of Joe’s voice or his scent that could calm her down. 

And it’s only Roslyn who could manage to chip away at Joe’s seemingly icy cold stance about pets. Not that Joe doesn’t like animals. He’s just been wary of adding them into the mix, given how often he’s away and how long Domme’s days are at work. And when things seemed like they could’ve opened up for pets, they had kids instead. But now Roslyn’s older and so is Jack Jack. They’re pretty settled, and have a routine that’s easy to handle. Jack’s never asked directly about pets, but he’s dropped a few hints as he got older. Yet and still, it’s Roslyn who comes home from Mariah’s 5th birthday party which included a trip to the local animal shelter that Roslyn declares, “Cats are cool. Can I get one?”

Domme merely waits, watches Joe’s face as it slides from immediate rejection, brows furrowed,  into something softer when Roslyn adds on, “Please, Daddy. I’ll feed it and everything. I’ll learn how to take care of it. Please.”

“Can we try asking again with all that put together?”

Domme knows immediately it’s a yes, but he’s going to make Roslyn work for it. Ros sits up straighter in her chair at the dinning table. “May I please get a pet cat? I promise to help take care of them.”

Joe lets her sit, nearly unblinking for almost a minute. “We’ll read up on how to care for one first and then you can decide if you still want a cat after that.”

“May I plead my case for a gecko?” Jack asks. “I wrote a report on them.”

Domme knows the second Jack confesses to writing a report Joe’s answer is easy. But his brow arches. “You wrote a report on geckos?”

“Yes. I can go get it.”

“After dinner, I’ll take a look at it.”

That night long after the two kiddos have been tucked into bed, a story read to them by Joe and Domme each for a total of two stories total, Joe flips through the handwritten report. Jack’s penmanship isn’t the greatest, but it leagues neater than Joe’s certainly. “He actually wrote a report. He has headings,” Joe laughs, pointing out the underlined Tank Requirements on the page. He looks to Domme over the top edge of his glasses and she’s failing to hold back the smile. “Did you help him with it?”

“He’s wanted a pet for a while, Joe. And I know you, so yes, I helped Jack write the report.”

“Okay, that’s cheating. But it shows his dedication.”

“Think of it like a retirement gift,” Domme returns gently, winding her arm around his shoulders. 

It’s not quite dawned fully, Joe’s exit from playing football, but it’s on the horizon. It’s only September right now, but this is Joe’s last season, and neither one of them has told the kids about it either. It’s been discussed in private moments, behind the closed doors of their bedroom with Joe face first into Domme’s chest in part agony and the other part relief. But he wants to be there for his kids, wants to be strong and healthy for them too. They say there’s dad’s strength—and Joe’s only proven it true in the last seven years since he became a father. Joe’s always been Houdini on the field, but there is a magic to seeing him play now as a dad, that feels brand new.

But making the decision was no easy task, even if Joe knew he would make the same choice a thousand times over for his wife and kids. It’s still eaten at him in a way that they both know will take time to ease. That while it feels like the right decision, there is always a little bit of grief mixed into the decision too. The life he’s had for so long, that he’s always wanted, will come to an end. 

“I guess so,” Joe laughs, pressing a kiss to her temples. “I won’t be so lonely at home with a cat that does their own thing in the same general area but not necessarily together. But it’ll still be strange though.”

“Not playing?”

“Yeah.”

Her hum is comforting. “But transitions are always a little strange, yeah? Even if we want them.”

“Let’s see if a cat and a gecko make the difference.”

It takes a few weeks to get the gecko sorted, to get the right tank and equipment. Joe and Jack come up with a contract—what Jack is responsible for himself, what he’ll have to have either Joe or Domme assist with to ensure that the animal is well taken care of. It may look a little silly on the outside, the typed up agreement that lives on the fridge for everyone to see, but Domme will cherish the memory of watching Joe and Jack side by side putting it together, how Jack pointed at the screen, voice soft as he asked what certain words meant and making his case for why he should be allowed to do certain things with assistance. Navigating that conversation will help skills Jack’ll need when he’s older that for right now it’s okay if it’s just about geckos.

But once the tank is inside and it’s filled and the gecko is safely and gingerly placed inside, Jack stares at him for hours, just watching, cataloging poops, amount of time sleeping, habits and energy levels, and making charts. “Look, Dad! Look!” he beams. The papers rattle with his drawings and measurements and graphs. 

Joe always nods, thoughtfully peering through the drawings and notes. “Proud of you,” he whispers. 

Roslyn finding her cat takes significantly less time. But she sits next to Joe too, watching him type up their agreement as well. What she can help do for the cat, what she’ll need to get Domme or Joe to assist her with. Her ‘signature’ is a printed scratch in purple crayon. It lives on the fridge too, and both kids are proud to see the fruits of their labors stuck with magnets to the stainless steel. 

Joe and Roslyn walk into a local shelter with tempered expectations. Joe holds her little hand as she toddles up to the front desk. “We are here to look at your cats, please!”

Joe laughs just a little, but nods when the worker asks if that is indeed correct. “The little lady speaks the truth.”

It’s not supposed to happen on the first visit to the shelter. Or at least, Joe’s not expecting to happen. Ros has been clear though that she wants a black cat, but has agreed to look at all cats that are there just to be certain. Some of the cats are stacked much too high for her to see so Joe picks her up. Roslyn stops at one set of cats—one orange and white colored, the other a softer beige color. They blink up at Joe and Ros but neither one of them seems too interested in being bothered when Roslyn holds her hand up to the lines of the cage. 

So they move on, down the row until Roslyn gasps, “Daddy, look! At the end.” 

Joe spots two black kittens pressed up to the edge of their kennel. “Do you want to say hi?”

“Please.”

Roslyn is gentle as she presses her hand to the outer part of the cage, the larger kitten sniffs but ultimately decides it’s not pleased before settling in towards the back. The smaller one stretches up though into the scratch Roslyn provides it. The kittens are fluffier than Joe imagined them to look. Pointed ears, and when the kitten blinks upwards, he notices one eye is green while the other is blue. 

The tiny creature meows since nuzzling up into her hand. “This one, please. Look at her.”

Joe has to admit that the kitten is cute and it does seem to have taken a liking to Roslyn. He looks at the little write up on the outside. “Her name is Jewels,” Joe relays to Roslyn. 

“And I love her. Please, Daddy. We can’t leave her behind. We leave no Burrow behind.”

The fierceness makes his chest swell and he kisses her cheek. “She’s not a Burrow, yet, but we can do our best to make her one. One more pet and then we need to let them know, okay?”

Roslyn sits in the backseat the whole way home, peering into the carrier from her carseat, one hand stretched out for the top of it. “We have to get you a nice bed and the right food,” Roslyn informs the kitten. “Then we can go to your new home. You’ll like it better there.”

Jewels was rescued from a hoarding situation—apparently acquired from a breeder considering how hard getting a Maine Coon cat is, but not impossible, which led Jewels to be slightly malnourished when she was placed into the shelter’s care. She’s gained a little weight and now Joe, Roslyn, and Domme will be tasked with continuing her journey. 

The pictures of Jewels first day home never cease to make Joe teary eyed. The little kitten splayed out in Roslyn’s lap before she moved to investigate the cushions and the arm of the couch before climbing onto the back of it, nestling deep into the cushion right above Roslyn’s head, one paw stretched down like Roslyn’s arm was in the car. A position that as Jewels grows, she continues to settle in right above Roslyn each time Roslyn settles onto the couch. 

Jewels grows up to be larger than Joe or Domme anticipated. She’s not the dainty small rescue cat either one of them thought Roslyn would end up with. Instead Jewels is fierce, a silent but almost predatory stalk to her walk as she keeps in tow with Roslyn around the house. Her leaps are graceful onto Jack’s amp if he leaves them outside of his room—Jack’s room is the only room off limits to Jewels given the geckos that Jack keeps, but otherwise she has free reign of the house. Though, almost without a shadowy doubt, Jewels is always where Roslyn is. 

Joe attempts to make nice, and Jewels plays along, but she most certainly only wants attention on her own time and she almost always wants it just from Roslyn. “Oh, Jewels,” Joe pouts after a failed attempt to get her to settle into his lap. “That hurts worse than being tackled by 300 pound defenders.”

Jewels will curl into Joe’s side though, on her back, head nuzzling into his hip. He gives in with ease to pass along a few scratches. But she’s never there too long. Just long enough to show that she loves him and then she’ll turn over, leap from the couch and then saunter off into the house to find Ros again. 

______________________

Roslyn, even with her asthma, loves to be active. She starts at first in dance. Which she does for a little bit, but finds isn’t quite her style. She likes the recital at the end, but starts to dread the practice after her third year. So she sets her sights on something new, something different. Both Roslyn and Jack learned fairly young what their dad did for work. It’s kind of hard not to know, but sometimes in the secret of her purple thematic room, Roslyn watches old highlights of her dad—watching him on the football field, the deep throws, the insane releases and leaps. 

“Think I should give it a go?” Roslyn asks Jewels, who’s been sat beside her, curled up into a ball.

Jewels only blinks up at Roslyn, but her gaze is steady and unwavering, which Roslyn takes as a yes.

After a few months, she finds her parents in the living room, Joe resting into Domme, Domme pressed into the arm of the couch, the TV playing a movie, but neither one of them watching it as they’ve both fallen asleep. “A-hem,” Roslyn giggles, hoping the noise is loud enough to wake them back. 

Joe cracks one eye open first. “You rang?”

“I have a proposition.”

Joe sits up first and then pulls Domme up next. He nods all the same. “A proposition you say? What might this proposition be?”

“Flag football—I’d like to try it.”

Joe learned with Jack not to push any sport in particular. That each of his kids would be their own people in their own rights, with their own wants. He didn’t necessarily want carbon copies of himself, but he does want each of them to find the thing that they’re passionate about, the thing that they can always return to the help center and drive them. For Jack, it’s becoming clearer and clearer that’s music. Roslyn’s still young and hasn’t hit her strides, but she’d find it soon. 

But Joe doesn’t want her to feel like it has to be football, or anything adjacent to it. Roslyn slides the iPad onto the coffee table. Jewels slithers around her ankles. “What makes you interested in flag football?” It’s Domme who asks because Joe can’t seem to get his jaw to close and open again in the right formation for words to fall out of them. 

“It looks fun. More physical than dance, which is what I want. I know I’d have to be careful with my asthma, but I haven’t had to use my rescue inhaler in almost six months.”

“And you’re not—I mean, you’re not doing this because of me right?” Joe asks. 

“Maybe a little,” she shrugs. “Maybe it’s the Burrow spirit. The Burrow way.”

Joe shakes his head, waving for Roslyn to come in closer. She steps up and Joe places her onto the coffee table, next to the iPad, so they can be face to face. “While I tend to agree, I do want you to know that I always want you to be you, Ros. I don’t want you to be me, or try to be me. Dear old Dad took a lot of hits, made some choices that may not have always been smart. And I’m not saying that football’s too dangerous for you to play. I just—I want you to do this for yourself. People may have a lot to say about it because of me, because of what I did, because of what I do now should you decide you really want to go out for flag football. I want you to be ready for that, for you to know that you’re doing this for you and nobody else.”

Roslyn holds his cheeks between her palms and lands a single kiss to his nose. “Dad, I appreciate that. But how would I know if I don’t really want to do something if I don’t give it a try.”

“You had very firm opinions on broccoli there for a minute without ever trying it.”

“Okay, but I was like three.”

“You were six,” Joe corrects.

Roslyn sighs. “And I’m ten now and I eat all my broccoli, so things change, clearly.”

Joe laughs, returning Roslyn’s earlier kiss with one to her forehead. “They do. How long have you been thinking about flag football?”

“Couple months now. I missed the fall start, but with your team I figured it’s probably for the best.” 

“Oh, hey, don’t worry about that,” Joe insists. Though he’s started coaching since Roslyn started in the 2nd grade, he’s always made sure to be as home as much as he can, to show up to the things he can be there for. “You could’ve started then if you wanted.”

“I want to start in the Spring.”

“Alright, send me that flyer and I’ll print it out so it can live on the fridge and remind us to check back in January, alright?”

“I will.”

Joe can’t help the question. It’s natural curiosity, and a little bit of pride too. “Thought at all about the position you’d want?” Domme snorts at the question and he turns to her. “Hush, Mamas. It’s a fair question.” But it doesn’t stop her cackles. 

“Not the quarterback position, Dad. I think I have to go with Uncle Tee and Uncle Ja'Marr on this one.”

Joe can’t lie and say he’s not a little hurt. But it’s what Roslyn wants. Joe has to put his ego in the backseat and focus on her. “That’s fair, kiddo. That’s fair.”

The tryouts are grueling. Domme and Joe watch from the bleachers, Domme clutched to his bicep. But Roslyn makes the team, grinning wide with her mouthguard still in place. Joe’s careful about not interjecting, to take a step back even though he can see what maybe the kids and the other coaches can’t. He imagines it’s not easy to be the coach with Joe right there either, so he keeps the brim of his hats pulled down low when he’s there on the sidelines watching games, tries to make himself invisible though he can’t help at some moments to stalk the sidelines. “C’mon, girls. Dig deep for this one. You got it!”

Domme is the inverse, she’s loud at every turn, on every drive, “Good hustle! I know you want it!” Her only saving grace are the snacks she brings and the juices to each game. Joe’s glad they invested in the Costco membership because Domme treats the games she’s on snack duty for like it’s an olympic level duty—protein bars, juices, chips, ez peel oranges. There’s no such thing as a worry about costs when Domme’s let loose in that store. 

Roslyn does well, studies at the dining room table next to Joe as she goes over the routes and plays. She runs them in the backyard, dripping with sweat when Joe finally calls it. Part of him is always a little worried she’s going to push too far and wind up in the midst of an asthma attack that her inhaler can’t save her from. Ros is good about finding her limits and sticking to them. “Need a second,” she heaves and Joe’s always there, helping her find her breath again too.

She goes quiet on game days in the back seat, her headphones on, and eyes darkening. Domme watches and knows to give Roslyn that space. If Joe can attend her games, he’s there, on the sidelines, kneeling before sending her off. “Eyes up, Ros. Eyes up. No one else can get in there,” he starts, tapping the side of her head, “unless you let ‘em in. And we’re shutting all that other noise out. Shut it the fuck out. It’s you, those routes, and the ball. That’s it.”

She nods, a slow methodical movement. Her cheeks are painted with black triangles. “No other noise.”

“Get ‘em, tiger.” 

Roslyn takes off, in her purple and yellow uniform towards her team—the Prowlers always ready to make noise on the field.

Part way through the season though, Roslyn approaches Joe, one evening, a shaky knock at the bedroom door. “Can we talk, Dad?”

“Yeah, absolutely, we can. What’s up?”

“Some of the other girls on the team are talking about me.”

“Talking about you how?” Joe asks, setting Roslyn onto the bed. He kneels down in front of Roslyn, working a few strands of her hair that have fallen out of the braid he did earlier for her, behind her ear. 

“One girl said I was too stupid to be the quarterback and I told her she should try and memorize half the stuff I do. I know she’s a rusher and like all our jobs are important, but it feels kind of yucky right now. And I work hard just like everyone else.”

“Have you talked to your coach?”

“Yeah, twice. She’s nice and tries to help, but you were right. There’s a lot of people saying a lot about me because they know you’re my dad.”

It’s not the thing Joe wanted to be right about. God, he didn’t want to be right about this. But he needed to be honest, needed to let Roslyn know exactly what she was getting herself into when she said she wanted to be on the team. 

“How bad is it? Is it every day?”

Roslyn shakes her head. It sucks, Roslyn will admit that. She thought she could handle it on her own, but now it’s getting much too heavy. “No, thankfully not. But it makes me not want to play anymore.”

There’s five games left in the season—including the division which Joe knows the Prowlers are a shoe in for. “Like quit before the season is over or not play after this season?” He hopes not, Joe really hopes that’s not the case that it’s so bad that Roslyn wants to leave through the season early, but he’d back her up. He’d allow her to exit if it was affecting her that bad. Nothing matters to him more than her wellbeing. 

Roslyn’s head shake no is fierce, a rapid and resounding no. “I can’t let my team down. Most of the other girls are nice. It’s just a few that are nasty. We’re so close to being the champs too. I want that. Just with nicer people on my next sports team.”

“Yeah, I’d like you to have good teammates too. You can keep playing as long as you want and then once this season is over, we can find you something else to play. If you need me or your mom to talk to the coach too about this, you let us know. We’ve got your back.”

Roslyn drops her head but nods. “I know you two do. Thanks.”

“Hey, look at me,” Joe urges, pausing until her gaze falls back to his face. “Give them something to talk shit about though, okay? I mean, you dust everyone on that field when you play. Rack up so many yards and so many touchdowns they run out of numbers and let that do all the talking, okay? If they’re going to be mean and nasty, then we’ll give them something to be mean and nasty about.”

“Please don’t give our daughter a complex,” Domme shouts from the bathroom. 

Roslyn giggles at Joe’s exaggerated sigh. “Of course not, dear.” Then he leans in closer to Roslyn and whispers, “Dust ‘em.”

The Prowlers end the year as division champions and Roslyn earns the MVP title at the end of the year—leading the entire division in yards and touchdowns. Her neck clicks and clacks the entire walk to the care. Jack slaps at her shoulder. “You’re going to have to do neck exercises to make sure all those medals don’t break it.”

Roslyn doesn’t touch another sport until she’s in middle school and she catches wind of lacrosse. But once she has a taste of it, she can’t get enough. Joe watches her from the sidelines, after they've spent hours researching the sport, learning the ins and outs of it, a grin etched permanently on his face. Ros was a beast in flag football, but there’s nothing like her arm in lacrosse. She makes a shot once—swift, sharp, and precise—all from her hips and shoulder and it whizzes, according to the legends and the footage, like a rocket. 

“Goddamn, like a shooting star or something,” Domme comments, huddled in next to Joe on the metal bleachers. 

“Holy cow!” The opposing team’s goalie shouts, attempting to catch the ball but has her eyes closed up tight. “Like an asteroid next to my stinkin’ head.”

Her entire team picks up on the nickname, Asteroid, and it’s all she writes. From there on out, Roslyn’s no longer Roslyn to her teammates, but always Asteroid. Mariah, Oya, and Melinda make signs for some of the games—their subtle way of rooting for their best friend from the stands, the pink posters decorated to high heavens with asteroids and stars. 

There on the field, when playing lacrosse it’s all about shutting out the noise. All about Roslyn. There’s no competition, no metrics but the ones she sets for herself. There she is free in ways she can’t always articulate when others ask her. Ros always knows where her parents are, of course, her mother’s cheers and screams being the loudest—which earned her the ban in the first place. Yet, she can get lost in the sport in a way that feels right. 

Roslyn knows deep down she wouldn’t want it another way. Would trade her mother’s excitement for a single thing else. The ban only lasts for a few games each year before Roslyn tells her mother, graciously, “It’s actually boring without your screams. Just don’t get banned from my games please.”

“Thank you, sweet pea. I will do my best not to get banned for real.”

Roslyn looks to Joe, who only nods before he adds on, “I’ll keep my eye on her.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” Then she’s off, to join her team and Joe and Domme settle up into the stands, even though no sooner than the whistle blows they’ll both have made their way out of the seats and onto the sidelines, cheering Roslyn on. Joe’s meaty claps echoing between Domme’s chant, “That’s it, girls!”

And really, if anyone asked Ros, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

____________________

Roslyn’s venture into sports don’t just excite their personal worlds. A few of Joe’s press conferences post games mention it too. Only has it come up twice though about if Joe wishes he could pass the legacy on, if he looked towards his son with hopes towards Jack ‘taking up the Burrow mantle’

Domme’s seen Joe displeased. She’s seen him worried—though others wouldn’t be able to tell it in a place. She’s seen Joe disappointment in his boys if the games don’t go their way. She has not once ever seen Joe this angry. His jaw is set tight, his gaze narrowing in and growing darker. The poor flimsy wood of the podium looks like it could crack under the weight of Joe’s tight press. His voice is poised though as he speaks, calculated and sharp with each breath. “I am infinitely blessed to have two children who show me just how magical the world can be every day. My son does what makes him happy and that makes me feel amazing that my wife and I have created an environment he feels safe enough to be himself in. He is a killer musician and I cannot begin to describe to you the hours and absolute devotion he has to the arts. It is beyond words how talented he is. How much he loves it. My legacy will be more than football. It is more than football because I am a husband and a father before I am anything else. I am on the sidelines every second I can be for my daughter. Her calling is lacrosse and she is an absolute threat on that field every time she steps onto it. Her dedication and passion to that game is my legacy in action because she feels safe enough to be exactly who she is, to do the things that make her happy. Because again, my wife and I want our children to be the best versions of themselves, not carbon copies of us. Now do you have a question about my job seeing as that’s your job?”

Joe and Domme do their best to keep their kids off social media as much as possible, but they know as Jack and Ros grow older they’ll be exposed more and more to it. But the pressers after the games are usually the middle ground—it’s not the same thing as Instagram, but it is live, and it’s usually about the games. So most of the time it’s safe. Most reporters have learned that Joe won’t answer anything about his personal life, that it’s the choice he makes and no matter how many times they try to press it, he doesn’t often budge. Today is a reminder of that line it appears. 

Domme glances to her right and spots both Jack and Ros grinning at Joe’s answer to the question. “Dad did not like that,” Jack quips. 

“‘Now, do you have a question about my job seeing as that’s your job?’” Ros imitates, her voice deeper than usual in efforts to sound like Joe. 

The house descends into laughter. Domme is filled with relief though, that neither one of them seems to take the question too hard. “It’s such a ridiculous question,” Roslyn adds on. “He’s never going to say ‘Yes, I do wish Jack would pick up football so that I can relive my glory days.’ Like, hello? He’s reliving his glory days by coaching so he doesn’t bug us about it.”

Domme relays the message is secret once Joe’s back home. He laughs, but nods all the same. “She’s sort of right. I didn’t want to badger them about it, so I found an alternative means to get it out. I need them to be happy more than I need proximity to football.”

“You could have a great modeling career,” Domme teases, stretching up to kiss Joe. That confident easy kind of kiss, the one that still manages to steal Joe’s breath away all these years later. 

“I will keep that in mind,” Joe laughs against her lips. 

The second time a reporter tries to bring up Jack and football and Roslyn and lacrosse, a sneaky, So, are you sure about your daughter and lacrosse? Joe deadpans. “The Jaguars are undefeated this year just like last year. Let’s move on to your actual question now.” 

So slowly the conversation turns tides. When Joe smiles more, or more easily during press, the question becomes, “So we take it the Jaguars won?” 

To which Joe almost always nods an affirmative. “They did. Proud of them. Proud of my daughter too, really proud of her.”

It’s a phrase Joe never gets tired of saying. And Roslyn never really gets tired of hearing either. Because she’s proud to make both her parents, and especially her dad, proud. 

_____________

BONUS THOUGHTS:

Jack when he’s about 13 or so wants to buzz his hair off. But is scared to do it by himself. So he asks Joe if they can do it together. “I think I want something crazy, but I’m not sure I can handle it all by myself.”

Joe takes the request in stride, it is just hair at the end of the day. It’ll grow back no matter what. “I’d shave it off with you, if you’d want. But you’ll have to end this school year strong, definitely no D’s or F’s. I know with a few of your advanced placements courses you missed a couple assignments so I’m willing to work with you if those are up near the C+ range.”

“You’d—you’d be okay with shaving your head too?”

“Bud, I have done many wild things to my hair. Shaving it is the least of my worries.”

But Roslyn catches wind of such an agreement and requests that she have her ends dyed. So it turns into a family affair. Her grades have to be good too, with no new additional outreach regarding Roslyn talking during instructional time. A feat that seemed like she would never actually be able to overcome but now with an incentive in front of her she seems to be holding her own feet to the fire. 

Jack finishes the school year with 6 A’s, 1 B+, and 1 B-. Roslyn rounds out her school year with 4 A’s, 3 B-, and 1 C+. Excellent grades all around so Domme—in all her affinities towards do-it-yourself—takes a couple weeks to learn up on to bleach and dye hair at home before she waltzes back into the house on a Friday evenings her arms full of bottles, gloves, brushes, clippers, and capes. 

“Oh my god, reminds me of when Mom spray painted that old toy car,” Roslyn giggles, watching the way Joe hovers over Domme as she begins her work. 

“Hey, my job as supervisor is just as important as Mom’s job,” Joe retorts. “But yes, your mother handled that DIY as well because she’s much better at this kind of stuff than I am.”

“The gold stars were a nice touch, I have to admit,” Domme hums, mostly to herself. “I’ll buzz you both first and then bleach and then dye. Sounds good?”

Jack nods, settled into the chair in Joe and Domme’s bathroom. “Just make sure to go down the middle first so I can’t chicken out, please.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Soon the bathroom echoes with the buzz of the clippers. Joe stands next to Domme with his own clippers and makes the first swipe at his own hair while Domme shaves Jack’s hair. So that Jack doesn’t feel like he’s alone. 

Once Domme’s got Jack’s cut cropped close and even, she gets Joe settled into the chair clean up the back and sides. 

“It’s like the Slim Shady era all over again,” Domme laughs, as she slathers the bleach onto Joe’s head first. 

Roslyn laughs from the edge of the tub. “We saw those pictures, Dad.”

“Yeah?” he questions, watching her in the reflection. “So you’re laughing because I looked so good. I get it.”

“Hmm, not quite,” Roslyn returns. “The shaved head really, uh, you know, accentuates how wide your head is.” She can’t even finish the sentence without falling into a fit of giggles. 

“I think the bleach has gone to your head. Jack, crack that window up a little bit more for me please. Because Little Miss, you just wait until I’m out of this chair.”

“I am terrified of the tickles that are coming my way.”

True to Joe’s word, when Domme slips the plastic cap over his head and marches right up to Roslyn. Her rupture of laughter bounces around the room. In the reflection, Domme catches Roslyn slung over Joe’s shoulder, her face turning a hair pink from her laughter. Domme continues on with Jack. 

“The fumes aren’t too much, Ros?” Domme asks once her laughing spell settles. 

“I’m good, Mom. Promise.”

Jack opts for pink cheetah spots on the beach blonde base. Joe opts for a few kiss prints, which he offers up with a wink in the mirror. Jack and Roslyn gag at the exchange, having seen the shirt and jacket that has seemingly started the obsession. “They’re so in love it’s disgusting,” Roslyn chimes in. 

“Honestly, get a room,” Jack tacks on.

“You two are literally in our room,” Joe defends. “But, don’t make me kiss her. No one wants to see that, I bet,” Joe threatens. “Or should I use a few pick up lines on Mamas?”

“NO!” Roslyn and Jack scream simultaneously. 

Domme can only grin as she works on finalizing the last few prints on Joe. “I certainly wouldn’t mind,” she tacks on, knowing it won’t go over well with the kids. Jack and Ros gag again in unison. 

_____________

At the end of Joe’s first season back after Roslyn’s born, Joe and Domme sit down to re-evaluate their plan on kids. Both of them are pretty content with just the two. Domme’s the one to suggest that she could look into having her tubes removed since it would be a pretty permanent way to ensure she’d no longer get pregnant. Joe, on the other hand, is adamant that she’s not doing a goddamn thing like that. He shakes his head firmly. “No, that’s a lot for you to do. A vasectomy’s much faster and has less down time. Once the kids are a little older, if you really want that, you can. Just right now with both of them so young, I don’t want either one of us to take such extreme measures.”

Domme knows that no matter what they decide someone’s going to be down recovering. But she can see the way the blue in his eyes dulls as she speaks. “I made it through both deliveries in mostly good shape.” She did tear a little with Jackson, but it wasn’t a horrible healing. It was more annoying than anything else. 

“I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. And I don’t like you in a hospital gown at all either. Makes my heart hurt.”

She knows it does. Saw how deep his brows furrowed so deeply she’d worried he’d somehow wind up with permanent wrinkles much too young. “Well, we don’t want any more chest pains.”

Joe and Domme meet up with a few urologists and Joe selects the one he feels most comfortable with. By the end of March, he has an appointment for the following month. “Sorry to do this right around our wedding anniversary, but I don’t want to risk waiting too long,” Joe notes once he’s adding the appointment to the shared calendar. 

“It’s okay. It’ll give me an excuse to dote on you for a few days while you have no way to refute it. I appreciate you doing this though, for us.”

“Of course, baby.” 

Domme’s parents come up about five days to help her with the kids, though it’s absolutely an excuse to spoil their grandkids. Domme drives Joe to and from the office, and though she doesn’t like to see Joe in pain either, she has to take just a second to record him waddling down the steps, an ice pack on his crotch. “You do realize I could help you,” Domme notes in the recording. 

“I’m fine,” Joe huffs though his momentary distraction makes him forget the best way down the steps and he pauses for a moment, eyes closing as the slight groan of pain leaves his chest. “So, stairs require all of my concentration. Got it.”

“You alright there?” The video’s just of their feet now, but Domme offers her arm to Joe for some additional support. 

“Just get all the giggles out now. Because I am requesting a shit ton of kisses when we get home.”

“I can do that, baby. C’mon.”

Thankfully, Joe recovers well. He takes it easy that afternoon and for the next couple days later and has minimal bleeding post procedure. Jack takes it the hardest that his dad’s down for a few days and not running behind him like usual. “Is Daddy sick?” Jack asks, his bright eyes peering up at Domme. 

“It’s not sick like when you get sick. Papa Bear’s had a surgery, so he’s gotta be careful for a little bit. Needs us to give him a little extra tender, love, and care. That’s all, baby.” Domme grabs the secondary bag of peas for Joe, the ice cold air of the freezer brushing over her arms as she swaps them. 

“I help?”

“I’ve got it, bubbas. I’m okay.”

“I help.” And it’s in that little pout, the furrow of Jack’s brow that Domme sees Joe yet again. This iteration of the phrase is not a question, but a statement. 

“Okay,” Domme agrees. “You can help. Do you think you can draw a picture for Dad? Something to make him smile?”

“Yes, I can draw.”

“Perfect. Let me give him this and then I’ll get the supplies and we can surprise him.” Though Domme’s acutely aware that Joe’s listening to the whole exchange from the den. Just a few rooms down from them. 

Jack walks with Domme to the den. Joe’s grin tells her everything she needs to know as she hands Joe the fresh bag of frozen peas. “He’s your son,” she whispers against Joe’s forehead, “that’s for sure.”

“It gives me time to work on my shocked face.”

Jack’s careful as he walks further into the room. As if somehow if he moves wrong, it will cause a problem. “I going to help,” Jack mutters, a little less confident than he sounded in the kitchen, but somehow much more determined. 

“Oh, bud, Dad’s going to be okay,” Joe reassures. 

But Jack doesn’t seem to listen, or seemed particularly worried about the reassurance. Instead, he faces Domme, his face scrunched in determination. “Mamas, I need help.”

“Okay, if it’s about what we talked about in the kitchen, that’s next on the docket. Is it about the surprise?”

“Yes.”

She nods, presses one last kiss to Joe’s head. “You need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks, love.”

“Of course. My parents should be back in the next half an hour, so Roslyn will be returned here shortly before you send out a search party.”

“It’s not illegal to miss my daughter.”

“It’s not, but you get really pouty about it.”

“Because I love her,” Joe defends. 

“This is your last day in the tall tower, and then you shall be rescued and she will be ecstatic to be back in her daddy’s arms.”

Thank God for it, Joe thinks to himself. Instead he stretches up, cups the back of Domme’s head and brings her in for another kiss, then a second, followed up by a third. “My favorite nurse has been quite adamant about my recovery, so I can’t complain too much.”

“I got demoted! I cannot believe this. I pop out two babies and now I’m a nurse again. Can you believe this Jack Jack?”

“No,” Joe laughs. “You cannot bring him into this. He’s going to side with you and Ros is not old enough to speak fully to defend me!”

Domme huffs, collecting Jack who’s walked over to her. “Tell Daddy, I should be a doctor again. His favorite doctor.”

“Daddy, be nice,” Jack scolds. 

Joe hangs his head, the bottom lip rolling out as he faux pouts. “Daddy’s sorry. Mamas is my favorite doctor taking my recovery seriously.”

“Exactly,” Domme interjects. “Alright, now to the lab, Jack Jack!”

Joe watches them go, and wants to follow. He’s been banished to the den so he’s not as tempted to do too much too fast. But it’s not necessarily where he’d want to be, though he understands Domme’s insistence. The thing Joe realizes as he watches them leave, Jack’s face pinched boring directly at him, is that Joe loves being a Dad. Loves it more than he does playing football, which seemed like an impossibility until Domme came along and she turned everything Joe thought he wanted upside down in an instant. 

the music is blaring already. god…house parties.

it’s not that you hate them; in fact, you actually get to catch up with other classmates. but it’s all the extra junk that comes with it. trash, red solo cups that reek of beer, that one couple making out in the corner. it’s a lot to handle for most people. but you’ve become a pro and handling them.

so you step inside, and immediately, the music hits your eardrums. it’s a bit loud, but not too loud. you’ll manage. you stand off to the side, just people watching as you run a hand through your hair. typically party stuff really.

what surprises you the most is joe’s presence. he didn’t seem like much of a party guy, he was too calm and collected all the time. but he was here, with his friend ja’marr, who seems to notice you. he nudges joe’s elbow, nodding over to you with a smirk.

instead of a suave response, joe’s eye’s widen a bit, and rosy tint seems to spread over his face. you know that he likes you; hell, ja’marr has hinted to it with you before. but you didn’t think it would be like this. joe burrow, the charismatic quarterback for the university’s football team…is almost…flustered? no. no no, he is flustered. it’s as if he’s a school boy who’s seen an attractive girl at a party or something. wait…

anyways, you saunter over to joe, a confident smile plastered across your plush lips, which is tinted with a bit of lip gloss. “well hello, boys,” you greet ja’marr and joe, tilting your head with a cheeky gleam in your eyes. “didn’t think you guys would be here. no football tonight?”

“nah,” ja’marr shook his head, “they’re working on fixing the field still.”

meanwhile, joe has yet to utter a word. poor thing. he looks like he’s about to black out and hit the floor. his eyes are tracing over every part of your body, especially in your bodycon dress. the flushing in his cheeks has yet to go away. it’s…well, cute.

“say something…!” ja’marr taps joe’s shoulder, to which he opens his mouth to speak.

“um…you look…hot. i mean, not hot…! i mean, you are hot, but-” joe stammered, trying to save his fumble, but it was no use. what is there to even say or do after messing up that bad?

you don’t mind it though. shrugging off his nerves, you laugh, shaking your head. “relax…i’m honored you find me hot,” you smile, “besides…i’d say the same for you.” your hand finds its way to his shoulder as you look up at him. if joe weren’t in a crowded room with nearby bystanders, he’d be done for. something about that confident smize you possessed sent a shiver through his spine. every time you looked in his direction like that, his heart would thump at a million beats per hour, his palms would sweat, and man…would he be absolutely turned on.

for you, however, you’re quite focused on getting him alone. besides, he’s into you, and you’re into him. so, why not? you look around; everyone’s occupied with their own little things. hitting their dance moves, playing games, or passed out. perfect. you look at joe, slyly taking his hand and squeezing it.

“so,” you start off, your voice trailing in a teasing tone, “how about we enjoy some time alone? that is, if your friend doesn’t mind?” you ask, looking at ja’marr. he shrugs and gestures at you two, as if to say, go and have your fun. quite honestly, he’s been waiting for you guys to hook up. in fact, he’s in a bet with a few other offensive linemen on the football team about you and joe.

they’re gonna owe him so much money.

with that, you chuckle, swinging you and joe’s arms as you roam an empty hallway. the person holding the party has a massive house. there has to be a room somewhere. thankfully, after a small look around, you find a room. it’s not large, just a decent sized bed and a small tv on the wall. but it’ll do.

“y/n-”

you shush joe, looking up at him. “let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?” you grin, sitting next to him on the bed. you push some hair back behind your shoulder, a lustful and eager look in your eyes. “you and i both know,” you murmur, your hand gently resting on his chin, “that you like me…is that correct?”

joe once again stammers, “w-well, i mean-”

“yes or no, hun?” you ask once again, your voice a bit sharper, commanding even. goddamn, was it attractive. joe could never admit it, but he liked girls who knew what they wanted. girls who sought after what they wanted. and you were doing that right now, with him. the thought made his cock twitch in his pants.

“yes,” joe answered, nodding as he looks at you, his deep blue eyes piercing through yours, “yes, i like you, y/n.”

you let out a laugh, “see, wasn’t too hard to admit, huh?” as you ask this, your hand ever so slowly slides down joe’s chest. he’s well toned for sure, but he is an athlete of course. with your touch, joe could feel goosebumps in his wake, his breath hitching ever so slightly as he watches you lean in.

before you know it, your hand finds itself at the waistband of joe’s pants. you stop, rather focused on leaning in and kissing joe. once your lips connect, it’s over for him. he can’t help but relish the soft feeling of your lips, and your gloss tasted of vanilla, which he found satisfying. his hands find their way to your waist as you kiss him, but his grip isn’t too tight. you let out a faint moan at his touch, very softly letting your tongue dart against his lips.

the action was reciprocated, as joe too let his tongue engage in the kiss. the deeper the kiss got, the more handsy he got. his hands trail all over your body, as if he were trying to commit your body to memory. his hands finally rested upon your ass, squeezing it slightly with a groan. a muffled sound comes from your own lips. if he wants to play that way, then you’ll play that way too.

your hand moves lower, right above his hard-on. he lets out a small gasp as you move your hand the smallest bit,

pulling away for breath. “oh, shit…y/n…” he hissed, his head leaning back slightly. the sensation of your hand gliding over his clothed cock made him shiver. but it wasn’t enough. “fuck, please…”

“please…? so we’re pleading, now, huh?” you tease, your voice airy and filled with arousal as you watched his eyelids flutter shut. “well, what do want, baby?” you ask, murmuring into his ear.

“please…just…” he gasped, trying to find the words as he gripped onto the sheets on the bed. “touch me. p-please, i’ll do anything…”

you laugh, pulling away and placing your hand back on the waistband of his pants. you slowly pull them down, along with his boxers; his cock springs free, the tip being a bright pink shade and essentially throbbing. gently, you wrap your hand around his shaft, eliciting a soft moan from him. he looked delicious like this, his eyes rolling back as his grip on the sheets turned his knuckles white.

“oh…shit, y/n…” he groans, his hips almost immediately bucking at the movement of your hand around his girth. the way your hand slowly stroked him was both pleasing, and an evil tease at the same time. he’s trying to stay as still as possible, but it’s hard when you’re moving so slow.

deciding to be a bit less mean, you increased the pace of your hand, watching as he let out another moan, one that was a bit louder.

“hm? you like that, baby?” you ask, watching his face contort in pleasure. he nods, his breathing a bit erratic as he looks at you. his deep, ocean like eyes almost shifted into a pleading look, a far cry from his normal calm, stoic look. it’s almost pathetic. adorably pathetic. joe, the confident 6’4 quarterback, melting in the palm of your hand.

you run your thumb over his tip, a whine coming from his lips as his hips buck slightly. “ah~…oh my god…” he gasps out, watching the way your thumb swiped off the pre-cum from his shaft. this being paired with you jerking him off made him shiver. he was getting closer and closer to coming.

“god…you sound like heaven,” you continue stroking him quickly, your other hand gripping his thigh. his legs were shaking now, and his guttural moans shifted to whimpers and hushed pleas.

“nngh~. y/n…please…!” joe panted out, his chest intensely rising and falling as he looks at you.

“please, what? use your words, hun.” you coo, grabbing joe’s chin so he’d look at you.

“i-i wanna come…on your chest, please.”

you knew joe had a thing for your body, but it was your breasts in particular he liked. with that, you sink to the floor, pushing the top of your dress down and looking up at him as you quickly jerk him off.

“beg.”

joe looks at you, a bit confused and flustered, but too blinded by pleasure and want to question it. he nods, his pleas falling from his lips as he whimpers. “please, y/n~! pretty please, i wanna come on your chest so badly…f-fuck~! please…!” he begs, his hips jolting with your movements.

you smirk, looking up at him. “yeah? gonna come like the good boy you are?” you ask, tilting your head.

“yes~! please, i-i’ll come like…l-like a good boy!” he affirms, nodding as his eyes gloss over in pleasure. god…he looks wrecked. but in a blissful way.

you nod, and soon enough, a long moan is drawn from joe’s lips as he shoots his load onto your chest. his legs shake from his orgasm, pleasure waving over his body. after coming, he pants, looking down at you on the floor. you chuckle as you look up at him, using your finger and gently wiping the cum off your chest and licking it.

“well, well…who would’ve thought someone like you would enjoy being told what to do,” you laugh, standing up and looking at joe. “perhaps you could do me another favor? and fuck me?”

joe scoffed. “what, are you some sort of power bottom or something?”

“let’s just say that…i know what i want,” you grin, sliding off the rest of your dress before climbing on the bed and beckoning joe over to you.

and who would he be to disobey you?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

this was fun 😮‍💨 !! more sub!joe, me thinks…