#two people who thinks the other abandoned them and hates them and never cared for them

[notsodelirious]

By the seashore

synopsis: you and Dick get curious about each other

notes: NSFW MDNI, also unrealistic sex, like super unrealistic (like last time, if you’re fucking a monster, you deserve a little elasticity) and no gender mentioned but the reader has a cunt, so do with that what you will

tags: ambiguous relationship, p in v, mermaid sex, small moment of dubcon, oviposition, mer!Dick Grayson, wc: 2.5k words

@whistle1whistle (I know it’s been over two months, but just in case you were still interested <3)

I have nothing to say for myself just enjoy

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

 “Do mers have sex?” Dick looked up from the beads he was threading. He was lying on the rocky shore, halfway pulled out of the water, fins and tails still submerged in the clear tide pool. 

The sun shone behind you, warm against your back and shoulders, keeping the water a comfortable temperature. It was midday but the tide pool was roughly a dozen miles away from the public beach so it was deserted, not a soul around aside from the two of you.

“Umm, yes?”

“Huh,” you offered him more beads as you uncrossed your legs, dipping them into the water. 

“You sound surprised.”

“I mean I guess I just expected you to reproduce like fish, you know?”

“Should I be offended?” Dick snorted as he handed you a particularly beautiful pearl—you accepted it gratefully. 

“You said I looked like a horse when we first met.”

 It had been a while since you’d first met—back when you’d first started surfing, one miscalculation had you drowning in a riptide. 

To this day you knew that you wouldn’t be here without him. 

It had been easy to keep your mouth shut about how you’d survived—mysteriously washed up in a cove just a couple of miles from the main beach, people chalked it up to luck. 

Luck had a funny tail and pretty eyes. 

 “I still think you look like a horse.”

“Well I think you look like a dick.”

“Oh haha,” you ducked as his tail flicked up, spraying you with ocean water, “You’re so funny. You could even say you’re horsing around.”

You froze. 

Glared at him. 

You kicked water in his direction, but he just laughed, showing off sharp pearly white teeth. 

“I actually hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Dick slid over to you, abandoning the waistbeads he was threading, resting his arms on your lap instead. His hands were so careful as they held onto your thighs, carefully not to let sharp claws sink into soft malleable skin. 

You shivered at the feeling of wet skin pressed against your own. 

“You know,” he said softly, “I could show you.”

“Show me?” you echoed as you ran your hand through his hair—it looked unfairly luscious and dark for somebody who spent most of his time in salt water. 

“How mers have sex.”

“It’s not like sharks is it?” you teased, but the curiosity was still there—mers weren’t mammalian creatures but they weren’t fish either. 

They were an odd in-between that had never been studied. 

And you never wanted to study them—but that didn’t mean it didn’t leave you wondering.

“Nothing like that,” he laughed as he moved his hands to push himself out of the pool, his face hovering just inches away from yours—water cascaded down his form, leaving his tan skin glistening softly in the sun. “It can’t be that different from humans, right?”

“Well I couldn’t tell you,” you said softly as you cupped his face, brushing your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as they parted softly for you. “I’ve never had sex with a mer.”

“Never had sex with a human either,” he breathed against your thumb. You hummed, pulling your thumb away just enough to see the entirety of his pretty face again.  

You gently guided him away from you, just enough so you’d have the space to pull your shirt or shorts off and part your thighs for him. 

You heard him inhale softly. 

“Why is it so far back?” he asked after a moment and a surprised laugh slipped from your mouth. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s just-” You moaned softly as cold fingers brushed against your folds, pet them carefully, parted them to reveal your opening. “It’s like, right under you.”

“Yeah, it is,” you laughed again, softer this time—given a little more time to process his confusion, it became endearing. He sounded almost concerned. “Do you like it?”

“Can I taste it?” he asked as he looked up at you through dark wet lashes while he sank back down into the water, between your knees. “Would that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed as you parted your legs further, “You can taste. Just… watch the teeth?”

Dick chuckled softly as he grabbed your thighs, pushing them open a little further to lay his eyes on his food. 

“I won’t bite,” he promised. He gently grazed his teeth along the inside of your thigh, making you shiver, but he held strong as you flinched. 

Oh fuck.

You were well and truly at his mercy. 

 You leaned back on your hands as you watched him sit between your thighs. He tugged you a little closer to the edge before licking a long stripe up your slit. 

“Mmh!” Your head dropped forward as he continued to softly lap at you, curious and searching. 

His tongue was so mobile it made your toes curl. You were panting before you realised it, half-aborted motions to roll your hips against his tongue. 

He devoured you as you grew wet, just as eager as he was exploratory. His tongue prodded your entrance, making you moan softly, muffling the rest of your sounds in your hand as he pushed it further. 

Your eyes rolled back and you keened as you were stretched out slowly on his tongue, with nowhere to run but further onto his tongue. 

“Dick,” you moaned, “So close, so-”

He pulled back, just enough to suck and lick at your clit. In retrospect you were glad your little corner of the beach was empty for the way you screamed, clutching Dick’s hair until you finally came all over his face, soaking him in your pleasure. 

He pulled away from you, recognising your trembling for the overstimulation that it had become. 

“You taste good,” he said before licking his lips and holy shit, that had been inside of you.

You don’t think you had ever really acknowledged how disproportionately long and thin it had been. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he reached up to cup your face. You recovered, shaking your head before leaning your cheek into his palm. 

“Yes,” you smiled, “Fine. Great in fact, thank you.”

Dick huffed as he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“Didn’t realise humans got so wet,” he teased as he looked down between your legs. 

“Do mers not get wet?” the question sounded idiotic as soon as you said but thankfully Dick didn’t actually comment. 

“Less so,” he hummed as he let his hand fall away before gently helping you a little further down closer to the water. “More like…”

He grabbed your hand, guiding it down to the soft underside of his tail. You could feel where the skin softened just the slightest bit, where there was a little give. 

Trailing your fingers over the spot had Dick panting, pressing his head against your shoulder. You gasped when your finger accidentally slipped into his slit, warm and sticky as Dick squirmed. 

You watched his body, watched the slow roll of his hips as he urged your fingers to explore just a little further. 

“Does this hurt?” you asked softly, watching him shake his head as you dragged your fingers across the opening, that most definitely wasn’t there before. 

“No,” he shook his head, shaking droplets from his wet hair. “Here, just-”

He guided your fingers, keeping your movements slow until you were kindly coaxing his cock out from his slit. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed as you loosely fisted him, watching the way he shivered and moaned. It was so warm, so unlike his skin which was cold to the touch. 

It didn’t look human in the slightest, in fact you’d be concerned if somebody’s cock pulled towards the same shade of blue as Dick’s did—it tapered towards the tip too, which fascinated you.

He caught your wrist, looking up at you with wide, teary eyes.

“Give me a second,” he pleaded, and you released him almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m just sensitive-”

“No, it’s okay,” you said, “You’re really pretty—it just surprised me. Sorry, I don’t know where I expected it to be.” 

“Where else would it go?” Dick chuckled as he brushed his nose along your jaw, kissing tender skin softly. 

“I dunno,” you mumbled, feeling a little warm from embarrassment and lust, “Humans just have it… like, out.”

“Always?” You nodded as you looked down, gaze flicking between him and his dick. “You can touch me now if you want.”

“Do all mers self-lubricate?” Your fingers brushed against his tip, gauging his reaction before properly wrapping your hand around him. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed as he nodded, his breathing deepening slightly as you began to move again. 

“Generous.”

Dick laughed and pulled you a little closer to the water, until your hips were level, “I’m more concerned about the fact that humans just always have their dicks out—what if somebody attacks them?”

“I-” you blinked at him in disbelief before falling into a fit of giggles. 

“Or it gets caught on something?”

“We wear clothes!”

“Still sounds terrifying.”

“Rest assured, most people have intact dick and balls.”

“Human balls are external too?”

You lost your grip as you laughed into his shoulder, letting an absolutely distraught merman hold you. 

“How are you not extinct?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled, cupping his face with your clean hand, bringing the other to your lips—you licked it clean, slowly, savouring Dick’s arousal. “Just fuck me?”

His eyes followed your tongue as you licked yourself clean and a grin etched across his face. 

“Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

 The water was nice around your legs as you were slowly lowered closer to Dick. 

He dragged his cock through your folds, making you instinctively buck your hips in return—he kissed your temple, wrapped his arms around your body. 

“Ready?”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck as he finally pushed into your wet pussy. 

You moaned softly, cunt gently spasming around his large cock, struggling to accept his morphology—it was thicker, longer, more intrusive than anything your poor fuckhole was meant to handle—it tickled against your cervix, making you moan and tremble, as his cock squirmed in you, determined to push his thin tip into your tight opening.

“Okay?”

“You’re so much bigger than you look,” you mumbled between breaths. You eventually pulled away a little to look up at him. “Okay, I’m good.”

The beginnings of movement were slow at first, like he was taking his time discovering your body too, petting your thighs, his eyes focused on your glistening pussy, fascinated.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled softly as he undulated his hips, water softly sweeping across your body as he rocked into you, thrusting his cock in and out of you over and over again, stretching you out, carving a space out for himself. He brushed his fingers along the bump in your belly, fascinated every time he made it return, ignoring how you moaned and babbled for him.

“Are you all so soft?”

You looked up at him, slightly dazed and flustered.

“I’m-” you panted as you tried to find words, but he shifted his hips, just enough for you to reach heaven for moment, “Dick… fuck, you’re-”

Your eyes rolled back slightly as he increased his pace, the sound of wet skin on scales echoing as he bounced you on his cock, smearing fluids everywhere. You reached down to touch your own clit, moaning his name loudly, rocking back against him as his dick bullied itself deeper and deeper into you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Dick mumbled as he gripped your waist, petting your sides, cold hands dimpling your skin—hesitantly, he replaced your fingers on your clit with his own, making you keen and whine like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you breathed as he rubbed your clit, his hips slamming into you faster and faster until you were squirting all over him, drenching his scales in your cum, making him gasp in elated surprise.

He didn’t stop fucking you as he reached his fingers up to taste them, long tongue slipping between sharp teeth to lick your slick off his skin before he was shoving his tongue down your throat instead, forcing your now limp, overworked body to accept his throbbing cock.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if it had been a mistake, underestimating how long he could actually fuck you for. Until you passed out? Your body twitched softly in his grasp, quickly working its way back to an orgasm, his cock squirming like it had a mind of its own, swelling and throbbing.

“Dick,” you mumbled as you panted, flustered and exhausted, staring up at him as he stared where your body connected.

“I’m here, love, right here.”

He slammed into your hips a couple more times before he buried himself as deep into your pussy as possible, the narrow tip of his cock nestled past your cervix, just in the opening of your womb—it was wildly uncomfortable but not yet painfully.

 You simply breathed as you waited for Dick, to finish, pull away, call it a day and disappear back into the ocean, when you felt it—his cock swelled a little more before a viscous liquid pearled from his cock to be deposited into your bare womb, like thick syrup. You heard him grunt before his cock swelled again and the facts finally slotted into place.

Eggs.

He was laying clutches of eggs in your warm body, slowly stuffing your body with tiny mer eggs, no bigger than a pearl no doubt. The small bulge in your tummy grew, until it was firm and near painful, your body stuffed full of hundreds of little eggs—you ran your fingers across your skin, feeling the little bumps when you pressed down.

“Feel so full,” you mumbled as you dropped your head but Dick caught it before kissing your face kindly, your nose, cheeks, lids—he was so soft in his affection, you almost teared up. He treated you as if you had been his lifelong love, his cherished lover, like you were the moon and the stars and the entire night sky and he couldn’t love you any more. He cradled you against his cold body but by that point, you had stopped shivering, the sex still lingering, tingling and warm in your limbs.

“Shh, you did great. You were perfect.”

“Are they… are they gonna grow?” you mumbled as you tucked your face against his neck, staring down at your stuffed belly. You felt him shake his head, small droplets scattering across your shoulders.

“Can’t fertilise them,” he said, almost dejectedly, as if mad his own body couldn’t fulfil more than what it had grown to do. Part of you wondered what that truly meant, the other, bigger part of you simply too tired to care at that point, full and satiated and on the brink of sleep. “You can’t fall asleep here.”

Dick shook your shoulder gently, laughing as you grumbled and glared at him. 

“At least get back on the rocks so you can dry off properly.”

You grumbled more but agreed, slipping off his cock and letting him help you out of the pool, sinking onto the sun-warm rocks. 

“Wake me up when the sun starts to set.”

“Sure thing, love,” a cool hand brushed over your forehead, “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

 (“So, it wasn’t that different, right?”

“The eggs were definitely a surprise.”

“Oops—probably should have figured.”)

 •─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I think mers are ovoviviparous, but one party lays eggs into a second party, and then a third fertilises them—why did I come up with such a complex system? Because I get to make the rules to my silly little fantasy world—anyway, that’s what’s happening here

Hope you enjoyed this nonsense, here’s Jason’s monsterfucker fic (werewolf) and here’s my masterlist along with my wips list <3 (requests are currently closed as I work through my current projects)

[thesoftboiledegg]

The writers' choice to stray away from B-plots in recent seasons has been controversial. Some people have criticized this decision because it means we spend less time with the other characters. Personally, I've enjoyed it because it gives us more time to focus on the main story--and man, as far as B-plots go, I REALLY wish this episode didn't have one.

The Earth World subplot was creative enough, and I'll admit that it was nice to see the whole Smith family in an episode for a change. But every time the story veered away from the Beths, I couldn't wait to return to their adventures. We've only got 20 minutes to spare, and their story is so much more interesting than a goofy subplot that doesn't reveal anything new about the characters.

Well, maybe it revealed a little about Morty. "I'm not gonna shit on it too hard because I know you'd punish me." Ouch. No matter how much Rick changes, the memory of his past abuse still lingers.

And the Beths have a lot of complicated memories, too. "The CuRicksous Case of Bethjamin Button" is a solid episode, but I wish we had time to really dive into their sadness, grief, frustration and contradictory feelings toward their father and each other. Without it, the happier scenes at the end don't completely feel "earned."

In any case, I hope this is the start of something bigger. This show has underutilized Beth for far too long.

I was glad to see two women credited as the head writers for this episode (Heather Anne Campbell and Jess Lacher) because they'd truly understand the weirdness of girlhood. As a former weird girl myself, this episode nailed it. Little girls are loud, rowdy, creative, daring and ambitious, but despite it all, we crave our parents' love and approval.

Beth, of course, is a little rowdier than most girls. I wish we'd learned more about her childhood because it's still fairly muddy. She's violent like her father, but the show keeps implying that he was kinder when he was younger, so was Beth just vicious on her own? Or are we getting the wrong impression about Rick? Or did something else happen? It's still a mystery.

Beth and Space Beth's dynamic is intriguing because they respect and care for each other, but they also see each other's worst traits in themselves, so they often end up at each other's throats. Still, they always end up reconciling because nobody understands them as well as they do. They have such different lives, and yet they ended up in the exact same mental state.

At the start, it was nice to see them acknowledge that they can't keep blaming Rick for everything. He fucked up, but they're adults who make their own decisions--well, until they get into the de-aging machine, I guess. After Rick happily lived as a child in "Cryo Mort a Rickver," we've had two episodes in a row about age regression. Don't let Rick de-age himself, because he might not want to change back.

When the Beths started raising hell in a seemingly aimless A-plot and the B-plot kept Rick away from the house, I figured we'd miss our chance to see Rick interact with his little girl. But nope, the writers had a pleasant surprise in store: Rick leaving the trip early to confront his daughters alone.

That decision resulted in some juicy character scenes. The Beths take advantage of Rick's genuine fatherly concern to trap him in the machine and turn him into a 360-year-old geezer, then proceed to kick his ass. Inevitably, their glee melts into tears. And finally, the show addresses something that's driven me crazy for ages: Rick tells the Beths that he never left them.

I've always hated how Rick apparently told them off-screen, and it didn't seem to affect the way the family treated him. The Smiths insulted him for YEARS, thinking he abandoned his daughter, and we just...never find out how they reacted to the truth? This episode doesn't totally rectify that, but at least we see Beth admit that she needs to blame somebody, and he's the only Rick available.

Beth tries to protect herself with an icy exterior, but in the end, she's just a lonely little girl who wants her father's love. Her biological father is gone, but after all these years, the Rick who stayed is finally ready to give it to her.

I would've preferred this episode without a B-plot, but I'll admit that Summer and Jerry loudly ruining Rick's moment with the Beths was hilarious. This is still the Sanchez/Smith family, after all. They might be changing, but they're always up for wacky sci-fi hijinks--and poor Gene keeps getting caught in the way.

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - 15

Order of Affairs

Mob Boss Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/faking death, mentions of depression, cursing, smut

A/n: Thank you all so much for reading! And for commenting and reblogging and sending asks. I absolutely adore chatting about this story with y’all and I’m so happy you care enough to want to discuss. Enjoy this chapter and new phase of our Mob babies!

Previous Chapter

____________________________________________

The kitchen buzzes with the unintelligible hum of the men in the other room, all of them gathered for the early morning meeting session Nico called a few days ago after your visit to the cemetery. Later than he would’ve preferred but things needed to be planned out, Timo needed to return home before he could make any big moves.

Jack’s overly excited voice rises above the others, flowing into the kitchen and you can’t help but smile to yourself. When Luke first told you that they always called Jack by the name of Rowdy growing up, you didn’t even have to question it. Bright and early on a Wednesday morning and he sounds like he’s at Disneyland.

“Black coffee? That’s not a good sign.”

You gasp at the familiar voice, abandoning Nico’s plain, bitter coffee on the counter in favor of whirling around. Timo is standing there, having just coming in through the garage door and even though it was only two weeks without him he looks different. Fuller maybe, happier for sure.

“You’re home!” You screech, and he laughs as Moose comes barreling in at the noise. Racing the dog across the kitchen, you wrap your arms around Timo and he does the same, squeezing you tightly. Moose sniffs at his pants and shoes.

“Worst trip of my life,” he says, jokingly. “2 weeks without you? Never again.”

Of course it wasn’t the worst trip of his life. He’s practically glowing from the inside out but the sentiment warms your heart anyway.

“Ugh I missed you so much.” You say, pulling back from him. He ruffles your hair, shoving you back towards the island so you can finish making your morning tea and add sugar to Nico’s coffee. Even though he told you not to.

He leans against the counter, turning up his nose at Nico’s mug. “He’s so stressed he’s abandoned creamer again?”

It’s a known thing between you two that when Nico has a lot going on, when he’s been dealing with something as stressful as the situation with your family, he gets laser focus. Focus that will apparently be hindered by any kind of sugar in his morning caffeine. You think he’s a little dramatic though and you hate kissing him after he’s had black coffee, the bitterness lingering on his breath, so you sneak in some sugar anyway.

“I don’t even know if he’s stressed,” you admit, “it’s more like he’s just so angry that this is all he cares about.”

Timo gives you a knowing look, “you mean you’re all he cares about.” Shrugging, you don’t verbally confirm his statement but the pleased smile you can’t contain says enough. Nico’s lost you too many times before and he’s not about to let it happen again at the hands of another family member.

“Seriously though,” he continues, playfulness gone as you mix in sugar cubes to your own cup of tea. “I mean this was a lot. Even if you’re going to downplay it for his sake or whatever. Your parents are fucked for what they did and I’m sure whatever Nico is doing is justified.”

Dropping a couple cubes into Nico’s cup, you shrug. “I know it’s justified. I’m the one that approved it all.” The kitchen goes still, your gaze locked on where you’re stirring the sugar around the mug. The only sound is the drag of the spoon and the chatter of the boys in the other room.

Timo ducks his head down, catching your gaze with a giddy smirk. “You approved it all? Really?”

“Well don’t be so surprised,” you scoff, “I beat you and Nico in Switzerland didn’t I? Besides, he promised me then that I get to have a say in getting back at people who hurt me so.”

Timo snickers, totally pleased and when you meet his gaze with a shy grin he’s beaming so wide his smile looks like it’s about to fall off the sides of his face.

“Thank god,” he laughs, “I was thinking I’d come home and you’d be going rouge again. Hopefully taking me with you this time.”

You roll your eyes. “I could never go completely rouge on Nico, you know that.” He gives you an imploring look and you sigh. “Of course I’d invite you this time Timo.”

He reaches across the island to ruffle your hair. “I’d go with this time, just for the record.”

“I think Nico would too,” you laugh, “but tell me about Switzerland! How was Amelia? Is she going to come visit?”

Timo doesn’t get the chance to respond. Nico is in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he nods back towards the dining room. “He can tell you later. Meeting is starting.”

You both stand up straighter at his tone, shifting from playful to all business. Timo purses his lips, motioning for you to go first and you do, Nico’s coffee in hand while yours sits on the counter to cool. You hand it to him as you pass, pressing a kiss to the harsh line of his clenched jaw in hopes that it eases him a little bit. His features don’t relax, but he pats at your side appreciatively. Him and Timo share a brief hug in greeting, the three of you lining up at the end of the table packed full of every Devils mob member.

Nico takes a sip of his coffee, setting it on the table top and the room falls quiet, Jack and Luke waving at you from their seats just to the left of Nico. You smile, wiggling your fingers back at them as Nico clears his throat.

“I know this is a different look to our usual meetings,” he begins, hands on his hips. “And I know you all know what that means.”

The hush that has taken over the room feels heavy, strained by Nico’s confirmation that this isn’t just a regular weekly meeting. It was obvious from the nervous chatter earlier that they did in fact know something was up. Nico has never moved a meeting to a private location. That’s only done when there’s a shift from the normal practices and laws of the Devils. When Nico first explained to you how their meetings work, he’d briefly mentioned his ability to move meeting locations. He’d only ever do it when he needed something to stay entirely between him and the Devils. It’s used for extra protective measures that way when Nico changes rules or protocols, he can insure it stays within the group. It gives them a cushion of surprise against an enemy.

You don’t know if the boys are aware of who this enemy is today. Of course the ones that had been with you that day know, but you have no clue what Nico has told the others. Maybe he hasn’t said anything and that’s why so many of them eagerly lean forward, hanging on his every word.

“There’s going to be some changes for the time being. I don’t have a timeline on how long you’ll have to abide by them but you will follow everything I say today until I give word.”

He pauses for a moment to let it sink in, the words hanging in the air far more grave than they should be. Alex catches your eye, his eyebrows pinched together in worry and you give him a reassuring nod. Nico has to be serious for this because it is serious. He’s not trying to scare Alex or any of the boys, he just needs them to know that this is important.

“The following protocols are to be memorized and used 24/7. Meaning you’re all on shift, always. Even when you’re at home, you keep them in practice, got it?”

A chorus of agreement comes from the table. Nico eyes them all for another beat before continuing, his tone not as barking anymore. His eyes stay dark and observing through, his jaw still clenched. The knuckles of his hands are white where they’re gripping his sides.

“This first one is the most important and I want no arguing or negotiating on it,” Nico sends Alex and the Hughes boys a pointed look. “Y/n is with me at all times. If either of us have to go in for work, we go together. Other than that, we’ll be running everything out of the house here.”

Alex gives you another worried look but doesn’t attempt to argue or question Nico. You have a feeling he’s waiting though until it’s just you two and him. He’d never question his boss in front of everyone, but he will ask his guardian after they’ve all left.

“With that in place, Timo is taking over all face-to-face business with Hischier Enterprises. Everyone under that side will report to him in person and follow what he says. For matters that absolutely require y/n, you come here or do it over the phone. Unless I say so, she won’t be at the penthouse. And you’re all still in charge of wellness checks and emergency signals without her. Timo will work out a schedule with you guys.”

Timo takes a step forward, pointing a finger at the line of boys that work under you and him. At his gesture, they all sit up a little straighter.

“Merc you’re with me now. All the second hand stuff you were doing before is the same, it’s just you’re my second hand for now.”

Your best friend steps back in line with you and Nico, Mercer’s gaze falling to you questioningly. Amused, you step up now, nodding at him.

“Keep training under Timo,” you tell him, “have his back the same way you did with mine. As for the rest of you…”

The three boys wait with wide and expectant eyes, intently waiting for instruction from you. “Johnny and Alex will stick together on all assignments, and while you’re technically still under the Enterprise, you’ll be following special orders from Nico and I. You’ll report here every morning instead of the penthouse.”

Just like you thought he would, Alex relaxes back into his seat, features softening into an almost pleased smile. Luke, however, has put together that with you out of the day-to-day picture, he’s now the odd man out, and his desperate gaze reflects that.

“You’ll be back with Jack,” you tell him, “the two of you will split time between handling some things for Timo and me, and handling other tasks on Nico’s side.”

Your fiancé steps in then, a heavy hand finding your lower back as he moves to your side. Addressing Jack, he says, “You’re going to have to step up a bit, do more for Jesp and Jonas who will be covering my post, yeah?”

Jack nods, bringing his hand up to his forehead in a far too serious salute. Nico ignores him, nudging you back when you let out a giggle. Your part is done now, at least for the rest of the meeting so you stand silently next to Timo, listening intently even though you’re already aware of the new rules.

“The boys working with me,” Nico starts, crossing his arms over his chest again. “I’m upping surveillance meaning I’m also upping everyone’s shifts. You’ll also be on a buddy system. Jonas and Jesp will give you your assignments after the meeting.

“These aren’t just bar watch assignments. The whole city is to be monitored. On top of camera surveillance, you’ll have patrolling shifts with your buddy. Our target areas are Devs protected establishments, particularly ones in Jersey City.”

If any of the boys realize his intentions with the new rules, they don’t react to it. Aside for your boys, you’re not exactly sure what the others know of your past. They know you’re from here, that you lost your family for this like so many others did. But you can’t even begin to guess what they’ve all been told about your journey into Nico’s life.

Do they know about the cemetery? About the deli too? Has Nico let anyone know that you’ve been disowned and treated like trash by your parents? They probably could guess it by Nico’s new protocols. Everyone knows he would never let anyone get away with disrespecting you. He’s said before that he’d burn cities and wage wars for you. Do they know that’s what he’s doing now?

Are all of these men eager to get in the line of fire for you?

“Last but not least,” Nico runs a thoughtful hand through his hair, settling it on his hip. “I’m putting the word out. Any business with Devs horns on the window is forbidden from serving y/n’s family. Names and photos will be distributed and any form of business, in person or not, is not permitted.”

There’s an almost still reaction, like the air in the room grows solid at his words. In all his years in New Jersey, Nico has never laid out such a rule for their businesses. He never wanted to be the cruel boss, never wanted to take away from the creativity and free flow of the city that made it so great. Nico loves New Jersey, you know that, the boys know that. This shift in rules particularly says enough.

He’s drawing battle lines. He’s getting a step ahead because for the first time, Nico is preparing the Devils for the biggest defensive action they’ve ever taken. They’re not just surviving now, not just living in the fabrics of New Jersey. He is preparing for their first territory battle.

All of it at the defense of you.

It doesn’t hit you lightly.

Since joining the Devils, you knew your place in the family was different. Nico had always told you as much, Timo had warned you from the get-go. You would never just be a member. Unlike the others, you didn’t come to Nico and join out of circumstance. No, he came to you. Nico made the space for you here. More so, he made that space a place of leadership and power.

He changed the entire layout of Devils so that you ruled alongside him. Most other families simply marry the women into the group and rely on them to bring up the next generation of members.

Nico didn’t bring you into the Devs for that, to be a wife and a mother, to be a homemaker. He brought you in because he loves you, because he wants to share the family he built with you. And he wants you to keep building it by his side rather than from his shadow.

It’s a lot to take in, being loved so much. Especially coming off the low of being cut out by your family. Their only daughter, the miracle baby they never thought they’d have, and yet they let that miracle fade out. Your parents are living the lonely, childless, two-income life they used to say they feared. And it’s all at their own hand.

Knowing that they’d rather live in their worst nightmare than with you being happy hurts in a way you can’t explain. It’s the same feeling you’d imagine Luke and Jack have towards their family. Alex too, especially with the state of his departure from Sweden. At least the Hughes boys have contact with their mother.

You and Alex have nothing of the sort. Unloved, unspoken of, forgotten and abandoned by the mothers that were supposed to love you unconditionally and whole heartedly.

Nico dismisses the meeting with a final order for them all to touch base with either Jonas and Jesper, or Timo and Mercer in the case of your boys. Your best friend has only a moment to pass by you, briefly touching the bend of your elbow with a reassuring gaze as he heads to gather with the younger boys.

Lost in thought, you stare at Nico’s abandoned coffee mug on the table top until he’s touching the small of your back, fingers warm through the thin fabric of your cotton tee.

“You okay?” He asks, eyebrows creased in concern when you blink up at him, lightly shaking your head out of its stupor. Now that he’s no longer running the meeting, and a such a serious one at that, you tuck into his body, hands coming up to rest on his chest.

“Yeah,” you promise, “it’s just a lot.”

You don’t have to further explain because he already knows. It’s a lot to do for just you. Even though you looked over this plan with him and approved of it all, it still feels like too much for just you. Him putting the boys in danger like this, pulling focus away from whatever was going on over in New York.

What if he misses something significant there because he’s too focused here? Too focused on you?

“For you,” he murmurs, gravely “it’s not enough. You’ve spent years missing them, hoping that one day they’d come around just to be hurt beyond reason. With us, with me, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to make up for that.”

Rising to your toes, you press a kiss to the scar on the corner of his lips, then another to his mouth, smiling when his hold on your waist tightens.

“I know. I’m just worried that we’re going to miss something else because we’re so busy with this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Miss something like the Rags?” At your hum of confirmation he continues. “We’re not going to miss anything. Lee is keeping an eye out and with you and me being together all the time, we’ll pay attention. There’s enough of us to deal with your family and deal with whatever Trouba is up to.”

You hadn’t thought of that before. How being home with Nico everyday will open up your schedules now. Even if the sole focus is work, you’re bound to get time with just him. Unless there’s an absolute emergency, he’s all yours.

A part of you warms at the thought. You’ve missed him lately. It feels like ever since you got back from the hot mess that was Vancouver, you only see him at night or the couple hours put aside to teach him to drive the new car. At this point though, he’s pretty much got it down and your lessons have turned into driving around the city with the windows down, having sex in the backseat, and then going for food. Not that you’re complaining but it’ll be nice to be at home with him more often.

“I don’t want to be on lockdown Nico,” you say though, thinking of Switzerland. You had this conversation then and you’re hoping to god he didn’t just forget it. “Please don’t ask me to stay in the house with 24 hour surveillance. I want to actually help and actually be a part of it.”

He smiles down at you with mirth, pretty dimples in his cheeks and eyes moony with fondness. Something else glints there too, underneath all that warmth and love, a look of pride, and you know he didn’t forget.

“You won’t be,” Nico assures, tucking your hair behind your ear. He takes your chin between two fingers, his thumb tracing over the dip of it with a touch so soft it makes your whole chest grow hot. “I’m not locking you up in a tower and leaving you here. The reason you’re going to be with me all the time is for emergencies. If something happens with the guys, I need you close so you can make a decision right away.

“You’re leading us here, baby. I’m just the messenger.”

Almost giddy, you giggle and blush like a schoolgirl at his words. It makes him chuckle too, tucking his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. Faintly, you wonder if maybe you and him are crazy. Laughing and kissing over the knowledge that together you’re both about to make your parents lives absolute hell. Maybe the mob did change you, did make you in this unrecognizable and unredeemable person.

Alex sidles up and you break back from Nico to pull him into a hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back in greeting. You didn’t really see the boys when they got here this morning, not that there was much time for chatting with them anyway. Though you wish there had been because Alex is turning to Nico before you’ve even fully let go of him.

“I want to stay with you guys,” he says firmly, to no one’s surprise. “After Switzerland and stuff she should have two of us with her. Especially since it’s personal this time and I understand Italian basically so I can translate.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Nico stares down at Alex with a raised eyebrow, as if he’s actually considering the offer. You have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at his little game. You were the one to assign Alex and Johnny to special assignments under Nico, simply because you wanted Alex with you. When Nico downright refused to leave you with just Alex, this was the compromise.

You knew Alex wouldn’t be entirely happy with it, at least not until he understands what the promotion, so to speak, actually means. Which is why you wanted to explain to him before hand. Now Nico gets to have his fun with it.

“Johnny is fluent,” Nico counters, “maybe I should keep him and send you with Timo. He’s got a lot more experience too which is safer for her.”

Even with his back to you, you can picture the way Alex’s mouth drops open in offense. His whole body bristles, hands coming out to his sides as he squawks, “what? No I want to stay! Come on Nico don’t send me with Timo. Please let me stay here.”

Nico clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…” he shrugs, looking around at the few boys still lingering and Alex keeps blocking his gaze, stepping side to side so that Nico is always looking at him.

“Okay,” you laugh, cutting in after Alex lets out a distressed huff. “Alex I assigned you and Johnny together.”

He whips around, gaze wounded and mouth open in offense. You quickly shush him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Special assignments from Nico means you’ll be with us most of the time. Unless there’s an actual location you need to be at with Johnny, the two of you will be monitoring and working with us.”

His whole body relaxes, features morphing into a happy smile and he shrugs, “Oh cool.” Like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just get all wound up and defensive over the thought of not working with you and Nico.

“Oh cool,” Nico mocks, pinching at the back of Alex’s neck and he yelps, shoulders hunching up to try and get away from the sting. “Who do you think you are questioning us, huh?”

His tone is light hearted and teasing, easy going as him and Alex start shoving and pinching at each other.

“I’m a hyphenated Hischier,” Alex retorts, sticking his tongue out and then laughing when Nico jabs at the soft spot between his chest and arm. “I can say what I want here.”

They keep half wrestling and bickering, Alex laughing at each little poke and swipe as Nico backs him into the wall. He’s not giggling quite as much as Alex, but he’s got that smile on his face he only gets with the boys, especially Alex. The one that crinkles by the corners of his eyes, narrows them so much he’s all dark and long eyelashes, jaw clenched as he tries and fails to fight back that big of a grin.

Timo slings his arm over your shoulders, squeezing you into his side and you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Glad he’s still having fun,” Timo says, referring to Nico. “Didn’t really know how he’d be with all of this.”

You know what he means. Nico can be far too serious sometimes, shouldering things that are too heavy for just him but he never tries to share the burden. He likes being the to one to do it. To fix things, to take care of everyone, especially you. Even if it’s not good for him, he’ll wear it.

“Yeah,” you agree, “Alex is good at getting to him to take a breath and start acting his age instead of like a 50 year old man.”

Timo laughs under his breath, the two of you still watching them fight with each other. Moose has joined in now, wiggling between their legs and bullying his head into Nico’s knee or Alex’s calf.

“You think we’re ready for this?” You ask Timo, a little quieter than before.

He’s silent for a beat, contemplating. “Yeah I think so. Like I said before, Nico is ready for everything. Even when the rest of us aren’t.”

“I really missed you.” You turn into his side, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing him tight. He returns the embrace, patting at your back soothingly.

“I missed you too, a lot. We’ve got a lot to catch up on huh?”

There’s so much to talk about. Not just the rundown of what happened with your parents and everything else concerning work, but with just you two. You want to tell him how much it sucked seeing them that day. How stupid and powerless you felt. That you really wish he’d seen how well Mercer did too. And you want to know about Amelia and Switzerland, if they talked more about the future. You want to ask if he saw Luca or Katja, how they’re doing. Did they mention Nina too?

Right now isn’t the time though. Nico’s let Alex go by now, ruffling his hair before giving him room to escape into the kitchen. Which means it’s time to get work now. Starting with a visit to your gravesite.

~~~~

“This is actually insane.”

Nico scoffs out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head in disbelief and planting his hands on his hips. It’s such a far off look from the man that was horsing around with Alex this morning, laughing and full of light that you immediately reach for his arm, hooking your hand through the crook of his elbow.

“That’s one word for it,” he mutters, but he lets out a deep breath and stretches his arm out to you, lets you tuck your fingers between his.

“At least it’s going to be gone.” You offer as a comfort, and then, like he’s trying to back up your statement, the slow rumble of the crane starts up from across the way, the groundskeeper already rolling it forward and towards your plot.

“Where am I supposed to put my flowers for you?” Timo pouts, the store bought bouquet of white roses in his hand and you laugh. Nico, who doesn’t find it very funny, reaches around you to snatch them away.

“Hey,” you complain, “those are mine!” He dodges your swiping hand, tucking the gathered stems of the flowers under his other arm. The crane inches forward, the three of you backing up to give it more room. You shift in the thick leather jacket Nico insisted you wear, the fabric hot and sticky in the humid air. Between that and red bandana tied over your head, pinning down your hair that’s grown frizzy, it’s almost unbearable out here.

You’d take sweating in Nico’s jacket and hiding behind devils red any day though if it means you get to see this. It swells up inside you, bubbling in your gut the closer the claw of the crane gets. Your fingers squeeze Nico’s, the relief and excitement growing and growing as the metal teeth enclose around the top of the headstone, digging into the stone until it cracks. There’s no need to preserve this stupid rock anyway.

You almost laugh at how easily it’s lifted into the air, not even constructed to look or act like a real grave marker. Temporary. Hastily done. It makes you wonder what the point even was. Did they plan on removing it if you ever came back? Pretending nothing happened? That they never did this? Or was it made so shitty because they put no real thought into killing you off? They made the decision and just executed it off the bat.

“That’s a little lackluster,” you grumble, “It’s so small. I fake died and they couldn’t even get one that goes buried in the ground?”

Nico elbows you, gaze unimpressed under those dark eyebrows of his. You wish he could see your eyes through your black sunglasses, see that you do find this kind of funny. You jut your bottom lip out at him.

“You’d never do this to me, right baby?” At your teasing tone his lips twitch, fighting back an amused smile that just eggs you on. “Right?” You press your chin into his bicep, nudging his arm annoyingly so.

“No I wouldn’t,” he assures through a grumble, rolling his eyes fondly. “Build a fucking statue for you baby, okay?”

Smirking proudly, you rise to your toes and press a chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Yeah I know. Nico Hischier and too small have never been in the same sentence, have they?”

Both him and Timo snort, Nico’s ears turning pink at the tips and he runs his tongue along the inside of his dimpled cheek. Shaking his head in both disbelief and laughter, he hands you your flowers in favor cupping your jaw. Holding your gaze, he narrows his eyes in an all too telling way. The same one he gives you when you’re toeing the line of what’s acceptable to say to him in public. The line has a little more grace when it’s just Timo around, fortunatly for you, but you already know you’ll be making it up to him later for that one.

“We’re surrounded by dead bodies and you’re trying to get in my pants?”

You shrug, the movement a little awkward with how he’s holding your face still. Over his shoulder, the crane inches away with your headstone swaying from the hook.

“Can’t do it in front of living people, can’t do it in front of dead ones, when am I supposed to do it?”

Nico shakes his head, fingers flexing into a light pinch and then he lets you go. He blows out a puff of air, fighting to contain the smile you were searching for in the first place. You and Timo share a hushed snicker, only silencing when the rumble of the tractor returns.

This time in its claw hangs the thick chain weaved around the new headstone, a hulking black slab of marble dangling from it.

“That’s a little menacing,” Timo says, arms crossed over his chest as the new marker inches closer and closer to your newly renovated plot. Shifting to look at you, he eyes you carefully.

“Why do you think they did it? Like what was the point of the headstone?”

It’s the same question you and Nico have been pouring over everyday since you first came to the cemetery. What did they want to accomplish with that? How long had it been sitting here before you found it? Most concerning, how did they pull it off? You know how Nico got the new headstone made, how much he paid for it to be illegally placed here. With his influence though, that’s a price he can easily pay.

Your parents can’t. You have no idea how they got around the law to fake your death. It was a risky move, one that could’ve ended with them in jail. Instead they’ll face something worse. They’re staring directly at you and Nico now, two people without much of a limit on what kind of damage they can do.

All to send a message that could’ve been sent in an email if you’re being honest.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You mumble, “it was for me. They wanted me to know it was actually over.” What you did when you chose Nico was unforgivable. Even though you’d always left that door cracked for your parents, always hoped maybe things would be better again, they shut that door a long time ago. Locked it from the outside and sealed it tight with a pretty headstone on top. “They never intended to be my parents again.”

Nico reaches for you again, nose flared and eyebrows lowered thoughtfully. You step into his side, let him pull you close and comfort you in the only way he really knows how. Protecting you, loving you. Even if he looks like he’s mentally far away from you, his mind most likely sifting through everything he wants to do to your parents. He wants to kill them. You know he does.

“How’d they do it?” Timo questions, “Do we know anything yet?”

Nico’s tone is clipped when he responds. “No we don’t.” You slip your arm around his waist, pressing your hand into the tense spot between his shoulder blades and rub your palm in soothing circles. He’s frustrated, you know that. He wants to get ahead of this, needs information if he wants to get a foot up. Every time you’ve said Nico is smart, you mean it. Knowledge is power and like he told you the night you met him, he’s never just on a power trip.

“There was nothing on public record of it,” he continues, a little less angry and more exhausted sounding now. “No obituaries, no news headlines or articles, not even a certificate of death.”

On paper, all of this is impossible. If you were to look at it in black and white, there’s no way your parents would’ve been able to pull this off. And if you had any other life than a mob one, it would all seem like some sick prank or joke. Except you are a mob wife and you know there’s always more.

“That’s what Alex and Johnny are for,” you explain, motioning to the two boys that have been monitoring your corner of the cemetery. They’re not as bundled up as you but they’re in all black, weapons concealed in their waist bands and a red bandanas tied around one of their legs. “Alex is like obsessive and Johnny is good with details. We’re hoping together they can do better digging than Nico and I could.”

That and you need a distraction. If your parents are now on the lookout for you and Nico, especially after he visited their home, they’ll have their ears to ground for any sign of him. They don’t know Alex or Johnny, didn’t see either of them with you that day. If anyone can sneak around them for information, it’ll be those two.

While they’re watching you and Nico, your boys will be watching them.

Almost impressed, Timo looks you up and down, something warm in those blue eyes of his. Not the same warmth that he gives you and Nico just because you’re his best friends. It’s more like…admiration.

“You’re good at this,” he says in explanation when you give him a questioning look. “Being in charge, being a prinzessin.”

His words make your heart well, fluttering up with relief. By now, you think you’ve proven yourself about being able to handle mob business. But Nico has grown up in this. He was literally bred to be the head of a mob family. And Timo, while not born into it, got in with Nico at such a young age too. They’re the ones that know what to do, have this life ingrained in them.

Hearing that from Timo, seeing that look in his eyes, is such a heavy compliment it makes you want to cry. He’s known you from day one, has heard every fear and concern you’ve ever had about Nico and the Devils. He was the one that took that broken girl, the one still insecure and lost after you’re break up with Nico and the loss of your family, traumatized and mentally unwell from Philadelphia, and taught you to be strong and capable.

These past few months, between Nico showing you that all this time that he’s been building up the Devils for you and Timo admitting that he’d follow you over Nico, it’s almost too much.

Blinking away the flattered tears that have gathered in your waterline, you take a steadying inhale as the crane comes to a stop. The groundskeeper, a man unknown to you but now on Nico’s payroll, maneuvers the arm until the newly engraved headstone is placed in the indent left from yours. Only this one is triple the size, stretching across the entire plot, on all three spaces under your parent’s name.

Shiny and new, the black marble swirled with flecks of gold is a stark contrast to the white one that had been here. It’s unmistakable, unmissable. If your parents so much as drive by and glance over they’ll know that it’s been swapped. And they’ll come over to see the latest warning that’s been put in place.

Glaringly obvious who it’s come from. The stone is engraved with their names, a large and gothic looking font spread across the entire top half. Nico didn’t put any dates on it but he did add a personal touch.

For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until the judgment.

You can’t help but smirk at the scripture he stamped under their names, framed by two imposing devil horns on either side. In case they happened to miss the message, the devils logo will hopefully do the job.

No matter what they do now, how they might try to go back or rationalize themselves, Nico will not be sparing them. As of right now, they’ve already been caught. All he’s waiting for is the explanation you want, the reasoning that will condemn them.

The irony of him being God here isn’t lost on you. If they want to take you off this earth unwilling and untruthful, he can play God bigger and better than anyone. He can do worse. And you won’t stop him.

“What’s next?” Timo asks as the groundskeeper dropping the chains from the crane. They crash to the ground with a ringing clatter, falling away from the headstone until the whole thing glints freely at you.

Nico squeezes your hip, peering over your head to his friend. “We start pushing in on them,” he says, going into the plan you and him have laid out. You’ll monitor Johnny and Alex from the house, sending them out to tail and take tabs on your family. They’re going to get down whatever routine and schedule your family might have, figure out why and how your nonna is suddenly in town. And anything she might’ve known about your death. While the four of you work on that, Timo and Mercer are going to be enforcing the new rules for Devils protected establishments. The next round of check ups he’ll make sure they’ve been notified and are in agreement with the protocols. Anyone who isn’t will be dropped from their contract.

The others will be awarded a compensation for any income they may miss out on by denying your family services. Timo will be working out the numbers on that and making sure it’s all distributed. Then he’ll be double checking that all businesses have a way of reaching Jonas and Jesper in case of emergency or any retaliation on your parents side.

“I don’t want any trouble for our people,” Nico concludes. “You gotta keep a close eye there Timo. That’s the only way we keep them safe and her.”

He gives you a shake on the final word, your sunglasses slipping down your nose as you giggle and curl into his chest. Smiling softly, he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Timo makes a noise of realization. “You’re going to up root them. Make them unwelcome in their home.”

You purse your lips, unwilling to admit that this part of the plan was fuzzy. Yeah you want them to suffer, want them to feel as lost and uncomfortable as you did. But Nico had offered more, the ultimate punishment and you still haven’t answered.

“It’s nothing worse than what they did to her,” Nico defends but you both know Timo wasn’t judging. He just hasn’t been here for it all, doesn’t know what exactly you’ve contributed. He’s trying to get a feel for how far this will all go because from the looks of it, Nico is going to cross that line.

“So this is how it ends?” He nods towards the headstone. “It’ll stop when they’re here?”

The words hang in the air, both of you unable to answer. Nico won’t make this decision for you and you won’t make it either. Obviously you know they’ve done that, have made the hard choice of completely removing you from their life but they lied about it. They didn’t actually try to kill you. Though you supposed the only reason they didn’t is because they’ve always assumed the worst of Nico. They probably thought he would get you killed and then all of this here wouldn’t be a lie. More of a prophecy come to life.

Up until last week though, you still had a space for them in your future. You were already mulling over the idea of inviting them to your wedding, of figuring out a way with Nico to at least let them know that they’d be welcome to be there for you if they wanted to make the leap. You hadn’t written them off yet and you’re still not sure you want to.

All you know is that you want to make them pay. And you want them to know it was you. Nico isn’t the only one calling the shots here, even if you’ll let it appear that way. So you step out of Nico’s hold, crossing the untouched dirt of your fake gravesite and lay the bouquet of flowers at the bottom of the new headstone.

A pretty little personal touch, a gesture of hello from you to them.

~~~~

The soft glow of the kitchen lights, only half of them flicked on, greets you at the base of the staircase. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you tip toe across the entryway and into the kitchen, a low smile taking over your lips at the sight before you.

Nico’s hair hangs messily over his forehead, still rumbled and frizzy from what little sleep he’s had. The pajama pants he so rarely sleeps in hang low on his hips, the band of them hidden under the apron he’s tied around his bare torso. In the little light he’s given himself, he’s hunched over the countertop and layering a spoonful of cream in a glass dish.

“Hey,” you greet softly, pausing in the doorway. He looks up, eyes a little wild and startled before realizing it’s you.

“Hi,” he murmurs, gaze softening. He drops the spoon into the large bowl of whipped cream, straightening out. “What are you doing up?”

Laughing to yourself, you round the island as he wipes his hands clean on a dish towel. “Not baking, that’s for sure.” You tease, stepping into his space.

“S’not baking technically.” He defends, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Laying your cheek against the scratchy fabric of his apron, you examine the contents laid out on the countertop. The lady fingers, the bowl of cold coffee, and whipped topping.

“You’re making tiramisu?”

He hums, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah. Wanted to make you something sweet for when you woke up.”

Slipping your hand around his waist, you let your fingers trail up the curve of his bare spine, reaching the peak between his shoulder blades before tickling back down.

“Could’ve done it in the morning,” you reply ambiguously. If Nico is up in the middle of the night, unsettled enough that he had to come down here and physically do something with his hands, it’s not a great sign. Whether he’s unable to sleep from the general events of the past week or something else, you don’t know.

Luckily, he takes the opening you give him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, fingers squeezing your shoulder. “Got a call while you were tucking Alex in.”

Dramatic, you gasp. “And you didn’t tell me until now?”

He scoffs, shushing you by reaching down and pinching your ass through the thin cotton of your pajama shorts. Hard enough that it has you jolting, leaping forward just to end up squished even closer to him.

“Hey!” You complain but he just snickers, dropping his hands to grab at the back of your thighs. He hefts you up and onto the counter, fitting his hips between your knees.

“Do you mind?” He asks, “M’trying to tell you something important.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter, hands on his shoulders as you stare intently into those warm eyes of his. Fondly, he shakes his head before continuing.

“Keefe down at the station called,” he says, lips twitching with amusement when you scowl. You know Keefe all too well from the time he arrested you and the boys. No matter how many times you told him you were Nico’s wife, he insisted that it was in his contract with the Devils to hold you until Nico could come get you. The worst part was that he made poor Luke sit on those stupid hard benches even though he’d just been hit by a car.

Teasingly, Nico squeezes your knee. “He said your parents have filed a police report. About a break in at their house and they’re insisting it’s organized crime related. They want him to escalate it even though nothing was reported stolen.”

It worries you a bit, that Nico was up in the middle of the night over something like this. Like he said, nothing was stolen and you know it was him that did it. Keefe can throw away the report, no harm done and they can all move on. Your parents will then know that the police will be of no help to them and hopefully they’ll back down from whatever they were trying to achieve with reporting in the first place.

“He can just get rid of it, can’t he?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “It’s not a big deal right? Like you said, you didn’t technically break anything or steal anything.”

Almost pityingly, Nico purses his lips, head tilting to the side like a sad puppy. His thumb starts to draw soothing circles into the bend of your knee and your breath catches in your throat, wondering what the hell could be in that report that has him this worried.

“I can have him throw it out, yeah.” He says gently, “But this still means they know baby. Or they at least know I’m up to something and they’re willing to fight back.”

Oh, you think dumbly. Of course that’s what this all meant. You feel a little stupid for not thinking it earlier. Why else would they go to police? They’re making an effort (a futile one at that) to take a stand against the Devils, against Nico, against you.

“So?”

He takes a deep breath. “I could tell Keefe to throw it out and we carry on with the plan. They’d know after that, that I’ve got the cops in my pocket. Or I let him escalate it.”

Toying with the knot of his apron, you frown. “What happens if he escalates it?” At your worried tone, Nico cups your face, the pad of his thumb tracing under your sleep swollen eyes.

“Nothing bad,” he assures, “S’just we didn’t account for it. If Keefe escalates though, we could get into the station for interviews and statements. Hear directly from them what they think they know about us.”

It sounds like a good thing. Nico had been plotting how to get direct information out of them. You’ve been using Johnny and Alex to try and do it. This way is so much simpler and you don’t have to risk your parents noticing the two men suddenly tailing them everywhere. Except Nico is still looking at you like it’s not a good thing. Dark eyebrows furrowed in worry, bottom lip between his teeth as he anxiously waits for you to say something.

“Isn’t that good?” You ask. “You could get Keefe to give you answers to everything.”

“Yeah I could,” he shrugs, a little indifferent. “But I’m not going anywhere without you by my side and I don’t know if it’s the best idea for you to be that close to them.”

You’ve never really considered yourself to be an aggressive person. You can be protective and mean when pushed a little too far, and yeah you maybe have killed a person or two but that was all self defense. You can confidently say however, that you’ve never had the downright urge to hurt someone with your bare hands.

You could right now though, you think. Cuteness aggression must be a real thing because the overwhelming need to take Nico’s precious face between your hands and squeeze him until he pops has rushed through you. This is what the big fuss was about? He’s up in the middle of the night making your favorite dessert because of this?

Nico’s always made you feel so special and loved, like you’re the most important thing to ever walk the Earth, but this is a new high for him, you think.

“Neeky,” you murmur, holding the sides of his face with gentle fingers despite your brain telling you to pinch and poke violently at the dimpled scar on his cheekbone. “I’m not afraid of them. Especially not if you’re going to be there with me. Anything they could say about me or you, it doesn’t matter. We know us. I know you. They’re not going to change that ever.”

He’s still for a moment, lips parted as he takes a deep breath. His gaze flickers between yours like he’s trying to decide if you’re being serious. It’s almost devastating to think that he was willing to give up this good deal because he was concerned of how it’d affect you. He didn’t want you to hear terrible things and get hurt.

Even if it meant making his job harder. Putting the boys in risky spots when now they won’t have to. You shouldn’t be surprised though. After all, he argued with you in Vancouver when you tried to make him promise that he’d protect Luke and Jack before you. Even then he never fully agreed, just let you talk until time was up and you had to get moving.

He’s always putting you first.

“I-I don’t want you to be hurt by this.” He insists. “We don’t know what they’re going to say and I can’t protect you from mean words. Not as much as I’d like to.”

You thread your fingers through his hair, dragging his face down until you can smash your lips to his. He makes a high pitched sound in the back of his throat, his hand slipping around your waist to draw you closer to him.

“Escalate it,” you tell him, the words just a murmur against his lips before you’re pecking at them again. “I trust you Nico.”

He groans, surging forward to kiss you again. Warm hands trail up your thighs, slipping under your pajama shorts to grab at your ass. He pulls you to the edge of the counter, your knees hiking up by his waist. Swiftly, you find the knot at the back of his apron and pull it loose, breaking apart long enough for you to lift the strap over his head. He doesn’t complain when you drop it haphazardly to the kitchen floor, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You trace the muscles there, the dips of his shoulder blades. His skin is overly warm the way it always seems to be. Even in the frigid air of the alps he radiated a heat you’ve never had. Underneath all that warmth though, your fingers find the knots in his back, tight lumps from days of stress, of apparently not sleeping enough, of choking down black coffee to keep himself focused.

“You’re all tense,” you murmur into his mouth, Nico humming absentmindedly as he tucks his face into your neck. Like the rest of him, his lips are too warm on your pulse, his teeth biting a mark of heat there that blossoms down your body, spreading like wildfire. “My poor baby, all worked up.”

He groans at your teasing, rising on to his toes and shifts his hips forward to grind the bulge of his cock into your center.

“Course I’m fucking worked up,” he says into your collarbone where he’s stretched your shirt down your shoulder. “What was it you said the other day? Something about being small…”

“Oh that,” you giggle, massaging your fingertips into his tight muscles. He groans, the sound devastatingly beautiful in how it rattles out of his throat. “I think it was something more about you not being small.”

He hums, content and flattered, and you lock your legs around his hips, balancing precariously on the edge of the counter to grind against his hard cock. “And I stand corrected.”

A thread in the collar of your shirt snaps, drawing you back from him with an affronted gasp. Nico does the same, a wolfish smile on his face when you pout at the loose neck of your shirt. It’s technically his shirt, one you’ve been stealing since the first time you ever slept at his place though so it is practically yours. And now he’s gone and messed it up.

“Nico,” you whine, “you stretched it out.”

Pleased with himself, he blinks those pretty brown eyes at you. “S’not gonna be the only thing stretched out, huh?”

It’s a terrible joke. Actually horrendous and even he seems to think so by the way his own nose scrunches in distaste. But then you’re both giggling, cupping his face and drawing him down until your smiling lips are messily pressed together.

“Alex asleep upstairs?”

You hum in confirmation, knowing that he’s still tucked into the bed in his room, exactly how you left him after you laid with him until he fell asleep earlier. You had enough mind to check on him in your search for Nico earlier, worried that maybe your fiancé was up and soothing him from a particularly bad dream. He’s been on edge lately, more than usual with all that’s going on so you didn’t hesitate to follow him upstairs after dinner when he asked you to tuck him in, ignoring the amused smirks coming from Timo and Nico.

Speaking of.

“Timo?” You mumble, letting out a noise of protest when Nico blanches, pulling back from you with terrified eyes. “What?” You asks, heart suddenly thumping nervously.

“Baby we are not- M’not stretching out Timo.”

“Oh my god!” You groan, shoving at his chest. “No I was asking if he went home, oh my god.”

Disgusted, you shiver with a frown, physically shaking off the idea. You love Timo, really you do. And he knows practically everything about you and Nico, even in your private life, but that’s too far. Way too far. The reason you’ve always been able to go to him about stuff like this is because of the fact that he’s simply your best friend. There’s never been anything there but that.

Nico’s whole body slumps with relief, dropping his forehead to rest against yours as his eyes flutter shut. “Oh thank fuck,” he gasps, “I was honestly about to throw up.”

You frown. “I think you’ve maybe ruined the mood Hischier.”

He blinks open his eyes, annoyed as he swiftly slips a hand under the flimsy fabric of your shorts, fingers immediately coming in contact with your bare pussy. Instinctively, you shift into the rough pads of his fingers, mouth dropping open in a soft moan.

“Ruin the mood my ass,” he jests, but then his face softens and he touches a gentle kiss to your lips. “Do you want to just go to bed baby?”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “No, I want you to fuck me.”

A sly grin takes over his face. “Right here? Want me to fuck you just like this?” He punctuates the question with a slow rub of his middle and ring finger in a circle on your swollen clit. Your eyes flutter closed, mouth dropping open with a soft breath of pleasure. But-

“No I want-on the couch Nico.”

You can see the face he makes even with your eyes closed just by the displeased tone of his voice. Well that and the way his fingers have stopped their ministrations, stoic between your legs. “The couch?”

Sure enough when you blink your eyes open, he’s frowning down at you like this is the biggest inconvenience of his life. You grip his shoulders, kneading your fingers into the knots there and his demeanor shifts, lips parting in a content moan.

“You’re already too tense baby. Let’s go to the couch, please?”

He offers no rebuttal, planting a hand on your ass and slipping the other down your thigh as he stands with you plastered to his chest. Abandoning the mess of half made tiramisu on the kitchen counter, Nico navigates into the dark living room with you, laying sweet kisses to your temple and cheek as he goes.

Somewhat graciously, Nico drops you into the overly stuffed cushions, chuckling at the little “oof” you let out as you flop into the couch.

“Undress for me,” he instructs in a quiet voice, nodding to your shorts as he goes to work on his own bottoms. You don’t bother with the pathetic excuse of a shirt you’ve got left, simply letting it hang low on your chest as you wiggle out of your pajama shorts.

Nico’s undone the knot on his pants now, dropping them down his legs and kicking them off to the side. Even in the dim light of the living room he looks so good, all dark body hair and thick muscles, the effects of his stupid black coffee diet already apparent in the smaller pudge of his stomach. Upset about it, you splay your hand out under his belly button, the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your fingers as you admire him with a pout. From the tip of his fluffy bed head all the way down to his thick thighs, cock hanging hard and heavy between them. Noticing the absence of his boxers, you laugh and snuggle back into couch when he lays himself on top of you.

“Not much for us to take off, is there?” You comment as he settles back on his haunches. His hands travel up your thighs, squeezing at them appreciatively before spreading them wider. Compliant, you let him drape them over his hips, knees parted to his liking. It only takes him a moment to shove your shirt up, just high enough for you boobs to peek out at him.

“Couldn’t be bothered,” he replies, palming at your chest, the skin of his hands hot and calloused. “Was just waiting for you to jump me.”

You raise an amused eyebrow. “Oh really?” He nods, a close lipped smirk on his face as he traces the inside of your thighs again. “Should’ve been taking care of you huh? My poor Neeky, so stressed and worked up.”

His eyelashes flutter prettily at your words, a hand dropping from groping at your thighs to wrap around his heavy cock. Nico’s body is strong over yours when he shifts forward, bracing himself on his elbow above your head. Giddily, you tangle your hands in his hair and bring his mouth down to yours, parting your lips for him when the soft, slick sounds of him working his hand up and down his cock fill the otherwise silent room.

Never one to indulge in his own palm, he’s quick to tease the thick head of his dick through your wet folds. There’s no real rush to his movements but you feel like you only get a moment or two to breath in the air he exhales against your lips before he enters you in one swift, solid movement of his hips. Whatever shallow breathes you’d managed to inhale get caught in your throat, so full it’s like there’s no room for any air to fit around the space Nico’s taking up in your body.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice heavy and rough in your ear. Lazily, he presses wet kisses to your jaw as you hitch your legs around his waist and force yourself to take deep, relaxing breathes. “Fuck you feel good baby.”

“God Nico,” you gasp after a beat, turning your head to capture his lips. All at once he’s licking into your mouth, drawing his hips back and finding a slow but bruising pace of fucking into you. You slide a hand down his back, finding those same knots and tense muscles you’d poked at in the kitchen, now flexing with effort, and massage your fingers into them again.

A whimpered noise comes from the back of his throat, almost pained sounding but more pleasure filled than anything else. Your knees shake with it, the drag of his cock and the gruff of his voice so attractive it burns you from the inside out, pulls at every sensitive part of who you are.

“Feels good,” he grunts through a rattled breath. You keep going, fingers aching as you dig into all the tense spots of his back, and Nico - god Nico makes these raw little groans with each one, jolting and jumping when you catch a particularly tender spot. It throws off the rhythm he’d been fucking you with but you don’t even care. The startled, sporadic juts of his hip work just fine if not better, whatever intensity they’re missing being made up for with the pretty sounds he’s making.

“M’sorry I didn’t take care of you sooner,” you coo at him, scratching your nails at his scalp. Goosebumps run down his skin and he lets out a disbelieving laugh. His eyes are inky dark and wet when they meet yours, pupils blown so wide you might see a perfect reflection of yourself in them if the room weren’t so dark.

“Shhh, you’re perfect.” He assures, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth when your thumb circles a solid knot of muscle on his lower back, right where his spine first starts to curve down to his ass. The pain must be good though because neither of you miss the way his cock twitches appreciatively. “Fuck, taking care of me now aren’t you? Doing it so good too. Letting me have you like this, dead in the middle of the fucking night.”

You don’t bother giving a real answer. You know what his rambling means, when his accent bleeds in thicker and his heavy tongue lets every thought on his mind drip out. If you ever wanted words out of Nico, you know by now that you can get them out of him when he’s on verge of coming. Whatever block in his head that silences him under normal conditions falls away as soon as he’s laid bare like this. When he’s with you, vulnerable in one the most terrifying yet exhilarating ways.

Where he knows he can trust you, can just be with you. Somewhere you’ll always take care of him, hold him and make him feel good no matter the time of day.

He’s got you and you’ve got him.

~~~~

You’ve been in this interrogation room before.

The slick, silver table and metal chairs that are nowhere near comfortable. Vulnerable and exposed in the air that’s just on the far side of too cold. Above your head, the vent rattles with the constant hum of the air conditioning system.

You remember that from when you sat at this table directly across from Nico, shy under his mafioso stare as you admitted to being an accomplice in the hit and near-run of Luke.

Today Nico sits next to you though, his knee touching your thigh where his legs are spread out wide. A possessive hands rests on the inside of your thigh, not commanding or patronizing, but instead a comforting weight. Solid and soothing.

Across the table, Keefe is fielding the brunt of your fiancé’s attitude today. In his own place of work, sat at the interrogation table he typically mans, the sheriff looks small compared to Nico’s looming presence.

“They’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” Keefe says, sliding the file over to Nico. The tab of the  manila is labeled with the first initials of your parents and their last name, the sight of it making your stomach tighten with anxiety. You hate that name, hate that’s it’s been attached to you for so long even though you haven’t been in that family in a long time.

You don’t want to rush your wedding with Nico, but you can’t wait until the day you get to legally change your name on everything. When you’ll finally match him, and Alex too, and even Moose. You don’t doubt that you’re an apart of the family, don’t feel left out or anything, but it’ll be nice to share that with your boys.

“This is all they shared?” Nico asks, free hand flipping the file open. “Pretty thin.” He sits forward to start reading the police report, eyes ghosting over most of it before he’s presenting it to you.

“We didn’t expect it to go anywhere so we never followed up,” Keefe explains, “Besides, they didn’t seem to eager to be sharing a lot of detail.”

Yeah, because they’re liars. Leaning your elbow on the table, you lay your palm over the edge to keep the a/c from blowing it anywhere and read over the statements. Much to your annoyance, Nico and Keefe are right. Your parents barely even gave enough information for this to be fileable. The date, where they were when it happened (out on an errand, how cryptic), and what they noticed. Nothing stolen or broken, but things moved around and paper burned in their sink. No sign of forced entry.

“This is nothing,” you sigh, closing the folder and giving it back to Nico. “They won’t say where they were or what was destroyed.”

Keefe raises an eyebrow, looking from Nico to you and then back. “Do I need to know what was destroyed?”

Nico makes a face, shaking his head. “It was all fake documents,” he says, patting the inside of your thigh. “It’ll be fine baby. We’re going to listen in to their questioning. Keefe’s got some stuff I told him to make sure to ask, we’ll figure out what they’re up to.”

Keefe nods in agreement, picking up the file and you all stand from the table. Wrapping Nico’s leather jacket tighter around yourself, he guides you out of the room and out into the hall. Moose perks up from where you left him sitting by the door to the interrogation room, coming to your side when Nico whistles at him. Intrigued, Keefe watches Moose flank to the side Nico’s not at, the two of them standing protectively around you. He doesn’t say anything though, instead just leading you a few feet down into another open doorway.

The room is small, roughly the size of a large storage closet with a few chairs lined up. But the two way glass covering the far wall overlooks the room you’d been sat in not even five minutes ago.

“Can settle in here,” Keefe motions to the seats. “If you need anything Nico, they’ll be an officer posted outside the door. Just knock on it and she’ll come in.”

“Thanks Keefe,” Nico nods, nudging you into the room. You settle into one of the chairs, Moose sitting politely by your feet. “Appreciate it.”

The two men share a hard handshake, Keefe giving you a half wave before he’s stepping out of the room. You shift in the tall chair to face the two way glass as the door clicks shut behind you. You can feel when Nico turns to look at you.

“You doing ok?”

Running your fingers through Moose’s fur, you nod. You were never nervous for this. Maybe anxious, but more so in the way that you’re ready for answers. You’ve already had an awkward, panic inducing interaction with them and you’re not going to have one again. Whatever care you held for them vanished after that day.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you promise, offering him a soft smile over your shoulder. “Annoyed with them but I don’t- I don’t really have any feelings towards them anymore.”

Nico comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you and leaning in to kiss your temple. Moose’s tail wags, tilting his snout up to look at Nico and then he’s resting his head on your thigh where he can see you both.

“Hi Müsli,” he murmurs, chin digging into your shoulder and his fingers scratch softly between Moose’s eyes. Softer this time, he asks, “What about your nonna?”

Until now, you hadn’t been thinking of her. It’s a little too much if you’re being honest. So much went down that day and so much has happened since then that you haven’t wanted to think about your grandmother. If you don’t think about her, you don’t have to think about what she may or may not know. She was shocked to see you that day in the deli, so obviously she didn’t have any idea of your death being fake, but she hasn’t reached out since. You don’t want to think about what that means.

“I guess we’ll see right?” You shrug, but an ugly feeling is bubbling in your gut. A little anxious, a little scared, but more disgusted. Everything about this situation has just left a bad taste in your mouth.

Nico hums, mouth parting with words that never get spoken because the muffled sound of the door opening on the other side of the wall comes through the low speakers. You both sit up, attention turning to the glass where Keefe is guiding in the two people you’ve been waiting for.

“No nonna,” Nico comments, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. He gives them a reassuring squeeze, thumbs pressing into the tense spots on your neck.

Your mother is the first to sit at the table, a modest black dress on her frame that looks like it’s meant for church more than it is a casual Friday at the police station. Like the fabric of her clothes, she sits cold and stiff, purse balanced on her crossed legs.

“Yikes,” Nico murmurs, “Katja Hischier anyone?”

Which he’s not exactly wrong. While you’d say your mom was a lot warmer than Katja seemed to be, they both exude the same haughty, superior air. Your mother especially now that you’ve become public enemy number 1.

By now your father has sat down too, awkwardly folding his hands on the cool metal of the table. Keefe doesn’t so much as glance at the two way mirror as he moves to sit across from them, an unknown officer with him. They take a moment to settle, the officer pulling out a blank form from the folder and a pen.

“Thanks again for coming in today,” Keefe starts and your mother’s lips twitch into a polite smile. “I’ll try to make this quick so you’re not spending all day here. Why don’t you just walk me through the initial report again.”

Nico’s fingers continue to massage at your shoulders and neck, gentle but strong in their touch. He doesn’t speak, any words unnecessary when his hands, the ones that always know how to hold you together, do enough to keep you grounded. A silent support as the two of you intently analyze the scene happening in front of you.

“Well last week we returned home to find that someone had been in our house,” your mother states, her tone plain and simple. Like it’s all that clean cut. Someone broke in so the cops should arrest them. No further details needed.

A silent pause. Keefe and the officer, pen hovering over the paper share a look. “Do you remember what day?”

Your mother purses her lips. “Thursday.”

Another awkward pause. The officer writes down the date on his sheet. Your father shifts uncomfortably and Keefe clears his throat. “What time did you arrive home?”

“It was dark,” she responds immediately. “After dinner hours.”

You roll your eyes. “Dinner is six o’clock,” you murmur to Nico. It’s been dinner at six every day of your life until you went to college. No matter the date, weather, holiday, birthday, whatever dinner was always served at six.

“What?” Nico asks, his fingers pausing their massaging. “Everyday dinner was served at 6. Even if we ate out, it was timed so that we’d be seated and ordering at 6. She’s being cryptic for some reason.”

He hums thoughtfully, squeezing your shoulders again. Methodically, he drags his hands down your biceps, flexing his hands as he goes. On the other side of the wall, Keefe purses his lips.

“What do you consider dinner hours?”

Indignant, your mother scoffs. “Anytime after dinner?” Her expression has gone sour, neck growing splotchy with agitation and you revel in for a moment. At least until your father sits forwards, offering a placating smile.

“It was probably around 7 or 7:30 that night. We got home and found the rug in our living room messed up, pictures and things moved around. Something was burnt in our sink.”

Finally, the officer starts scribbling down actual useful information and Keefe’s large shoulders slump with relief. Even as your mother side eyes your father, tongue in cheek.

“Was there any sign of forced entry?”

“No sir,” your father replies, blowing out a sigh. “The door was locked even. We checked the windows and other exits, nothing. We have no idea how someone got in.”

Your mother scoffs, rolling her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest, foot beginning to shake restlessly under the table. “We know how he got in.”

He. Nico. So she does know.

“Oh,” Keefe hums, “you do? Nothing was stated in the initial report?”

She takes the chance to argue her case, to prove that she’s right just as she always has. You’re all to familiar with the way her nose flares, eyes narrowed in challenge as she speaks yet it still takes your breath away.

You can picture her standing over you as you sat on the staircase, telling her about how you’d failed your elementary Spanish test that week because you kept mixing in Italian phrases instead and she’s muttering that she knew it, that she knew it’d be too much for you, that you couldn’t handle it all.

“It was that mafia running around here,” she says matter of fact. “The only person who’d be interested in our home, our lives would be that Hischier man.”

Behind you, Nico makes a pleased noise, like the disdain dripping off her tongue is the biggest compliment. His breath is hot on your cheek when he leans in, a giggle in his voice. “That Hischier man huh? Sounds pretty legit.”

You shake your head in amusement, turning to catch his smile for a chaste kiss. “You are pretty legit Hischier.” You tell him, warmth blooming in your chest when his smile widens, and he starts thumbing at the hinge of your jaw.

“Hischier?” Keefe asks, almost incredulous. “As in Nico Hischier?”

“Yes!” Your mother insists, gaze a little wild. “You know him then? And what he does?”

“Yes ma’am we know all about Nico Hischier.”

The two of you snicker under your breath. She has no idea just how much Keefe knows about Nico and the Devils.

“Then you’ll know that this wasn’t a coincidence or anything,” your mother says triumphantly, shaking her head. “No he’s had an eye on us for a while. A few years ago my husband here was being followed, kept feeling like someone was watching him. He’d see that Hischier guy all over town almost everyday. And then it just stopped. Now all of sudden our house is messed up and no one can find any sign of who did it. It’s sneaky mafia business is what it is.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, rubbing at your eyes. “Following my dad? I think she might actually be insane.”

Except Nico is suspiciously quiet. Eyes narrowed, you slip out of the chair to look at him, hands on your hips. He’s still leaning into the chair you were sat on, eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent.

“Oh Nico,” you mumble, exasperated. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” He insists, holding his hands up in defense. “I didn’t do anything technically. I just maybe was keeping an eye on them.”

You’re not even surprised. Despite laughing at how absurd your mother sounded accusing him of tailing your father, you should’ve known better. It’s not the first time you’ve become privy to him tailing someone unknowingly. He’d done it to you back when you were in school.

“When?” You ask, unimpressed.

He shrugs. “When we were broken up. I just- it wasn’t even about them, I was making sure that you were okay. I wanted to know that you didn’t go back to them.” 

Of all the reasons, you didn’t think that would be why. He was following them for you? When you weren’t together and thought you meant nothing to him? Was he following you then too? When he had no right to? Though you suppose he always had that right with you because something about the thought of him still being with you back then is nice. All that time you spent feeling so scared and alone, abandoned by family and friends but worst of all abandoned by him. He had your back even then.

You wonder why he didn’t just ask Timo about you. He was still your friend at the time, the one you turned to for everything and maybe you weren’t the best of friends back to him, but he was always there. Always just a text or call away. Like he was right there. A sour thought bleeds into your brain.

Was Timo tailing you? When you thought he was just being a friend did Nico actually have him watching you? You know Timo and Nico had a strained relationship after the breakup but you also know that Timo is undeniably loyal to Nico. He’s picked him over you before. Why wouldn’t he have done it then, even if they were on rocky ground?

“We can’t talk about this here,” you shake your head, moving back to your seat and ignoring the guilty droop of his eyes. “We already missed things.” Settling back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest but you don’t shake off Nico’s hand when it sweeps your hair to the side, finding its resting place on the back of your neck.

“And your daughter,” Keefe says, flipping through the folder like he’s looking for something. “Y/n, she’s his target is what you’re saying?”

You have no idea what she said before to bring you into the conversation but you don’t care right now. Eagerly, you lean forward, not wanting to miss a single word about what she says of you.

“No not a target just-“ she makes a frustrated sound. “She had been seeing him a few years ago. Before he was following my husband. We heavily disapproved and they both knew it. Now he’s retaliating against us because we told our daughter about who he really is.”

The air feels tacky and sticky in your throat, stuck like it’s trying to hang around and hear what else she has to say. Because she hasn’t said it yet, that you’re dead. She’s implying it for sure, saying you were with Nico in the past tense, that after they warned you of him that was it. That all of what is coming at them is Nico’s fault, is Nico’s reaction to them stopping your relationship.

Lies, lies, and even more bullshit lies. It’s terrifying, disorienting even that she can do it so easily and without remorse. What else in your life has she lied about and you never knew? Because if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve been with Nico all these years, you’d believe her right now too.

“Would your daughter be willing to give a statement? Tell us what she knows about Hischier and his friends?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, one that makes your father drop his gaze to the table with what you hope is shame.

“No she wouldn’t,” your mother answers plainly, “we’ve been…estranged with her since everything happened with Hischier. There was a lot of tension and emotions. You know teenage girls and their feelings, they’d rather run than admit they’re wrong about a boy.”

It makes your blood boil. You weren’t a teenager and you weren’t wrong. Your feelings, your emotions were right this whole time. The gut instinct you had at the young age of 21 made a better decision in trusting Nico than hers did in deciding she’d ever be a fit mother.

“So she’s had no contact with you?” Keefe asks and your mother shakes her head. “Has she had contact with Hischier?”

Your mother clicks her tongue. “I don’t believe so, no. My daughter would never make such a dumb decision.”

Ouch, you wince but what can be done. You’re not their daughter. You haven’t been for a long time now. While the reminder hurts, it only throbs dully in that bruised part of your heart. Yeah you lost them, but look at everything you’ve gained.

“Why would Hischier come after you now then? Unless he’s been in contact with her?”

Your father is the one to speak up and you’re grateful. Unlike your mother, he’ll at least give something of significance.

“We ran into her last week at lunch. She was out with another boy and a dog. We tried to talk to her, to ask her how she was doing and about this new man but she freaked.”

Freaked? You freaked? You guess that’s a valid thing to say considering you did well up with tears and almost knock over a table before leaving. But without the context, no that’s not true.

“Freaked how? Did you know she was in town?”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “We had no idea where she’s been. She spoke to my mother for a moment but then got weird. Started to leave and when I tried to tell her to wait she turned her dog at us. This big, vicious thing of a dog. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been around anyone else acting like that. My mother almost had a heart attack.”

As if knowing he’s being talked about, Moose rises from his ball on the floor, tilting his head curiously at Nico.

“Is that you Müsli?” Nico asks teasingly, patting his head. “Vicious thing? Daddy is so proud of you.”

You both know he’s not joking about that. Moose did exactly what he was trained to do. Keep harm away from you at whatever cost. When it comes to protecting you, Moose rivals Nico in his viciousness.

“She just ran?”

“Yes sir,” your father raps his knuckles on the steel table. “The next day the house was broken into. We thought maybe it was no big deal, just something to unnerve us. But then a couple days ago we drove by our cemetery and found something else.”

Oh, you think giddily. They noticed almost right away. You wish you’d thought to leave a camera or something at the site. You’d pay good money right now to see their reactions, the horror on your mother’s face when she saw the scripture and devil horns. You bet she grabbed at the cross on her neck, bet she backed away like she’d been burned.

“There was a headstone placed there. With our names on it and devil horns.” Your father continues. The sign of Nico and the Devils. The horns that are littered around Jersey courtesy of him and his boys.

“We decided to report the break in after that.” Your mother says, “The threat was clear as day. Everywhere that man goes those horns follow.”

You touch the horns around your neck, pulling them out from under the collar of Nico’s leather jacket to thumb at the metal. Does she know just how true that statement is? Does she know just how many wear those horns for Nico? Does she know that you’re one of them?

“Yes we did some digging,” Keefe responds, looking through the folder again. For what, you’re not sure. “Yesterday some officers just did basic investigating of the neighborhood, looking for any suspects. We saw the gravesite but it appeared another one had been there first. Do you have any relatives buried there?”

That wasn’t in the folder. He wasn’t looking for anything, just a way to bring up the topics and questions Nico specifically asked him for. He even told Keefe that he’d illegally placed the new headstone there.

“No we don’t,” your mother says, frowning. “Another headstone? Are you sure?”

“Yes ma’am. It was apparently on the far left plot.”

She makes a noise of realization. “Ah yes we sold that plot after the falling out with our daughter. I’m not sure if anyone new bought it and buried a relative there but it wasn’t us.”

And back to square one on the lying. There’s no way they sold that plot back to the cemetery and then didn’t notice that headstone with your name on it. The dates themselves gave it away. They knew when you picked Nico over them.

“That’s bullshit,” Nico suddenly spits. He’s stepping away from you then, pacing back and forth as he glares daggers at your parents through the glass. “Everything they’ve said this whole time hasn’t been true! Including the part about you being dumb.”

It startles you for a moment, seeing him like that. You know angry Nico, felt the sting of his harsh words and mean eyes. You heard the way he mocked you, cold and brutal when you defied him in Switzerland. You always through he could be meanest when he’s scared but now you think this is it. He’s not scared, not nervous, he’s just unfathomably angry. His neck and cheeks are turning splotchy red, cheeks hollowed by the tight clench of his jaw, but it’s his eyes that are the most telling.

They’re so dark, so unlike the warm honey ones you’re used to. Even when he was mad at you, he’s never looked at you like that before. You’re jarringly informed of why so many people are scared of him.

“I know that Nico,” you say carefully, rising to your feet. Tentatively, you approach him with a hand reaching out to touch him. “I know it’s bullshit Nico, it’s ok.”

He halts, gaze turning to you with such ferocity your heart stutters. “It’s more than bullshit,” he hisses but he lets you touch him, doesn’t move as you take a hold of his wrist. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You- I mean imagine if they knew that it was you that figured this all out. It was you that got me into their house. That everything coming for them, even this interrogation is you playing games with them. Because you’re smarter than them.”

“I know,” you assure, cupping his face in your other hand. He presses into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. Nico looks so sweet like this, standing over you with his dark eyelashes resting prettily on the apples of his cheeks, leaning into you with the gentlest of movements. You wonder how everyone thinks he’s so hard to read sometimes, especially with what just happened. Because if he opened his eyes right now, you’d know just how upset he is. They’re his tell, always. His eyes and eyebrows have always given him away.

“Imagine how stupid they’ll feel when they realize.” You murmur. “We’ll get to see the looks on their faces when we tell them that the cops are with us. That the whole city is with us and they have nothing left.”

Taking even breaths through his nose, Nico blinks his eyes open. Under his lowered eyebrows he still looks angry, but his gaze is warm and loving again, shining with adoration when he looks at you. “They’re liars Nico. And we’re going to use that against them.”

“Yeah we are,” he promises.

You press your thumb into his clenched jaw, urging him to relax with slow circles. “But you’re not a liar so I need to know why you didn’t tell me you tailed my father.”

His eyebrows soften with guilt. “Because it was pathetic, wasn’t it? Me acting like I was protecting you when I was the one that had hurt you? I had no right to do that and I- I didn’t want you to see how much I failed.”

Your eyebrows knit in concern. Pathetic? Failed? Does he not remember how pathetic and useless you were without him? That you consumed more alcohol in that month than you have your entire life, even now. That you compared every man you met to him, that he followed you everywhere. The smallest of things reminded you of him and once that reminder was there it festered until you were actually envisioning him in front of you.

“You-what Nico? You didn’t fail me, you came back for me. I didn’t- I never tried to get you back. If anyone was pathetic then it was me.”

His frown deepens, dimples popping sadly at the downturn angle of his lips. “No I had just broken your heart baby. You’d lost everything and then I made you think you’d lost me. That’s- none of that was your fault.”

You had lost everything at the time. Not because you’d been disowned by your family and lacked genuine friends, but because you’d lost him.

“Timo,” you murmur, almost afraid to ask. “Did you have him follow me?”

Nico blanches, pulling back from your touch like it’s just stung him. Taking ahold of your wrists, he squeezes them so tight your fingers tingle. “No I didn’t. Timo wasn’t- he wasn’t my friend then. Not really. He was so pissed at me. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, burning with embarrassment. “You were tailing my dad and I know now that you always intended in coming back from me so I thought maybe you were having him keep an eye on me. He was- he did a lot for me then Nico. And it wouldn’t be the first time you had one of the boys follow me to make sure I was okay.”

Almost desperate, he brings your hands up to his lips, pressing a smattering of tender kisses to your palms. His beard scratches at your fingers. “Timo was there for you because he loves you. He didn’t do much with me then. We could barely sit in the same room together. And I was doing jobs on my own so he was free a lot.”

You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping as you accept his answer. He may have kept things from you before but he’s never lied. As soon as you ask him for something, he always gives his all.

“Okay,” you nod, and he presses one final kiss to the ring on your left hand. “Sorry I just had to know.”

“S’okay,” he promises, watching you for a moment. The questioning happening behind you has long been over, Keefe and his officer now sharing notes, waiting for you and Nico to emerge. Then he’ll hand over the information your parents gave and you’ll have another one up on them. “Can ask me anything, anytime baby, you know that.”

“I know,” you promise, squeezing his hand. “We should get going. We have to meet Alex and John.”

Nico hums in agreement but doesn’t move to leave. Instead he slips his hands out of yours, wrapping them around your shoulders and caging you into his chest. You melt into his hold, face tucked into his shoulder and inhale the rich scent of his cologne.

“In a sec,” he mumbles, “need to put more space between your parents and me.”

Which is fine with you.

23 blocks away, Johnny and Alex move silently through the house Nico had bullied his way into last week. Just as he’d entered, they’d come through the front door with guns tucked into their waistbands and black duffle bags over their shoulders. And for the whole hour and half your parents spent being questioned at the police station, they tucked into every crook and cranny of the house, wireless bugs. No visuals will come with but you’ll have constant access to the sounds in their home.

Johnny is finishing up placing the last black microphone onto the inside paneling of the curtain rod when Alex comes into the kitchen, a vase of flowers in hand. He stops at the sink to fill the vase, oblivious to the way Johnny is watching him in confusion.

“What are you doing?” He asks, leaning against the counter. Alex shuts off the water, tastefully rearranging the white roses.

“Y/n asked me to leave them,” he explains, carrying them over to the dining room table. He places the vase at the center of the table, admiring it for a moment. “Are these the flowers she left at the cemetery?”

Johnny purses his lips. “Yup,” he nods, “so I’m guessing they’re not exactly a gift huh?”

Alex steps back, picking up his duffel bag from the kitchen tile and shouldering it. “No I don’t think it is.”

The significance of them goes unspoken. You’re playing the game too, the twisted and demented narratives they’ve been spinning all turning to this tangled mess of paranoia. You want them to know that the Devils have been here again. Maybe they’ll think it was Nico. Maybe they’ll think it was you.

Either way they’ll know. You’re not backing down again.

~~~~

The steaming shower water fogs up the glass doors of the showers, drips down the bathroom mirrors. Nico’s skin is red from it, splotchy in a way that makes you wince. You have no idea how he’s capable of taking such burning hot showers. Though you can’t say much because the steady jet beating down on your skin is cool compared to the heat of his mouth below your ear.

“Fuck Nico,” you whimper, hips jolting forward when his fingers curl up into your g-spot. He presses a hot kiss to your wet skin, voice deep and husky when he goes, “yeah baby? That your spot?”

“Yes, yes right there Nico.”

You arch down into his hand, head pressing into the tiled wall and the claw clip keeping your hair out of the water digs painfully into your scalp. Not that you care. The feeling is dull, almost nothing compared to the way Nico’s fingers are taking you apart. Thick and calloused, they rub brutally at that sensitive spot inside of you, winding up the invisible string that’s still holding you together.

Your hand shakes, the detached shower head in it trembling as your other hand claws at Nico’s shoulder, desperate for something to ground yourself with. The slight slip of your hand doesn’t go unnoticed however.

“Nuh-uh baby,” Nico grunts, the hand on your waist gripping your wrist. He shifts it back up, directs the jet of water directly on to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake with it, body only head steady by the thick thigh he’s got pressed between yours. “Hold it right there for me.”

It’s too much, his voice, sexy and heavy with his accent, his fingers curling relentlessly inside you, his mouth on your neck, the water stimulating your clit. You feel overpowered in the best way, helpless to him even if you’re the one holding the shower head. “Please, please, please…” you beg, hips shifting on their own accord. You don’t know whether you should be moving down into his fingers or forward towards the stream of water.

“I know baby,” he mumbles, a little mocking in his sympathy. “Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Blindly, you nod, gnawing at your bottom lips as that thread of pleasure pulls tighter and tighter in your belly. “Keep that hand still,” he reminds, “you’ll come if you do what I tell you, yeah?”

“Yes Nico,” you gasp, unsure if you’re agreeing with his words or the vigor of his fingers. Placating, he nips at the column of your throat, the muscles in his shoulders and arm flexing with each curl of his middle and ring finger.

“Sound so pretty, sweetheart,” he compliments gruffly, chuckling when your pussy bears down on him. “Can you even hear it? How wet you are for me? Dripping down my wrist. Or how about those little sounds baby? Crying for me like that. It’s too good huh? You need to come?”

You can’t hear it, can’t hear anything except his voice and the blood rushing in your ears. He makes you sound pathetic and desperate though, a whiny and sloppy mess just for two fingers in your hole and it’s so hot. The way he says it with awe, never mocking or degrading, but honored.

That thread in you snaps, the coil of your orgasm spinning out in your core in a rush of white hot pleasure. You lose track of holding the shower head exactly where he told you, your limbs shaking and trembling as you pulse around his fingers and claw at his back.

Faintly, you feel his lips moving against your ear, his hand leaving your hip to cover the one you had holding the shower head. He’s gently with it, drawing your hand back and then moving it in slow circles, dragging out the last aftershocks of your orgasm.

His hand stills, letting your trembling one let go in favor of holding his bicep that’s still flexing with the lazy drag of his fingers in your pussy. The static in your head fizzles out as he returns the shower head to its holder, softly gripping your side again.

“You okay?” He murmurs, kissing your damp temple. “Done?”

Tongue heavy, you blink up at the ceiling and nod, then mumble out “mhm Nico.” Another kiss to the bulb of your nose, one to your chin, his lips whispering light apologies as he slips his hand from between your thighs, you wincing in overstimulation. You’re still staring blankly at the ceiling when he grips your chin between two fingers, tilting your head down to look at him and you frown at the sticky feeling on the pads of his fingers.

“Ew Nico you did not-“

He buttons his mouth to yours, licking into your slack mouth and giving you a taste of yourself. Your complaint from earlier goes forgotten. When did he stuff his fingers in his mouth and lick them clean?

“Tell me for real now,” he says when you part. “Are you okay? With everything?”

It’s an odd place for him to be checking in, an odd time too with the way your thighs are still quaking but it’s sweet too. Because to him there’s never a bad or weird place to make sure you’re okay.

“I am,” you promise. His gaze is soft and imploring when you finally get your brain to focus, stirring with arousal but more concerned with you than himself. “I know it’s a lot- or it should be a lot- but it doesn’t feel like it. I just feel like I’ve earned this I guess.”

“You have,” he encourages, wide palms cupping either side of your face. “You’ve earned the right to break the Geneva Convention I think.”

“Wow,” you giggle, “permission from the Swiss himself. Maybe I will then.”

He chuckles, all deep and rumbly in his chest as he touches his forehead to yours, wet hair hanging over his dark eyebrows. “Before we do that, you don’t need anything, right? Like you’re not feeling…sad again?”

Sad. Depressed. The word you’ve never let him use even though it was true. It’s always that you were sick or unwell because you were. You took meds though and you went to the doctor and you’re better now. For some reason though that word gets stuck in your throat, has been lodged there since the first day you came out of therapy with an official diagnosis and prescription. And when Nico saw it, asked you what it was for you couldn’t even say the word then. You simply showed him the slip.

“I’m not…” you pause, unable to look into his eyes as you clear your throat, feel the words on your tongue. If you can’t say it, it’s because it’s still there right? You don’t feel like it’s there though. This is the happiest you’ve been in years. So you need to say it.

You inhale, steel yourself. “I’m not depressed.”

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening in surprise that you’ve actually said it out loud. But then he goes soft again, shock turning to awe and his eyes shine with happiness when you finally meet his gaze again.

“That’s good baby,” he says with earnest. “That’s so good. M’so proud of you.”

Your ears go hot, body flush with heat. “It’s you. I feel better with you. Like you’re so solid all the time I don’t ever have to worry.”

He’s silent for a moment, dimples sinking into his cheeks as the two of you listen to the lukewarm water splatter into the opposite shower wall. Nico butts his nose into yours. “I- I’m glad. You know I’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “No pressure or anything Neeky.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling fondly before he’s closing his mouth to yours again. Nico kisses you into the shower wall for a few more minutes, strong and solid just like you said he was, like he’s telling you just what he thinks of the ‘pressure’ of taking care of you. The shower water grows icy though and the two of you get out shivering, fighting over the large fluffy towel hanging on the bathroom door before Nico manhandles you into wrapping up with him.

You spend the rest of the morning giggling and kissing him, sharing pecks and teasing comments as the two of you dress and get Moose ready to go. Still laughing as you pile the dog and Alex into the car, trying not to blush when Alex visibly brightens in the backseat at your bubbly mood today.

That floaty feeling is still there when Nico pulls up behind Timo and Johnny at the cemetery, the two older men already chatting with the groundskeeper. Timo is the first to greet you when you get out of the car, abandoning the conversation to throw his arms out wide and you drop Nico’s hand in favor of skipping over to hug him.

“Oh god I miss you,” you whine dramatically, Moose wondering up lazily behind you to sniff at Timo’s shoes. “We used to see each other everyday and now I’m stuck with him.”

“Oh okay,” Nico says from behind you, his large palm swatting at your ass in a stinging slap. You flinch away from him, pouting as he stares you down through narrowed eyes. Moose makes an unhappy growl in his chest that Nico chooses to ignore. You scratch behind the dog’s ear in appreciation.

“Now who’s being inappropriate in a cemetery,” you mock, slipping up and laughing when his smile widens with delight.

“You’re chipper today,” Timo interrupts, falling into step at your side as you all gather back with Johnny and the groundskeeper. “Good morning?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, leaning into his shoulder and lowering your voice. “It was a really good morning. In the shower specifically.”

He snorts, elbowing you into Nico and your fiancé snatches up your hand in his, a knowing smirk on his face. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s in on the bit, even if he didn’t explicitly hear you talking to Timo. The conversation stops there, replaced by a new one as Nico greets the man waiting with Johnny.

“Hisch,” he nods, “I was just telling your boys here that I looked into that site. There’s a transaction under that last name of when they bought all three plots but that’s all. Clerk made a note though that about a year ago they came by and looked into the price point of selling back to the cemetery but nothing official happened.”

Nico’s eyebrows stitch into a frown. “They never sold the third one? Is there any record of them laying that headstone there?”

The groundskeeper scratches at his neck uncomfortably. “Nah man. If they sold it, it was done under the table to someone else which you can’t do without approval here. Must’ve been done illegally. And there’s no record of the headstone either. Don’t even know who made it. Must’ve been laid there before I got here though.”

Nico’s jaw ticks, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment. Johnny sighs through his nose, shifting his weight onto one leg. “That’s it? They just did it all illegally and now no one knows anything?”

Helpless, the guy shrugs. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could help but this is my first summer here and I don’t know who even helped those guys out with doing that.”

Almost in sync all four boys huff, clearly annoyed and disappointed at the lack of information they’ve been given. You can feel it radiating off of Nico, the thought that he’s paying this guy for nothing if he can’t help them.

“It’s fine,” you assure the poor groundskeeper who’s already done more than he could. “I mean, lots of things can be done illegally for the right price so just-thanks for your help.”

He smiles in thanks at you, look to Nico imploringly. You’re fiancé waves him off and the guys almost scrambles away, heading back towards the cart he must’ve drove over here to meet Johnny and Timo.

“We’re never going to figure out where that headstone came from,” Timo says, “not unless we get her parents talking.”

Alex perks up. “We have! Well kind of. Johnny and I haven’t listened to all the bugs yet but I mean, we can probably scare them into talking about it right?”

It’s a smart idea, you’ll admit. And Nico must think so too because he tilts his head thoughtfully, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thinks.

“Could work,” Nico finally agrees. “Maybe get Keefe to call them back in, nonna too this time. Have his question them separately about the grave. Play it off like he’s investigating us so he needs to know where the stones came from. If they think it’ll keep them safe, they might admit who they sold it to.”

The five of you lapse into silence, thinking it over. You saw first hand how your parents lied to Keefe. They must not be too concerned with secrets infringing on their goal of taking down Nico if they blatantly made up stories just days ago. They haven’t spoken to your nonna though, left her waiting in the front area during their questioning but with the right questions she might speak. After all, she has no background with Nico or your relationship with him. All she knows is what your parents told her. And who knows what was true there. Maybe you could even catch them in a lie.

“Let’s head home and start sorting through audio files then,” Johnny finally says, clapping Alex on the back. “Smart idea though kid.”

You’re trudging back to the car when Alex stops, lightly touching your free hand. You look to him, find him pointing to a bouquet of lilies on a gravesite. “Those are nice,” he says casually. “Like for a wedding.”

His sly smile gets you, makes you and Nico both laugh. He reaches around you, flicking Alex on the ear. “Stop prying would ya? This is personal.” You shoo Nico away, taking ahold of Alex’s hand and swinging them between you.

“They are pretty but we already picked flowers.”

Timo and Johnny stop, the three of you barely having time to stop before you’d bump into their backs. They both turn around, eyes wide like they can’t believe what you just said.

“You’ve been wedding planning?” Johnny asks in disbelief. “Finally?”

And well that’s a little offensive because you’ve had a lot going on! You and Nico wanted to enjoy the holidays and bask in your engagement for a bit before jumping into planning. And then you went to Vancouver and that was a mess. With Nico working so much now and you and the boys getting Hischier Enterprises together, you’ve been busy. Not putting off wedding planning or anything. Just busy.

“For your information we’ve done a lot of planning.” You scoff, jabbing at his shoulder.

“Do you have a date yet?” Alex cuts in, “A venue? Am I in the wedding? Is that allowed actually-“

“Okay calm down,” Nico interrupts, giving them all a pointed look. “Nothing has been ordered or reserved or anything, we’ve just agreed on some things. Wedding party not being one of them so don’t even ask.”

Wedding party, you internally wince. That’s going to be the worst part of the wedding you think. That’s a topic you and Nico haven’t even brought up, well aware that there’s going to be overlap in who you both want standing next to you. You have no doubt that all three of the men in front of you will be in the wedding but you have no idea where and with who.

“We have to settle on a date and venue first,” you tell Alex, squeezing his hand. Slowly, you all continue moving to the car, dragging your feet because Moose is taking his time to sniff at every blade of grass before Nico steps on them.

“Sweden is nice,” he offers innocently. “Really nice, especially in the summer. Have you heard of Midsummer?”

“I have,” you nod, “but we don’t know if we want to do something in Europe. We have to figure out guest lists first.”

“I think you could do France,” Timo throws out over his shoulder. “Nina would be over the moon. And it’s nice there.”

Nico, tone a little suspicious is the one to respond. “Since when are you thinking about Nina? Or France?”

It makes you pause, eyeing the back of Timo’s head as he shrugs. You still haven’t had time to talk about his trip to Switzerland. Did he see Nina there? Is that why he’s thinking of her? Does Nico think that Timo dropped in on his family?

“S’just close to home without being in Switzerland, right?” Your best friend deflects. Questioningly, you turn to Nico. He’s frowning at Timo too, cheek flexing as he gnaws at the inside of it. Something is going on there and you have no idea what. But you’ll find out, that’s for sure. Even if it means talking to Nina yourself.

“Doesn’t matter right now anyway,” Nico finally reminds, any playfulness he had from this morning completely gone. “Wedding can wait. We all need to focus on this and that stupid fucking headstone.”

He goes on to remind Johnny of the quickest way to sort through the audio, reminding him to actually let Alex do some of it too so that he can learn the skill. And two sets of ears is better than one. You’ve stopped listening by then though because your phone chirps from the pocket of Nico’s leather jacket, and you dig it out to an email notification.

Not even to your personal email though. It’s to the default, private user email that everyone under Hischier Enterprises is given when you officially hired them. It’s an odd combination of numbers in place of a name, the domain email being one you don’t recognize. You quickly unlock your phone, opening up the notification in the mail app.

They’ll never tell you anything about the headstone. At least no one that’s left in the clerks office. I can help but not right now. Need things to calm down first. Sorry. Be in touch when I can.

-M73

“Nico,” you call, steps faltering as the full message hits you. Whoever this is, however they got your email and know about it all, they’re not a Devil.

“What?” He asks, grabbing both of your arms, crowding around you. “What is it baby?”

You hand him your phone, biting at your bottom lip as the other boys press in around you, shielding you and Nico as he reads over the email. You don’t even know what to say. Not really. That email isn’t listed to anyone public. It’s for clients only meaning it had to come from someone who’s under contract with the Devils. Or really close with a business that is. You think of the tag line at the end. M73.

Your mother was born in 73. Not that you’d ever think she’s helping you. The number is significant to her though. After all it was the passcode to all her things when you were a kid, the pin on her credit card, the combination on the safe in her closet, the code to unlocking her car. The M could be anything of your honest but there’s something about it that sticks out.

“M73,” Nico murmurs, looking up at you. “Who is that? Do you know anyone it could be?”

It stupid. A thought you shouldn’t even have but as the boys pass the phone around you become more and more convinced. Because she wasn’t in that room with your parents. They didn’t want her to know everything, or didn’t want her telling Keefe that your parents faked your death. Maybe she knows something.

“My mom, she was born in 73,” you tell him, still hesitating. “And my nonna, she was married that same year. It was her second husband I think but his name was Mateo and everyone always said how in love she was with him. Like obsessed. She’d talk about him all the time.”

It’s embarrassing the way Nico’s face crumples into a pitying look. Like he doesn’t believe you, like he thinks you’re grasping at straws to salvage something. Maybe you are because it does feel stupid. How would your nonna be able to get ahold of this email? And who would put her in danger in favor of protecting that gravesite?

But it feels right. At least you think it does.

“Baby,” he sighs softly, “this could’ve come from anywhere. It could just be something to throw us off even. I don’t- I don’t know how your grandma would even know what’s going on.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. The thought is almost impossible. She was sick, really sick. Even if she’s capable of travel now, you don’t know how she’d be able to get away from your parents for all of this. You don’t even know if she knows how to send an email if you’re being honest. Still, it’s disappointing to hear, makes you deflate pathetically and you have to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in your throat.

Alex hands your phone back, watching the side of your face intently as you stare at Nico’s shoes. He sighs again, squeezing your biceps as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry baby. Maybe it’s her but we don’t know enough so maybe we should just ignore it for now. Focus on the bugging system and all.”

Numbly, you nod. Focus on the plan, on what you have now. That’s the protocol but as you tuck your phone away, you can’t shake it. You know that message is real, that’s it’s not some joke or distraction. It was done too hastily, too informal. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it sounds like Alex or Jack wrote it. It’s filled with the genuine concern of someone trying to help.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Nico pulls back, eyebrows high on his forehead as he stares blankly at you. “It’s real. I know it is. The message is too rushed and- I don’t know but I know that whoever it is they’re actually trying to help.”

To his credit, Nico doesn’t shoot down the idea even if he’s not entirely convinced. You’ve always had good intuition though, have known to trust your gut. It’s what gave away Rino and Lena in Switzerland. It’s what got you Johnny and Alex. Nico knows that. Maybe that’s why he’s willing to entertain the idea.

“Okay baby,” he shushes, “if you really think so we’ll figure it out, yeah?” He waits for you to nod, for the tension to leave your shoulders before continuing. “We’ll focus on your nonna then, listen to see if she mentions Mateo or her wedding at all. Anything that might connect to the email.”

Grateful, you nod. Then- “or the businesses,” you add, looking to Johnny and Alex. “This email is only accessible to people under contracts with us. If she mentions any of the businesses or clients that could be how she got it.”

It’s a long shot. People of her age aren’t very tech savvy but it’s all you can think of. She’s smart enough to know that if she had to get ahold of you away from your parents, an email could work. And she’d have no shame in asking someone for help, you know that. Maybe she picked up on what the Devils horns on the windows mean. Maybe she went to one of them looking for you.

You ignore the nagging voice reminding you that anyone who stumbles in looking for you or Nico gets reported directly to him.

You have to believe it’s her because there’s no other options.

“We’ll be thorough,” Johnny promises. “Can even listen in with us if you want.”

“Yeah,” Alex pipes up, “you can show me how to do the audio stuff instead of Johnny.”

Letting out a breath of relief, you give him a thankful smile. Alex preens under it, cheeks going red when you press a motherly kiss to his cheek. Before any of them can break away to leave, Nico catches your jaw, makes you look at him.

“I’m trusting you on this,” he says carefully, head tilted in that way that means business, that he’s not at all playing around with this. “I know you’ve got some kind of sixth sense for this but with everything that’s coming, I have to be extra careful, okay?”

Intently, you nod, the action cut short by his grip on your chin.

“M’gonna call in a couple back-ups. Just reinforcements in case we miss something here.”

It’s not a surprise to you. You’ve been at home with him all week, have helped him sort through things in the home office. Including files of potential Devs and prospects. It is a shock to the others though, Timo especially who has never seen Nico call in a prospect before. Not since Luke and he only did that because it was Luke and Jack.

“What? Who?” Your best friend gasps. “And don’t say any of Luca’s friends or whatever from home because I don’t trust those dickheads any further than I could throw them-“

“It’s not them,” Nico interrupts, running a hand through his hair. He releases your jaw, knuckling softly at the curve of your chin, all sweet and tender before looking to Timo. “I would never use Luca’s guys. I’ve got a couple rookies in Utica that look pretty good.”

“Utica?” Timo balks, “you’re bringing up one of them?”

Nico clears his throat. “No, I’m bringing up a couple of them.” He doesn’t expand further than that and no one asks him too. Even if they want to poke at him, beg him for more information. Utica isn’t far from here. He can have the call ups here tomorrow if he wanted. They can all wait.

“Are you sure?” You ask him though, because you already know who he’s been looking at. You didn’t study them as intently, but you read over the files with him, memorized their names and specialities. “They’re still training. Are they ready for this?”

He doesn’t flinch. “They’re going to have to be because we need them.”

You let him tuck you into his side, a protective arm around your shoulder and when the boys all part, Moose breaks from the circle he was sniffing around you all to join at your side. Moving back towards the cars, pace quicker now that you’ve all been thrown by the email and the call-ups, you send a mental prayer out to whoever is listening because S. Nemec and S. Casey have no idea what they’re about to be called into.

[deswhomst]

i went into ginny and georgia season 3 like “oh this is that one guilty pleasure kinda cringey show ive liked for a few years now” but omg the writing this season was so good !!!! it was a masterpiece imo. i did not expect all that to happen—plus the acting!!! it was so well done i’m actually weirdly proud of it. dumping some thoughts here

S3 SPOILERS:

i used to really like paul but he disappointed me baddd. i’m not saying his situation was completely easy but he totally abandoned them (including ginny and austin) and i lost all respect when he hit the wall beside georgia—and i GET that georgia faking a pregnancy was wrong, too, but he got violent and that’s never okay imo.

i am SO happy that ginny confronted zion about being absent, too, because everyone keeps saying that zion is such a great father and while he’s not horrible, he has definitely lived his life while georgia had to give hers up. yes it was her choice but he could’ve fought harder, too. so im not saying i hate him or he’s totally bad but i like that there was accountability for that this season.

ginny and georgia!!! <333 i feel like this is the closest the two have ever been and i recognize the situation was very fucked up and traumatizing but i loved them being in each other’s corner. really embodied the us against the world thing

poor austin oh MY GOD he framed his own father for a murder he saw his mother commit that’s insaneee. he’s never ever going to be okay after this because even if his dad was an asshole, it was still his dad and he was good to austin so it’s bound to be scarring. like austin chose georgia over gil because like ginny said it came down to either his mom going to prison or his dad and that’s not a choice a kid should ever have to make

also see the way georgia has never once bad mouthed gil to austin even tho he abused her bc she wanted him to have a good image of his dad but gil started talking shit about georgia to austin the second he could says a lot

that scene where the CPS people (?) took ginny and austin from georgia’s house was so so sad

really enjoyed ginny and abby’s friendship this season

and omg max :(( i felt so incredibly bad for her. putting aside all the drama with her friends, the way she looked after marcus this season was so precious. she knew that if she told her parents, he wouldn’t talk to her, but she cared about him and did the right thing ultimately—i’m sure someday marcus will realise that she was really there for him and she possibly saved his life by pushing him to get the help he needs.

coming to her friends, they were genuinely mean to her a lot. max was unfair in the previous season but she clearly learnt from it and grew as a person and she kept thinking that she was the problem for a while but they did genuinely leave her out quite a lot and that never ever feels good.

the way when ginny got pregnant all she needed was her mom :((

JOE PUNCHED GIL !!!! JOE PUNCHED GIL !!!!

JOE AND GEORGIA KISSED !!!! they’re so endgame it has been obvious from the beginning but i’ll be honest i did start having my doubts when paul & georgia seemed to be doing so well. that ship has drowned now lmaoo BUT OMG THAT BABY BETTER NOT BE PAUL’S </3

also i’m kinda?? idk, happy for georgia? if she decided to keep the kid, that is, because she had ginny and austin when she was very very young and not at all stable so if she were to have a baby now in a better position in life that could be healing for her and maybe the cycle of traumatizing her children could finally end but who knows we will see. also would understand if she doesn’t want to have the baby but knowing georgia she probably will have it

[unluckilyimnot]

JEALOUS SAE HEADCANONS PLEASEEEEE

Jealous hc

Characters: sae, rin, kaiser, hiori, karasu, shidou

m.list | rules

Note: hiiii how are youuu thank you for your request hihi I had other characters bc I felt like doing it for them too

Sae Itoshi

he’s too prideful to be jealous, or he thinks so

in fact he get pissed off easily, anyone being a little to friendly with you bother him and he already doesn’t like anyone so imagine

he’s not subtile, even if he thinks he is

he’ll get closer, talk like shit to the person who’s flirting with you in his eyes

roll his eyes, click his tongue, you name it

Suddenly he wants to go home or leave for another place

You never honestly never thought you'll see him like that since he's confident and trusts you

I think he just doesn't like people and so by extension he hates people talking to you

He likes to think he's the only one who can make you smile like that, beside your friends (he's not insane)

So seeing some nobody making you smile, or even worst : laugh makes him jealous

He’s not into pda to save his life i think, that’s something he keeps behind closed doors

But oh man how he likes to kiss you when it happens, just to remind everyone that you're taken and you're proud of it

Be prepared to hear about this, he’s a nagging mom at heart

“Are you done ?” you’d ask and magically, yes he is

he will sulk yes, but close to you at least

Rin Itoshi

Bare with him, he acts tough but deep down he wants to cry

Just like his brother, he will get closer, his arm will probably stay around your shoulders after that

But he won’t be mean to them, just kinda ignore them or send death glare if they get too close

No touching, even in a friendly way, don’t be ridiculous

I think he appreciates it if you put a stop yourself

He’s more insecure than he likes to admit and it prove him that he can trust you

He’s gonna be clingy af though

When you two are finally alone, Rin won’t say a world but glue himself to you

He’ll need reassurance for sure :( this boy has abandon issues

Michael Kaiser

He’s an asshole (lovingly)

He let people flirt with you if it helps their ego and mock them for how long you can think, it’s almost an inside joke for him

The irony is that he’s really possessive, so it’s all fun and game until it’s not some loser that try to hit on you

Not that he feels threaten, please

But he still don’t wanna play with them and he doesn’t want you nearby

If you just happen to be friendly with someone then he’s bothered

What do you mean by being this happy to see someone else ?

He’ll ask a million questions and whine about it before brush it off as if he doesn’t care

It takes a lot to deal with him, his reaction depend on his phase

If he feels low then he’ll be a nightmare, you had to be sorry for someone hitting on you and tell him he’s your one and only

If he’s his confident self, it’s almost like he doesn’t care and let it happen

Being with him is a roller coaster

Tabito Karasu

Best man if is speak

He’s mature and he knows he’s projecting his own insecurity when he’s jealous, so he doesn’t make a big deal about it

He’s not gonna ruin the moment so he just keep his cool and act normally

Deep down you can feel there’s some awkwardness so you try to ask him silently, with your eyes or smile, if he’s ok

He loves you so much he feels dumb to even be jealous the second you do that honestly

Expect small pda like holding hands above your knees, playing with your fingers or the em of your shirt/ skirt

He’ll talk to you about it on your way back home or when you two are comfortable at yours or his place

He knows it’s normal to feel like this sometimes but it’s normal to reach for comfort right ? he’s not shy to ask

Nothings best than you playing with his hair, laying on your chest or thighs

Ryusei Shidou

He’s unhinged he scares me

I think he’s the most jealous among them

You’re his, that’s it so, he may seem lay back (and weird) but he’s cautious with every person coming near you

I hc him with abandon issues as well (give us his back story please and make it worth it compare to some character) so he’s always scared of you leaving

It’s still more in a possessive than an insecure way, he just can’t take it if he considered that someone is too close to you

He gets touchy oh my, he’s all over you, can’t keep his hands to himself just to let them know that you’re taken

He’ll talk to them straight in the eyes while his hand run up and down your thighs, he’s not ashamed of anything

You have to put a stop to it but always expected something more while coming home

Yo Hiori

He’s cute and I don’t think people take him seriously enough

You’re amazing and beautiful and fun to talk to, people already asked you why him

He kinda has war flashback ngl

Obviously he also think that he’s not enough and probably get jealous/sad quickly if someone get close to you and is really friendly

He’s scared to take things into hand I think, so he’ll just ask for you two to leave

He won’t tell you how he feels, he’s sure it’s not important enough to bring it up but you always ask him anyway

You’re so sorry that it happens at all honestly, you never want him to feel like this

He never ask for it but you’re clingy and want to do nothing with him, spending some quality time together, watching him play game while you stay on your phone or even sitting in his laps

It always make him feel better and remind him that you won’t leave him so soon

I hope you liked it ♡

[kafka-ish]

Thinking about Stanford!Art who’s a little mean but also really fucking charming. Now that Patrick’s out of the picture & girls are giving him more attention than usual it occurs to him that he is attractive. He’s a fucking catch with his backwards cap and shaggy blond hair that peeks out from under it, curling at the nape of his neck.

He probably hangs out with a bunch of frat kids even though he didn’t rush but some guys on his team did and the other ones remind him of his old classmates from MRTA. He’s like a brother by association.

And no one knows what he’s majoring in; all he talks about is tennis or how he’ll be hosting a pregame at his place or how much he hates his professor for the bio class he has to take. Everyone knows he’s gonna go pro so what does it matter anyway?

Which is precisely why he’s the king of being friends with benefits. He had five at the same time at one point but made the mistake of them all being from the same sorority :( Word got around. Obviously…

Now he just hooks up with random girls he meets at parties occasionally.

And maybe it’s Halloween & he’s dressed as Federer because he already has everything for it and he doesn’t feel like dropping thirty bucks at Spirit last minute. Now he’s in SAE’s frat house in his usual tennis get-up save for his backwards hat, which he’s traded for a sweatband for the time being.

He’s in the only room people aren’t dancing, playing beer pong against a pledge. Even drunk, his aim is perfect.

And he’s about to get the final shot when he sees you among the crowd that’s been swarming him and the other freshman for the past ten minutes. It’s the first time he misses and his audience seems more concerned than he is.

Art couldn’t care less. Abandons the game completely; someone else cuts in while he’s making his way toward where you’re standing. He has to physically push past the bodies that are in his way. Doesn’t even say excuse me. He’s in too much of a hurry just for the chance to talk to you, even if it’s just to say hello.

“What happened there?” You say, first. “You were doing so well.”

“Guess I got distracted,” he hums, quiet in contrast with the music, loud enough to hear. Or maybe he’s just that close. He blames it on the overflow of people.

His eyes twinkle in the dim of the lighting; you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or another reason. “Too bad. You almost had him.”

He snorts. “Yeah well… there’s something else I’d rather have.” Bold. But even so, you can’t help your cheeks that start to warm at the insinuation. It’s your first party of the semester and the hottest boy in the room is already hitting on you. The hottest boy who also happens to be Art Donaldson, and who are you to say no to him?

“You wanna go somewhere quiet?” He asks after you don’t respond to his comment.

An idiot. You’d be a fucking idiot to decline him when here he is, practically begging.

You nod your head.

He takes you upstairs to someone’s room where the two of you can be alone — “this is better, right? Now I can hear your pretty voice.” — his hand still holding yours as he shuts the door.

And he plays it innocent, at first. Says he’s never seen you before which is insane because someone so gorgeous shouldn’t be hiding themselves away. It’s cruel, really.

“For you or for me?”

He smiles at this. “What do you think?”

Art doesn’t have you strip for him just yet. Somehow, he’s convinced you to play twenty questions. He wants to get to know you, a direct quote from him. You feel like you’re in middle school again. All giddy, sitting next to a boy who hasn’t even touched you. It’s until you’re six questions in when, finally, he makes a move.

“What color panties are you wearing?”

“You want me to tell you?” You know what he’s trying to do. You want in on the fun too.

“Not really.” He wears a smirk while his fingers pinch at the hem of your skirt.

“Why’d you ask then?”

“Just making sure I have your permission.” His head tilts to the side and you think he’s going to kiss you but he doesn’t. Fucking tease. He just pouts and looks at you with those puppy dog eyes but he’s still the one in charge.

You look down at his hand that hasn’t yet left your leg. Look back at him. End up kissing him, like it was your idea in the first place, unable to draw out your guys’ game that would further prolong the wait.

He tastes like beer and spearmint. You can smell the remnants of his aftershave already sinking into your skin. His kisses are experienced, choreographed just like the rest of his life is. His lips are soft as they work on yours, massaging them. He opens his mouth, slightly nipping at your bottom one and soon enough, you’re swallowing his tongue.

His hand moves from your skirt’s hem to the zipper, undoing it, then slipping it off. He pulls apart and looks down. “You know, red’s my favorite color.”

He leans you onto the sheets and presses a quick kiss to your lips before trailing down to suck at your neck. His teeth graze your skin making your breath hitch and his tongue swipes over the spot he’s just bitten.

He kisses all the way down to the panties he’s been admiring, slow and patient. Takes off your top in the process. Sucks a hickey onto your hipbone then kisses the inside of your thigh before really getting started.

He grins, almost twisted, when he pulls your underwear down your legs. He takes pride in the fact that he eats girls out. A lot of guys don’t do that.

And for a minute, he just smiles as he looks at your cunt, now bare to him. “You have such a pretty pussy,” he tells you unabashedly.

You blush, covering your face with your forearm.

“Hey.” He leans over you, grabbing your wrist, exposing you to him. “I want to watch you while I go down on you.” He resumes his position, tongue immediately finding your clit, licking a big stripe over it before suctioning his lips to your skin that’s sensitive. You feel him kiss you before his tongue moves in patterns, shapes no boy has ever bothered concerning themselves with before. It doesn’t dawn on you, too lost in it all, that he’s spelling out Donaldson.

You think he’s finished until his tongue pushes into your cunt, fucking it, just like he would if it were his fingers or any other appendage. And he’s true to his word: his eyes look up at you, gauging your expression while he does this. He presses a kiss to your clit when you cum on his lips, then climbs on top of you to press one to your mouth. He groans, knowing you can taste yourself.

He makes you cum a second time that night before kissing your forehead; says that was fun we should do it again sometime and slips out the door, leaving you to put on your clothes and digest what just happened.

On Monday he freezes when he walks into the bio class he hates. He didn’t realize you were in this section, sitting just a few seats diagonally from him.

[bluebasie]

Sanegiyuu Makes So Much Sense!!

I absolutely adore the ship of Sanemi and Giyuu and it never fails to confuse me when people say they don't understand why people ship them or when people say it makes no sense, especially when compared to other ships. I understand it's one thing to personally not ship Sanegiyuu because obviously it's just not for everyone and other people prefer other ships, but I definitely feel like I can confidently say that the ship makes a ton of sense from a character perspective. 

Firstly, Sanemi and Giyuu have this mutual interest in each other that just isn't displayed when Giyuu or Sanemi interact with the other Hashiras or just others in general. While Sanemi loves to say that he hates Giyuu’s attitude he could just as easily just ignore him and leave him alone since he ‘dislikes him so much’. But clearly Sanemi has some sort of interest with Giyuu as seen when he gets so worked up when Giyuu tries to leave the Hashira meeting after it was over in comparison to the other Hashiras who albeit showed care for Giyuu’s abandonment, they all remained seated except for Sanemi who tried to physically force Giyuu to stay. If Sanemi really did dislike Giyuu’s presence he wouldn't have cared if Giyuu left or stayed but the fact that he wanted him to stay shows he does care about him even if it was negative at first. Then there was their whole sparing scene in which Sanemi apparently stormed to Giyuus house to try to talk to him or at least get some kind of reaction out of him which clearly shows Sanemi’s abnormal obsession with Giyuu whether it be his actions or trying to understand him. Then when Tanjiro 'interrupted’ the two fighting Sanemi seemed to gain a new layer of protectiveness that he clearly didn't have while fighting when he noticed Tanjiro’s presence. While Sanemi seemed unrestrained and free while fighting Giyuu with an onslaught of loose movements and confident attacks as if his spar with Giyuu was a form of stress relief for him, when seeing Tanjiro and realizing his spar with Giyuu was being perceived by another he immediately put his borders back up. Sanemi immediately came to the conclusion that Tanjiro was spying on them as if their spar was a private moment between two close companions. Sanemi already seemed to get defensive when Tanjiro arrived but when Tanjiro revealed Sanemi enjoyance of frivolous things such as ohagi and green tea and Sanemi’s persona as some kind of extreme tough guy who didn't care for things such as sweets was broken obviously Sanemi started to get irritated. What's interesting about this scene though is that it isn't until Giyuu comments on Sanemi’s affection for ohagi does Sanemi crash out and punch the lights out of Tanjiro. It's just so obvious that Sanemi was embarrassed that Giyuu could think he's soft which just provided another example of Sanemi caring what Giyuu thinks of him when he clearly does not care when it comes to others. It's just too funny how much Sanemi cares about Giyuu to the point where the scene right before THE ENTIRE INFINITY CASTLE ARC AND THE DEATH OF SO MANY CHARACTERS he is literally just storming off and steaming at the thought of “what would have happened if Tanjiro didn't interrupt”.

It’s even more hilarious that Giyuu, the character that is literally known for being antisocial and having no friends, just wants to be Sanemi’s friend. Giyuu has Tanjiro and Shinobu and definitely a few others who are trying or have tried desperately to befriend him with absolutely no reaction but apparently Giyuu decides that he wants to befriend the unapproachable guy with anger issues who says he dislikes him. I'm sorry but that is such homosexual activity I don't even know how else to put it. Like Sanemi literally barged into Giyuu’s house, fought him, knocked his little brother out, and stormed off without a word, and all Giyuu can think of afterward is how happy he is to know Sanemi’s favorite food and is already coming up with a sad plan to win him over. This dude is really smiling and all thinking of his perfect future interaction with Sanemi with floating flowers in his little fantasy. I also just love the idea that he uses Tanjiro as his little wingman to help come up with ideas to win Sanemi over that all probably fail miserably just like the ohagi. 

Sanemi and Giyuu have been set up from the beginning and you can see the future of their relationship from the fact that Giyuu’s voice was enough to distract Sanemi enough to get hit by Tanjiro who was a much lower rank than himself in the scene of Nezuko’s trial. The characters have been set up as parallel characters throughout the series in so many ways it's hard to not spot the special relationship between them that isn't there between other characters. Their character design and personalities are already foil with Sanemi’s white hair and impulsive and explosive personality compared to Giyuu’s black hair and calm and collected personality. There is Sanemi’s ability to speak his mind at all times and Giyuu’s inability to speak his mind at times at all. There is Sanemi’s main emotion and expression being one of anger with Giyuu’s being sadness. Another big foil being Giyuu’s compassion and trust towards Tanjiro and Nezuko and their situation while acting as an advocate for them while Sanemi had clear mistrust towards them and their situation acting as their biggest opponent during Nezuko’s trial. Finally, there is the fact that Giyuu’s fighting style is one that revolves around ultimate defense while Sanemi is one that focuses on the ultimate attack. Just by noticing their opposites you can tell the importance of their relationship, but this continues throughout the series in which they are the ONLY two hashiras to survive which was definitely done for a reason. Their relationship is also displayed during their clash to turn their blades red showing their status as equals. The fact that they are the two last Hashiras ties them together even more seeing as after the war they both kind of don't have anyone to lean on besides themselves with the Kamaboko squad all living together and the Uzui’s having each other, Sanemi and Giyuu don’t have some big family to stay with, so they hang out with each other as seen in the panel why their having lunch together.

Out of every non canon ship I truly think thank Sanemi and Giyuu have the most developed and well written relationship down to basic characterization to where these two seem like they were really made together as a pair. Even though they aren’t canonically romantic, their relationship is written better than some actual cannon ships and I think some people should look more into the smaller details when it comes to this ship!

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

I keep going over the world we knew (p.1)

a player 230/ Thanos/ Su-Bong x fem!reader fic

summary: “It had always been him and her against the world. But if you've been fighting against the world for years, how do you react when you suddenly realize that your best friend has become your world?”

warnings: none really except the usual Thanos/Squid Game stuff. Maybe slightly ooc Thanos? , Written in my notes app.

note: I am just SO in love with him and had to get this idea out of my head. I really hope you enjoy it and that there aren’t any major mistakes!! Also there will be a part 2, I am already working on it!

<3

Part 2

It had been years since Choi Su-Bong had seen her. But there she was, standing in front of him in the same cruel, soulless environment. Player 230—or Thanos, as he liked to call himself —had never imagined that his past would catch up with him like this. And most certainly not in this place.

Thanos shook his head, his purple strands bouncing with the movement. He had avoided thinking about her. Hell, he had worked hard to bury all the memories of their childhood, to force himself to forget. But there she was. [Y/N], looking just as he remembered—except colder, more guarded. Features, that were so soft in his memory, now hardened. Sparkling eyes that had haunted his dreams on more instances than he cared to admit, now dull. But all in all she still looked as angelic to him as she had back then.

When their eyes met, a brief, silent acknowledgment passed between them. [Y/N]’s gaze hardened immediately, keeping the mental wall she had put up years ago firmly in place. Thanos had expected this. He knew she would hate him. Hell, he had wanted her to hate him. But it didn’t stop the flash of regret from hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut.

For a moment, the air between them thickened, and he felt the tension. But Thanos—Su-Bong—quickly decided to ignore his feelings. He wasn’t one to get all sentimental. Not now, and especially not in front of all these people.

"Still playing the silent game, huh?" he muttered, head dipping in her direction. The tone in his voice was smug, as though none of this bothered him. "Some things never change."

[Y/N] didn't even flinch. She glanced at him for a moment, then turned her back to him, choosing to stand away from the others. Her silence was a warning, but Thanos wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He watched her closely, trying to gauge her every move, convincing himself that it was for the sake of the games and all , but he knew this was different. This wasn’t just about the games he currently found himself trapped in. This was about the game he had been playing all his life, far more personal than any debts could ever be.

—-

The first game had passed and Thanos found himself behind the finish line. The gunshots, the chaos, the fear—it was all a blur inside of his high brain. But even in the midst of his rush, Thanos hadn’t been able to help himself but keep his eyes on her. [Y/N]. She had survived, sharp eyes calculating her every step. He was just about to make a cocky comment about her tactics when suddenly his mind wandered back to the past.

That one memory.

He had been younger, somewhat quieter. A boy with too many troubles and just as many questions. And [Y/N], she had somehow always been the answer. Even when he had found himself going down the dark path of addiction [Y/N] had been the only person refusing to abandon him. She’d spent hours keeping him company, sitting on his bedroom floor, his pills scattered across the floor between them. And no matter what bullshit he had managed to come up with, she had always been right by his side, smiling in that soft, teasing way that made him want to say something—anything—just to hear her laugh. Back then, there had been no fear, no weight of the world. Just the simplicity of two weirdos being together.

However, now, it felt like he had never known that version of himself. Su-Bong, the boy who didn’t have to push her away, the boy who never stopped smiling because of her. It had always been him and her against the world.

But if you've been fighting against the world for years, how do you react when you suddenly realize that your best friend has become your world? Unwilling to confront this question and the weight it carried, Su-Bong had ran from her, terrified of what he was feeling.

[Y/N] hadn’t known the truth. She still didn’t.

—-

The rest of the day went by in a blur and sooner than later the second game arrived. As [Y/N] and her team were making their way from mini game to mini game, Thanos observed her closely, pushing other players out of the way to crouch down at the very edge of the circular track. It was time for [Y/N] to succeed in her designated game, Gonggi. As she crouched down in front of the little table with the pebbles, her eyes quickly wandered to scan her opponents, but never once did they land on him. Thanos could see the determination in her face, the sharpness in her eyes, but there was something else. It wasn’t just the game she was playing—it was him. She was avoiding him. And he hated it.

As Thanos took his place at the inner edge of the circle, [Y/N] could feel the pressure of the game weighing on her heart. The memory of that game, their shared past, gnawed at her. She didn’t understand why but all of sudden it felt just like yesterday that she had been sitting across from Su-Bong on the wooden floor of his childhood room. Even though [Y/N] had never directly stopped him from using drugs, she had always worried about the -now purple haired- boy.

Back then he had the careless habit of messily scattering his pills on the floorboards between them, claiming it to be “for the sake of transparency”. And so, in her own twisted way of taking care of him and keeping him away from over-consumption , [Y/N] eventually started playing Gonggi with the pills, establishing the rule that Su-Bong could only continue his consume if she lost. She never lost once.

Shaking her head to get rid of the memory, [Y/N] prepared her pebbles, her fingers swift and precise. Thanos , who had been reaching for his cross necklace, slowly tucked it back under his shirt as watched her carefully from his spot. "You’re still as good as you were," he shouted, his voice booming. However, [Y/N] didn’t look up. Her focus never wavering.

"Don’t talk to me, Su-Bong," she replied flatly, her voice colder than it had ever been.

That hurt.

It shouldn’t have or at the very least he should have expected it. He wasn’t someone who allowed emotions to control him, but there was something about her rejecting him—like a door slamming shut , shutting him out from everything they had been—that made him freeze. For the briefest moment, he wanted to reach out. To break that wall she had so meticulously built. But he didn’t.

Instead, he gave a half-hearted chuckle, leaning back with his usual arrogance. "Fine. I’ll just watch then. It’s not like I need to be nice to you to survive this."

As her hand caught the pebbles in the final move, [Y/N]’s eyes shot up at him, sharp as ever. "Keep thinking that, Su-Bong," she snapped, her voice cutting through the air. "Because this isn’t about who can survive. It’s about who’s willing to lose everything for a game. And I’m not sure you're ready for that."

[n0vation]

Won't you just make love to me? Salesman x Saleswoman!Reader

ㄨSUMMARY:Two dogs monsters soulmates recruiters become friends accidentaly and decide to have fun watching their favorite shows!

ㄨ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗PAIRING: Salesman x fem!reader / Smut / Dark Content

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TAGS/WARNINGS: Sadomasochistic!reader, gun mention, kidnapping(not reader this time), cigarette burns, Dom!Salesman x sub!reader, piv, choking, dubcon?

Prepared with love and care from Nova after this poll<3.

══✿═══✿════╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞════✿════✿══

Saleswoman!reader who understands something is wrong when flashing her cute and professional smile at this person in the train, resulting in him waving the same golden card as her.

Saleswoman!reader who notices this too good man in train station. If he was that good financially, he wouldn't be sitting on that bench.

"Excuse me, Sir. Would you like to play a game with me? " She asked, crossing her legs to look more professional in that office outfit. He smiles back.

"I don't like this tone. Yet your face doesn't speak to me." He answered, thinking it's a previous winner who came back for revenge.

"Sir, just one game?" Is he drunk? Then it will just be easier for you.

"I'm not a scammer. If you win, you get this." Flashing the money, it always gets them to play.

Salesman can't help but feel confused. Was that an error? There is never an error.

"I'm sorry but that's my zone." He flashed his money too, annoyed. Is she stupid? You compare the message you both received with the same zone assigned for two different number.

Recruiter 01... Recruiter 04...

"Maybe it wasn't an error. Do you really think they would make such an error?" You think out, loud making him roll his eyes. Doubting your superiors? Unimaginable.

The notification on both of your phones cut your discussion short. An address, a number and both of your IDs. So it wasn't an error. You can't help but show off.

"Told you." You said while walking with him outside of the station. He just stares at you, hating how he would have said the same.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Bursts of laughter came from the backseat of the taxi. Who could believe it? The dogs recruiters have a lot in common! You both worked as a circle before being promoted to triangle and from that, recruiter! Even your favorite party games are the same!

"Bet she has the same kinks too" He thoughts. No, Salesman that's too intrusive to ask; he scolded himself.

"Bet he has the same kinks too." You thought. Come on, control yourself!

The taxi stops, the doors parting to reveal a nighttime Seoul. You follow the other recruiter, letting his back frame be the only visual as he leads the way to the outgoing part of the city.

The GPS stops in front of an abandoned building. Suspicious, you both enter looking around, but nothing to be seen except a few spiders.

"You're sure-" He cuts you by shushing you loudly. You hear it now. Faint beat from underground. He grins, having a point; now it's a draw between both of you.

"Illegal party?" You ask as he nods. He points toward a back door slightly opened, letting the noises peek through. Flashing lights and loud rave music greet you after going down to the basement. Painfully for your ankles in such heels. He shows you the picture he just received on his phone. The target.

"I've seen this guy before, trust me. " He states before grabbing your upper arm and leading you through the crowd, reaching the most hidden place. His hand pulling you roughly to make you struggle between all the people.

You enter an enlightened room, watching multiple people play poker. The target, him, is currently getting handled and ruined by his friend . As soon as he notices you, he comes for you and gives each of you a letter, signing you to not open and hurry you out of the room.

While you make your way out of the rave, someone grab you by your tie and pulls you apart. You look around for Salesman and notice him being hurried up the stairs too. The smell of strong alcohol assaults your sense of smell. They leave your clothes, starting their mockeries toward both of you. The two ladies with the three man laughing drunkenly at your looks .

Both of you glance toward each other , thinking the same things: "No witnesses." . You distract the men for a few seconds with the ddakji trick before Salesman sends them to sleep a bit. You handle the ladies before they start being too noisy.

Taxi, building, basement, alcohol, music and finally it's all set up! You look at your new friends who agreed to play with you and Salesman. How sweet!

You glance at the chained victims waking up , greeted by the sight of the recruiter and you drinking peacefully, before you both flash them with the same large smile.

Your new bestie get up before you could, handing you to stay sat while he "puts the show on!". You can't help but feel flaterred at his manner.

"Ladies and gentlemans, you will be playing red hand to win liberty back! The rules are simple, you have to slap your opponent's hand before them but if you go for it and they pulls away you have lost. The first one to arrive to 10 fails is eliminated." He states as he drags out a man and a woman from their still sleeping friend group to put them against each other .He puts them in a way you could safely watch from your seat, not having to worry about your safety since the chain on their leg was not long enough to reach you.

He sits next to you, playing with the gun. If it wasn't for that your show wouldn't start. He lowers his head, starting his bet over the winner. You look at him, admiring his features. It just made your mind wonder over his face at hearing him spat such gruesome overcome for the terrorized victim. Yet he was so attractive it unlocked something in you.

The first round start, the game starts to raise in violence because none of you decide to interrupt at any overflow. You watch him appreciating the game in front of him, especially how the man started to get physical because he was losing to the lady.

7...8...9...10!

"We have a winner!" He said getting up, grabbing two things on the table.

"My dear friend will decide your fate, Sir." He tells out loud before bending toward you, showing you two weapons : axe or gun. You chuckled as you point the gun, not wanting him to take too long before coming back to sit next to you. You watch him from behind, shooting the man and setting the painted in red winner in front of her next opponent. So graciously and hot. You felt like a hole was dug in your stomach and filled with burning love at the sight of the recruiter wiping away blood from his hand.

"Round two" He raises a cup of alcohol to your enjoyment, flashing his smirk again.This time you were too distracted to even pay attention to the outcome of the match. The piano, the screams, him, maybe it was more than enjoyement you were feeling. Spreading all over your body to gather in your stomach. Maybe not stomach now, you would have located somewhere else. He leans toward your side to talk to you and that enjoyment just twist into arousing.

You cross your legs, avoiding his gaze and watching your movie as he turns his head to look straight into your face. You stay stern, poker face, trying to supress any signs of what was physically happening to you.

"No way...You too..." He mumbled his smile growing as he crosses his legs in the same attempt as you. He then suddenly gets up grabbing your arms, dragging you outside of the luxurious room. You chuckled letting him. As soon as he reaches another rich room, he yanks you toward him , kissing you. You answer back at the kiss before breaking up watching him examinate your face and then kiss you again shoving his tongue to entagle with yours. His hands travels up your arm to stops over your shoulder, his fingers sinking deeper like if you wanted to run away. You let your hand finds their way around his neck, pulling him to lay down the soft couch.

You slide over him, feeling the features of his body under the clothes. It was like you expected. You sit over him, grabbing the cigarette over the table and lighting it as he stares at you.

"You wanna smoke?" He asks not understand why right now. You exhale the smoke, blowing into his face as you smirk. You take the cigarette between your fingers leaning to his face. He flinches at your hand holding the hot material resting too close to his cheek.

"Why so sudden? I like my show long and slow." You graze the hot end between your finger around his features. After all, you like to take part of the show too.

"Don't go on that path. You won't like it after." He says amused at your attics but definitely not by the burn that is coming for him.

" Noo." You says sliding the cig down his neck. Chin, neck, Adams apple, collar bone..

" Here. You don't mind ,do you?" You asks innocently, taking an inhale as you goes back to threatening to burn him over his sternal.

"I want to have my own show too." You pout, loving his attempts at getting up but your thighs holded him.

"Warned you." He suddenly grabs your hand, sitting up and pushing you down the matters, reversing the position.

"You had your show, I set it up just for you. My turn now." He says snatching the cigs to bring it to his mouth. You swear you could see him watching where you put your lips over the roll and put his there too. But you were busy trying to get over him again. He mimics your game, running the burning stick over your cheek and down between your chest, pulling your clothes down to your shoulders. He flicks you a smile before sinking it over your skin. Between your boobs. You squirmed , smelling the mixed scent of tabasco and burning flesh as he pressed harder, mainting you down. He lights up another one, pressing another circle next to the first.

"O, O." He puts his two finger in front of them, in a piece sign before mumbling something you couldn't hear. Did he just said "Yoo"?

"Won't you just make love to me?"You asks not sure of what his show consist of. He doesn't look very sane anyway. He leans over your chest, letting his lips graze over your burned skin. That's when your moral came back: you're gonna hook up with a co-worker.

You try to sit up straight but you get pinned back, hand over your throat. His kisses, a hand squeezing your neck just how it should and the other sliding less and less clothes off of both of you...

And then everything found its right place: both of his hands around your throat, your legs around his waist and his cock inside you. Your fingers claw over his thick forearm, attempting to loose up his grip over your neck as he pounds in you. You watch his face blur from the lack of oxygen combined with the sweet release building inside of you. He grins, smokes escaping his lips as he enjoyed your face leaning to pinkish tone to red.

He presses his finger deeper feeling your hands shaking as you came, feeling high. He lets go of your neck while you take deep breaths . He snickers as he slides a firm hand under your back lifting you up to manhandle your hips. You squints as the smoke coming from him burn your eyes. He looked so hot gripping on your hips to slam you back circled by heavy smoke. It was clear that you needed pur oxygen now. He slams you on last time before lifting you way from his member letting his hot cum shoots on your stomach.

His hands find there way around you , holding you close to him as he admires your face. That is now his favourite show for sure.

FUCK I MEAN WORSE***

[writinginatree]

Jealous Little Puppy

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader, Bodhi Durran & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: You feel neglected because your brother spends every free minute with Violet and has no time left for you.

Warnings: Jealousy, low self-worth, abandonment issues, implied depression. Set in Aretia during Iron Flame.

Anonymous requested: I want to ask something for Xaden where the reader is jealous and feels like she's in second place to Violet? Maybe because Violet and Xaden's dragons are mate, and they spend a lot of time together, the reader is jealous, but she gets all grumpy, glaring at Xaden, refusing his touch... but deep down she's a little lost puppy who just wants to be loved and protected🥹🤍

You sit on the bottom stair in the foyer of Riorson House, watching your brother across the room. The physical distance is nothing compared to how far away he's felt emotionally ever since you saw him again after entering the Riders Quadrant a few months ago. You were hoping he would have a few minutes to come to the gym and help you with a move you have trouble mastering, but, as usual, he's otherwise occupied.

He and Violet are locked in one of their silent conversations. You don't understand how, but you've been watching them enough to be sure they have some strange way of communicating without anyone else being any the wiser. It has to be part of the whole mated dragons thing somehow, you suppose. Maybe because of it, they can talk the same way riders and dragons talk. However it works, you hate when they do that. It always makes you paranoid, wondering if you did something wrong, if they're talking about you. Of course they aren't; you're not so self-important to truly believe they are. Nonetheless, that prickle of anxiety never fades. Maybe you did do something wrong and that's why Xaden's been so closed off from you?

He never has time for you these days. You'd thought maybe that would change now that you're back home in Aretia, but honestly, you should have known better. Every free second he has is dedicated to Violet, regardless of where you are and how often he's there.

Starting the quadrant, you'd been thrilled to learn that Xaden would be returning to Basgiath every two weeks due to his dragon being mated to that of a second-year, thinking you would get to see him on those occasions. And yes, the first time he'd visited, he had used the chance to check on you. Briefly. After that, nothing. You didn't get to talk to him again until after he showed up to save Violet and you all defected. According to Bodhi, it had been because you were safer that way. As if people weren't perfectly aware of who you are regardless of whether or not your brother payed any attention to you.

And while you do get to see a little more of him now, he never actually spends time with you. It hurts more than you care to admit. After lonely years stuck in a foster home, counting the days until you'd get to see your family again, it now feels a lot like your family doesn't want you anymore. You've been spending time with Bodhi whenever possible, but he doesn't have much time for you either, and, as much as you love your cousin, he simply can't make up for your brother's unavailability.

What little free time Xaden has, he spends with Violet. It's been going on like this for months. You try not to be jealous of all the attention Xaden gives her, but it's hard. They're so close, blind to anything except each other.

At first, it was nice to see them so obviously in love. Gods know Xaden deserves to finally have some happiness in his life. Things have been rough for all of you since the apostasy, but for him especially. And you're glad he has Violet to take care of him now, you really are.

It's just that most of these days, it feels as though you've turned invisible.

You know you're being unreasonable. You're an adult and should be fine on your own. But after having your mother abandon you, and your father die for a failed rebellion and leaving you behind, being constantly ignored by your brother in favor of his girlfriend is simply too much. It's like there's no space left for you in Xaden's life now that he has her.

The worst part is that you actually like Violet. It would be easier if you could hate her for stealing your brother from you, but you admire her. You're even friends — or as close to being friends as a measly first-year like you can get with a powerful second-year like her.

She never has time for you, either. You can't blame her. She's busy — as is Xaden, you know that. But that's different. Violet has no obligation to waste her time on you, but Xaden is your damned brother. He could at least say hi when he's home, ask how you're doing once in a while.

Instead, he only pays attention to you when you're in trouble, like is the case a few days later.

It wasn't even your fault this time. Your squadmate had gotten into a fight with one of the fliers; all you had done was try to make peace between them. Things escalated into a fist fight despite your efforts, and when the professors broke it up, no one asked who'd started it or gave you a chance to explain. After a whole fifteen minutes of Ulices yelling at the lot of you, you were sentenced to breakfast duty along with those who'd actually been involved in the fight.

And of course some asshole immediately informed Xaden about it when he returned from a long patrol later that afternoon, so now you're stuck getting another lecture, this time from your brother dearest.

"I hear you got into a fight with the fliers," he starts, glaring at you like you're the biggest disappointment he's ever seen.

All hopes that he might listen to your side of the incident evaporate, but you try anyway. "I—"

"I didn't think I had to tell you this," he goes on, "but you're supposed to be a good example for the others. We cannot have fliers and riders turn on each other, or everything will fall apart."

"It wasn't—"

"I expect you to be on your best behavior from now on. If I hear about any more incidents like this, the punishment your professors come up with will be the least of your worries. Is that clear?"

It's an effort to swallow your anger and the bitter feeling of betrayal. You've never felt so unwelcome in your own home. Somehow, you manage to keep your voice steady and void of emotion when you answer. "Yes, sir."

Bodhi finds you crying in your room that night.

"Hey, what's wrong? If it's because of that fight you got into—"

You can't take it anymore. "I didn't!" you shout, shooting to your feet. "I was just in the middle of it because I tried to make them stop, but no one ever fucking listens to anything I say!"

Bodhi raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I can take it up with leadership for you. I'm sure they'll exclude you from the punishment if I explain that you—"

"Nevermind. I don't care about breakfast duty."

"But?"

You sit back down on the edge of your bed, wipe the tears from your face and shake your head. You don't look at him. "Nothing. It's nothing."

He wouldn't understand. He's never been needy for attention like you, is happy to do his duty without expecting thanks or acknowledgement. Oh, he would be sympathetic if you told him. Would let you pour your heart out about how unimportant you feel, how lonely you are because Violet is Xaden's number one priority and no one has time for you. Would hold you and stroke your hair, give you all the attention you so desperately crave. He'd sit with you and dry your tears until you fell peacefully asleep instead of crying yourself to sleep like you'd done so often lately.

But he would not understand. And once you were soundly asleep, he would tell Xaden.

And while Bodhi would certainly be doing so for your own good, you would rather let your dragon bite your arm off than talk to your brother about this. At best, Xaden would think you're being annoying, clingy, and childish. At worst... well, you're not sure. It doesn't matter. Talking about it would not improve the situation, that much you're sure of.

Therefore, you keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to the floor until Bodhi finally decides to leave you be. He has homework and section leader stuff to do, after all. As soon as you're certain he's gone, you let the calm facade crack again and flop down on the bed, sobbing into your pillow.

Almost two weeks pass before Xaden deigns to talk to you again. You see him in the hall a few times, but he doesn't pay you any mind. Maybe he just doesn't notice you, or maybe he's doing it on purpose to punish you for your perceived misbehaviour. You don't know and it doesn't matter. Of course you could always greet him first, but you're tired of begging for his attention, so you convince yourself you don't want or need it anymore.

You're sitting at lunch when Xaden walks past behind you, reaching out to muss up your hair in passing as he's done thousands of times before, though not in a while. For the first time in your life, you swat his hand away.

He freezes, and you can practically feel his bewildered gaze boring into the back of your head. You continue eating like he isn't there.

For a moment he just stands there, trying to figure you out. When he speaks, his voice has an annoyed edge to it, but beneath that, there's a hint of what almost sounds like worry. "You're not still mad because I believed that you were involved in that brawl with the fliers, are you? Bodhi told me it wasn't your fault you got dragged into—"

"No," you cut him off, sparing him a glance over your shoulder after all. "No, everything is fine."

"Right..."

Though he clearly doesn't believe you, he leaves it be, walking off to find his own lunch. You knew he would. You don't matter enough for him to make a scene in front of your squad.

To your surprise, Xaden intercepts you outside your room that evening. Maybe Violet is still busy in the library; he sure as hell wouldn't be bothering with you if she had time for him.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he demands without preamble. "And don't you dare say it's nothing. You're skulking around like an abandoned puppy."

You bite your tongue to keep from retorting that that's exactly how you feel. Like he put you in a crate and left you in some dark alley because you're not worth taking care of anymore, and so far, no passerbys have bothered to stop and take you in. Unloved and unwanted, just like you felt when your mother left all those years ago. Maybe that's how it's supposed to feel, growing up. You've always been a little behind, so you wouldn't know.

Xaden nudges you, a reminder that he's still waiting for an answer.

You decide to give him a half-truth. "It just feels weird to be home after so long. Wherever I look there's something bringing back old memories." You let your eyes flick to his for a second. "I miss Dad."

"Me too," he quietly admits, which is the closest thing to vulnerability he's allowed himself in your presence since the execution. "But that's not all, is it?"

You shrug, opening your door in hopes he'll drop the matter, but he follows into your room. Fine. If you really can't avoid talking about it, you'd rather do it here than in the hall where gods know who might listen in.

Standing at the window, you look out over Aretia, all too aware of Xaden's presence at your back.

"Come on, kid. Talk to me."

You scoff. You can't help it. For months you've wanted to talk to him, to spend just a little bit of time with him, but he couldn't be bothered. And now that you've all but given it up he comes and demands you pay attention to him. Gods beware you have the audacity to turn things around and ignore him for a few minutes. Maybe you should have slammed the door in his face and refused the conversation altogether, given him a taste of his own medicine.

You don't have the energy to fight with him, though, so you do the next best thing and feign ignorance. "Talk about what?"

"About whatever is bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me," you claim. "Like I said, it's just strange to be back—"

"Bullshit. You really think I can't tell you're mad at me? Because I absolutely can. I just can't figure out why."

"That's not— I'm not mad at you!"

It's the truth. You're jealous, lonely, feeling neglected, maybe even a little disappointed in him, but not mad. There's no point; being angry with him wouldn't change a thing. It's true you've been acting moody lately, pulling away from everyone and Xaden especially, deciding that if you are that unimportant to him, you won't bother him anymore. It was an act of acceptance, rather than anger. You didn't think he would notice.

"What is it, then?"

"I'm just..." You shake your head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

You sigh. Why does he care all of the sudden? Part of you wishes he'd just leave you alone, even as the rest of you longs for the comfort his company used to bring. You're so fucking tired of this.

"You're away all the time. And when you are here you never have time for me." You didn't mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it does. And since there's no taking it back now you add, "It's like I don't even matter anymore. If I disappeared, you probably wouldn't even notice."

When he doesn't answer, you chance a look at your brother's face. He looks stricken, shock mixing with the guilt of the realization of how distant he's been.

"I didn't realize," he says finally, startling you with the uncharacteristically soft tone he uses. "I know I haven't really had time for you, but I didn't realize it made you feel so..."

"Neglected?"

"Yeah."

You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not a little kid you need to dote on anymore. You've got other priorities. I get it."

Xaden shakes his head. "That's not the point. I don't ever want you to doubt how important you are to me. All I did, the deal to let us into the quadrant, continuing what Dad started, it was all for you. All I wanted was to keep you safe, for you to have a better life. And just because Violet is my biggest priority now doesn't mean you're not important too. You and Bodhi are the only family I have. You'll always matter, you hear me? You matter so fucking much."

He takes you by the shoulders like he wants to shake you to make sure the words sink in, but refrains from actually doing it.

"I'm sorry," he adds, which feels even more surreal than everything else he's said so far. "I promised Dad I'd take good care of you, but I guess I fucked it up. I was so focused on just keeping us alive that I forgot about actually being there for you. And I know I've been... cold, but that has nothing to do with you. I just... kind of forgot how to do feelings, I guess. Not that I was ever much good at that stuff. But I still care. I promise I do, and I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel like I don't."

"It's okay," you say, and this time, you really mean it. He hasn't forgotten about you. He's trying. You're not abandoned after all, merely temporarily left behind. "You've done so much for all of us. It's not your fault I'm so sensitive."

"No, but I know damn well how easily you let things like this get to you. I should have noticed sooner. Next time you convince yourself you don't matter just do us both a favor and say something, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Now, are we okay again?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And I'll try to have more time for you," Xaden promises, ruffling your hair. This time, you let him. "I can't help how busy I am, but I'll try to include you more when I'm here. I'll see if I have a moment to join you in the gym tomorrow, how does that sound?"

"Perfect."

[swimming-karyss]

Sabo: loneliness, connection and affection

Trying to organise my thoughts on this matter hehe

I just thought that Sabo's relationship with loneliness and connection are very interesting, and not much people talk about how terribly lonely his childhood days were(even compared to Ace&Luffy).

Ace has been alienated from people from the beginning. Raised in the middle of the jungle, by bandits who never showed much affection, and who repeated the same hurtful words as others did. The state of loneliness is the norm for him. He has never known any other life. Naturally, he'd be protective of what little he has(Sabo) and reluctant to open up and accept new connections(Luffy).

As for Luffy, he has been left alone. Shanks left him after a year staying at Windmill village. Garp constantly took him out of his regular life only to leave him alone in the jungle. And he as well took him away from the village and Makino, after he ate his devil fruit. And while he didn't have [present] parents, he had been cared for. Luffy knows the difference between loneliness and companionship. Which is why he chased Ace's recognition so much.

Sabo's situation is more similar to Luffy's.

But do you ever think that Sabo loved his parents? That he wanted them to love him too? He wouldn't have drawn them if he didn't. He wouldn't be so disheartened at their dismissal if he hated them from the start. But his parents made their love conditional. Sabo had to earn their love and his happiness, while they ignored his pain and attempts to connect. 

And as you know this kind of relationship could leave a lasting impact on how one navigates their future relationships! But on that later😊

Now, Sabo ran away and that opened a whole other can of worms. He's a child, that for five years didn't have anyone to rely on. Of course, Ace was with him, but after he left for the day, Sabo was left completely alone. I mean, at least Ace had Dadan and occasionally Makino and Garp, they shared meals together, he could turn to them in case something happened and they provided him with company and a roof above his head. Sabo lived on the Gray Terminal by himself, in a place where people considered him either a troublemaker to avoid, or a pest to get rid of (those like pirates and bandits). So through Ace and Luffy Sabo gains not only brothers but also other connections and people who care about him! And he welcomes both Dadan and Makino with a bright smile :) Now that I think about it, just like Ace told him about Luffy, he also must've told Sabo about them too🥹

And while all this is nice, his previous problems didn't go away magically. 

(… But his issues aren't stated or shown as explicitly as Ace and Luffy's, so they are easier to dismiss.)

Even though Sabo trusted Ace with his life, he still kept his origins a secret from him, whether it was because he felt them insignificant compared to Ace's or because he feared abandonment in case Ace would be disappointed. And he was more than willing to keep his secret until the very end - Luffy&Ace literally had to beat(strangle) the truth out of him. Sabo also put distance between them in another way too: Ace thought the two of them would sail together, Sabo didn't.

That is honestly also a point to how controlling his parents were. Sabo wanted freedom so much that he didn't mind the loneliness that came with it. Well, he got what he wanted ;) 

Now it would be easy to say that his amnesia also erased his trauma. But it didn't! Sabo still felt hid parents' influence. (And unlike the other weird amnesia case (the sea sure likes to take people's memories huh) - Big Mom - he didn't revert to his younger self, he only lost access to his memories, his feelings and 'character development' remained). If anything it only led to Sabo not being able to identify the cause of his issues → not being able to treat them properly. Now, the RA seem like decent guys, they very well could be the needed support system for Sabo, but again, it's an army with a whole lot of other issues to deal with. So either way his trauma most likely was allowed to fester for a while as we see its consequences show in his adulthood. 

Even though Sabo seems to be doing well as an adult, there's still some signs of emotional distance. He has never reciprocated a hug, even though he doesn't have a problem with physical touch in general, he didn't even think about approaching Luffy in Dressrosa at first and was very tense when actually talking to him. And it's honestly fascinating just how stiff his body language was in Dressrosa (maybe I'll talk about it in general some other time) - be it shock or anger he keeps his arms to his body, unlike Koala or Hack, who choose violence.

He also showed barely any reaction during Vegapunk's speech despite the panelling focusing on him specifically. I'd say he mostly keeps his negative emotions in check, bc in Robin's little flashback he was quite expressive! The main counterpoint is 'special Luff' where he is very open about his anger, but he has a really decent reason for it: his feelings being made fun of. And as you'll see later it's a very sensitive topic for him →

To begin with, he avoids talking about things that have emotionally impacted him in any way.

1.This one might be a stretch, but he begins to talk about his encounter with Fujitora, only not to say anything in the end, idk what's wrong with him; 2. After a very emotional fight with Burgess Sabo dismisses any worries without even mentioning the fight; 3. He refuses to talk with Hack about Luffy, even though we know that he loves to yap about him to Dragon. And that is right after he didn't want to wake Luffy up to even say goodbye! He also changes the topic quickly so Karasu wouldn't be able to further question him.

Even though these scenes are played as gags, he really seems to have trouble with emotional intimacy and opening up about his feelings. And that makes him seem inattentive and irresponsible, thus affecting his relationships with others even more… 

And speaking of which, he is accustomed with either suppressing his feelings or at least just keeping them in check. He hides his worries from his colleagues, appearing as cheerful as always. And during his meeting with Dragon and Iva he brushes aside his guilt and grief for king Kobra (but, I mean it's a work meeting, they need to be professional) and never once he acknowledges his injuries.

And if he's willing to disregard such a thing as grief, how do you think he really feels about his new title, which was gained by the blood of a man he failed to save?

And frankly, right now we don't know much about Sabo! We know about his childhood, and the way he presents himself now(and that is some material to work with), but the 12 years in the Revolutionary Army are a mystery, and again it's an army, I bet he's seen many things, especially considering how high his position is!

tldr: like Luffy, Sabo has a special relationship with loneliness and abandonment. But unlike Luffy, who especially in pre-ts hated separation, Sabo pushes people away. And what makes it even harder for others to connect with him, is that he tends to hide his feelings and problems.

(like a cat)

but again, I might be reading something wrong, my bad

[vampiredaisiesss]

things we lost in the fire | d.w. x reader

tags and warnings: angst, major character death, grieving, themes of loss, abandonment and emotional dependency, soft smut, p in v, riding, domestic dean, older dean with grey in his hair says hi.

summary: you and the winchesters go a long way back. dean was your first love—and your first heartbreak. a lifetime later, the world has burned down around him. sam is gone. and dean winchester comes back to you, seeking the only arms that ever knew how to hold him without breaking.

but grief is a fire. and love is never untouched.

The rain's always the first to arrive, isn't it? Three days of it drumming against your kitchen window like knuckles rasping against wood, like someone asking to come in. You don't know yet that it's carrying Dean Winchester back to you.

You are making tea when the headlights slice through the thunderstorm. Earl Grey with honey, the way your grandmother taught you—steep for exactly four minutes. No more, no less. Time matters, she used to say. Too little and you taste nothing. Too much and you taste everything wrong.

The car door slams. One door. Not two.

Your hands know before your mind does. The mug slips, porcelain shattering against the kitchen tiles in cloud of steam. Seven years of bad luck, grandmother would say. But you think you've already lived through yours.

When you open the door, Dean is standing there with his shoulders bent against the storm. Water runs down his face—rain or tears, you cannot tell. Will never ask. His leather jacket seems to engulf him whole tonight. You remember suddenly how he looked at seventeen, caught in a downpour after his first heartbreak, when love felt like something that happened to other people.

"Sam—" he starts, and the word breaks in half.

You already know. Have known since the phone stopped ringing three weeks ago. Have known since the dreams started, the ones where you're reaching for something that dissolves the moment your fingers touch it.

But you let him tell you anyway. Let him shape the words with his mouth, this mouth you once kissed behind the gymnasium when you thought you were invisible. Let him speak his brother's name like a prayer and a curse and an ending all at once.

"I burned him," Dean manages to say. "Spread his ashes in the wind like he was—like he was nothing."

But Sam was never nothing.

Sam, who used to steal cookies from your mother's jar and leave apology notes written in careful third-grade cursive. Sam, who cried the day you found a dead bird and insisted you bury it with full honors. Sam, who grew tall as a tree and gentle as autumn breeze and never learned how to be anything but good in a world that ate good things alive.

You open your arms. He falls into them.

He stays because where else is there to go? The bunker holds too many ghosts. His car holds too many memories. The road holds too many possibilities that end in the same nowhere.

You give him the guest room, but he doesn't sleep there. Doesn't sleep anywhere, really. You find him at three am sitting at your kitchen table, staring at his hands like they belong to someone else. At four am standing at the window, watching for something that will never come. At five am with his head buried in his face.

"You don't have to take care of me," he says on the third morning, not looking up from his mug.

"I'm not," you lie. "I'm making breakfast."

"You hate breakfast."

He's right. You've lived on coffee and anxiety for most of your adult life. But Dean hasn't been eating. He needs feeding the way broken things need mending—carefully, persistently, with more patience than you think you possess.

You learn his rhythms. How he flinches when the phone rings. How he checks every lock twice before bed. How he keeps Sam's phone number in his contacts and almost calls it a dozen times a day, thumb hovering over the screen.

"Tell me something good," he says one evening as you sit on the porch, watching the day die in shades of orange and pink.

You think of the summer you caught fireflies in mason jars, how Sam insisted on letting them go because he read they only lived for two months. How Dean pretended to be annoyed but released his too, watching the tiny speck of light drift away.

"Your brother," you say, "was the only person I ever met who could make the smallest of creatures sound like the most important thing in the world."

Dean's laugh comes out broken. "Yeah. He was good at that."

Was. The word sits between you. A sound with its own weight.

The nightmares begin on a Tuesday.

You wake to screaming. Raw, animal sounds that seem to come from somewhere deeper than his throat. You find Dean thrashing in the guest bed, sheets twisted around his legs, his hand reaching out into the darkness of the room.

"Sammy!" he cries, and the name is a wound torn open. "I got you, I got you, don't—"

You touch his shoulder and he comes up swinging, eyes wild and unfocused. For a moment you think he might hit you. For a moment you think he wants to.

"It's me," you whisper. "It's just me."

Recognition filters back into his face. He collapses against the headboard, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin.

"I couldn't catch him," his voice is a child's voice, small and lost. "He was falling and I couldn't—my hands weren't fast enough."

You don't ask what he was falling from. Don't ask why Dean's hands feel responsible for every tragedy they couldn't prevent. Instead, you sit on the edge of the bed and wait.

"Will you—" he starts, then stops. Starts again. "Would you mind—"

"Yes," you say before he can finish asking.

You slide under the covers beside him, careful to leave space between you. He turns toward you anyway, instinctive as a plant seeking light, and you let him. Let his forehead rest against your shoulder. Let his breathing gradually match yours.

"Tell me about before," he whispers into the darkness. "When we were kids."

So you do. You tell him about the fireflies.

Dean's breathing evens out against your collarbone. His hand finds yours in the darkness, fingers intertwining like he's afraid of getting lost.

This becomes your routine. His nightmares, your presence. The slow, careful work of learning how to exist in the same space without bleeding all over each other.

Spring arrives eventually, as spring always does, stubborn and hopeful and impossible to ignore. Dean starts working in the garden. Needs something to do with his hands, he says.

You watch him from the kitchen window as he plants tomatoes and peppers and herbs you can't pronounce. His shoulders are broader now, less weighed down with hunger and sleeplessness. His hands move through the soil with surprising gentleness, and you remember suddenly that he used to draw, before the world taught him that his hands were only good for violence.

"You could take classes," you suggest one evening over dinner. "Art classes. Like you used to talk about."

He looks at you like you've suggested he learn to fly. "I don't remember how."

"Hands remember," you say, thinking of your grandmother's fingers finding piano keys even after her mind forgot the songs. "Even when we don't."

He doesn't respond, but the next day you find sketches on the kitchen counter.

The first time you make love—and you use that phrase deliberately, make love, because what you do is less about desire and more about creation—it happens just like that.

Dean appears in your doorway at midnight, barefoot and hesitant. He's been having good days lately, days when he laughs at something on television or hums while washing dishes. Days when he seems to remember that he exists in present tense.

"Can't sleep," he says, but his voice carries something different tonight. Not the familiar weight of nightmares, but something lighter. Something that might be want.

You pull back the covers without speaking. He crosses the room one step at a time. His lips crash against your lips. They're rough, chapped from neglect, tasting of the apple pie you baked for desert and blood, as if he had bitten his lips crimson before arriving here. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry, and you open for him.

A soft moan catches in your throat.

His hands find your face. They're trembling a little. Trembling with a terrible responsibility of touching something you love more than yourself. Fingers of his other hand dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he presses himself closer, chest to chest, the heat of him searing through your thin shirt.

You tug at his tee, pulling it over his head, and his freckled skin gleams in the moonlight. Your fingers trace the curve of his jaw and he shudders, breath hitching, as you press your lips there, tasting salt.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, your mouth brushing the corded muscle of his neck, where his pulse leaps.

“No,” he says honestly, for once. “But I want to feel—God, I want to feel alive.”

You guide his hands to your shirt, and he pulls it off. Calluses scrape your skin, sending sparks down your spine. His fingers fumble with your bra until it falls away, and his breath catches at the sight of your breasts, soft and heavy in the dim light. He cups them, thumbs brushing your nipples, which harden under his touch. You gasp, arching into him. And his mouth follows.

Ardent lips closed over one nipple, tongue swirling, hot and wet. You back arched more, letting you into a slow and languid ride of delight. His hand kneads the other breast, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

Dean moves to the other breast, leaving your tender nipple with a suckling pop. Saliva drips from his mouth, the sight of it making heat pool between your thighs.

His eyes find you like he's sketching you into existence. "You're so beautiful," he says in a brittle voice. "I'd forgotten that things could be beautiful."

You push him back onto the bed, straddling his hips. His eyes, wide and searching, lock on yours. Your fingers work his jeans open, the zipper loud in the quiet. He lifts his hips as you tug them down, revealing the hard line of his cock straining against his boxers. You slide them off, and he’s bare before you, thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Your hand wraps around him, stroking slowly, and he groans. His head tips back, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to stay present.

You shed your own pants, your underwear, and climb over him, knees bracketing his hips. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, guiding you as you sink down, taking him in inch by inch. He’s hot, hard, stretching you, and you both moan out at the sensation. Your hips roll, slow at first, finding a rhythm, and his hands slide to your ass, urging you deeper. He thrusts up, tentative, then bolder, his cock sliding in and out. The friction sparks heat that pools in your core.

His breath is ragged, puffing against your shoulder as he sits up, arms pulling you close. Your breasts press against his chest, nipples grazing his skin, and he kisses you, desperate teeth nipping your lower lip. His hands roam, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him. Your bodies are slick with sweat. The bed creaks, a counterpoint to your gasps, his grunts, the wet sounds of your bodies joining.

“You feel so good.” he whispers, lips brushing your collarbone, voice thick with something like awe. His hips snap up, harder now, and you meet him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moons on his skin. You clench around him, and he curses softly. A broken “fuck” erupts against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

You move faster, chasing the heat building between you. His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and rubbing in tight circles. The sensation is electric, a jolt that makes you cry out, and he watches you with wide eyes and parted lips.

When you come, it’s a wave crashing, and he follows, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finishes inside you.

Afterward, you lie tangled in sheets and starlight, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.

"I used to think," he says quietly, "that wanting things was selfish. That love was something you couldn't afford if you were trying to save people."

"And now?"

He considers this, his thumb finding the pulse point at your wrist. "Now I think maybe love is what gives you something worth saving."

You marry on a Thursday in October, when the leaves are dying their most beautiful deaths. No ceremony, just you and Dean and a justice of the peace and some of your loved ones. Jody. Claire. Donna.

Dean wears his father's ring on a chain around his neck—one of the only heirloom that survived all the burning—and you wear your grandmother's dress, altered to fit a life she never could have imagined.

"Do you take this man," the justice begins, and you want to laugh because take implies acquisition, ownership, the claiming of something that was never really yours to begin with.

But you say yes anyway. Yes to this man who waters your plants when you forget. Yes to this man who learned to make soup from scratch because you were down with cold. Yes to this man who still wakes up reaching for his brother but has begun, slowly, to reach for you instead.

The ring he slides onto your finger belonged to his mother. You think about that sometimes—how love travels through generations, how it survives even when the people carrying it don't.

Your daughter arrives on a Tuesday morning in March, screaming her indignation at the bright, cold world. She has Dean's eyes—that impossible green—and Sam's stubborn forehead, already set in determined lines.

Dean cries when he holds her, tears he's been saving for years finally finding their purpose. His hands dwarf her tiny body, but he holds her like he held you the first time you made love. That terrible responsibility of holding something you love more than yourself hitting him again.

"She looks like him," he whispers, and you know he means Sam. "Around the eyes."

She does. The same wide-set gaze, the same expression of intelligent curiosity.

"What do we call her?" you ask.

Dean is quiet for a long moment, studying your daughter's face. "Hope," he says finally. "We call her Hope."

It's a dangerous name, hope. The kind of word that can cut you if you hold it too tightly. But Dean says it determinedly, like something he's finally ready to believe in again.

Your son comes two years later, quieter but no less miraculous. Where Hope demands attention like a small, beautiful storm, he observes. Watches. Thinks before speaking, the way Sam used to do.

Dean teaches them both everything he knows about being human. How to tie shoes and throw baseballs and fix engines and scramble eggs. How to be kind to things smaller than themselves. How to say please and thank you and I'm sorry like they mean it.

"Why do we have to be gentle with the cat?" Hope asks one afternoon, age five and already full of so many questions.

"Because she's smaller than you," Dean explains, guiding her tiny hand as she pets your tabby. "And because being strong means protecting things that can't protect themselves."

You watch from the doorway as he shows her how to scratch behind the cat's ears, how to read the signals that mean more or stop or I trust you. This man who once thought his hands were only good for violence, teaching his daughter the act of tenderness.

Now you stand at the kitchen window, watching Dean chase your children through the meadow behind your house. They're playing some elaborate game involving dragons and knights and magic spells that only they understand.

Hope, seven now and fast as wind, dodges between Dean's arms with delighted shrieks. Your son, Sam—yes, you named him Sam, after long conversations and longer silences and finally the understanding that some names are too important not to carry forward—tackles Dean's legs with his five-year-old determination.

Dean roars dramatically as he's brought down by tiny hands and high-pitched battle cries. He gathers both children against his chest, spinning until they're all dizzy with laughter, until they collapse in a tangle of grass and happy limbs.

The afternoon light catches in his hair. It's more gray now; he doesn't want to dye it as it reminds him of the privilege of having made so far. You think about time. How it's cyclical inside of linear. How the boy you loved at fifteen became the man you married at forty-two, became the father you watch at forty-nine.

"Daddy, tell us about Uncle Sam," Hope says as they lie in the grass, clouds moving overhead them.

Dean's face goes quiet for a moment, the way it always does when the past surfaces unexpectedly. But then he smiles—not the practiced smile he wore for years, but something real and unguarded.

"Your Uncle Sam," he says, pulling both children closer, "was the kindest person I ever knew. He used to say that loving someone meant wanting them to be happy, even if their happiness looked different from yours."

"Like how Mama is happy when she's reading and you're happy when you're fixing things?" young Sam asks.

"Exactly like that." Dean's eyes find yours through the window, and his smile widens. "Love means making space for different kinds of happiness."

You look up to the sky, a soft smile playing on your lips. Sometimes in May, an ache crawls under your ribcage and squeezes your heart. And you sit with it under the blue sky, hoping Sam would be looking down at you as you look at him. So, you throw him a smile and a silent prayer.

You know he'd say that love isn't just about holding on, but about knowing when to let go. Like how Dean learned, finally, to carry Sam with him without drowning in the weight.

The timer chimes. Dinner is ready. You call them in, and Dean looks up from the meadow, grass in his hair and dirt under his fingernails and your children hanging from his arms like small, perfect miracles.

He smiles at you—this man who learned that survival and living don't have to be the same thing, who discovered that happiness isn't something that happens to other people—and you understand, finally, what it means to build a life from the ashes of an old one.

"Coming!" he calls, and his voice carries across the meadow.

You beam, satisfied. So this is how you survive the unsurvivable. This is how you survive the burning. You don't just live through it.

You live beyond it.

[streets-in-paradise]

In These Arms - Achilles x (Fem) Trojan!Reader

Warnings: Paris dumped the reader for Helen before she gets to meet Achilles. Includes break up angst + discussion of cheating.

Summary: Heartbroken and publicly humilliated after being abandoned by Paris, you seek peace in the promise of giving up on men without realizing the consequences of his actions would find you one last time.

Turned into a war prisoner and handled to the leader of the myrmidons, the unusual comfort of your master offers you a second chance.

Note: Inspired by two prompt lists by my dear friend @alysinwonderland-at-tea

Angst list - Prompt 4 " Everyone told me you were going to break my heart. I should have listened to them. "

Fluff list - Prompt 2 "I think about you. Ceaselessly."

Tags: @lovelybaka

If everyone else in Troy had reasons for sorrow, on top of theirs you were the most damaged. The man you loved had returned home bringing someone else on his charriot. A stolen queen, woman you didn't have the slightest chance of comparing yourself to given the charm of her famously inhuman beauty. Even when Paris never made any expressed promises priorly, love confessions had once been mutually retributed and you believed in that.

You trusted him going against the advice of many people who attempted to warn you. His own brother had told you that no matter how much he spoke of it, Paris knew nothing about love. Blinded by your feelings, you didn't care, and it turned out the worst mistake of your life.

" Everyone told me you were going to break my heart. I should have listened to them. "

It took you all the strenght you had left not to cry, but at that moment of confrontation it was him the one sobbing in front of you.

" I never meant to! Dear, what I felt for you was real … But it wasn't true love, and I had no way to tell the difference untill I meet Helen. "

You couldn't believe the excuse that was being given to you.

" It was for me, Paris … and because of you I think I will never love again. I gave you everything, but turns out all I am wasn't enough. "

The assumption seemed to have offended him.

" You know I don't mean that! Please, try to understand! "

" What's left to understand? You betrayed your homeland and you betrayed me. You too deserve each other, indeed: a cheater for a cheater … Lovely couple to doom us all! And me the first."

He gave you a hurted look, as if after what he did he still cared for your forgiveness.

" My heart breaks for you, and i am ashamed of myself for the pain i'm causing you … But what can shame do to stop the intensity of love? I would have never accompanied Hector to Sparta if I would have known there I would fall like this for someone else. I couldn't return pretending nothing have happened, and making you live a lie would have been even more unfair than this. You deserve better, I still hold good feelings for you. I swear it on these arms that had comforted you countless times before. "

Paris attempted to pull you closer for a hug, but you stopped him ríght away.

" You humilliated me in front of the entire city! And how strongly I wish I could get granted the mercy of never seeing you again, but Troy is not big enough for that. Blessed is the king of Sparta, who gets the ríght of spreading hate without having to see his wife in the arms of other man every day! Me, instead? I get doomed to watch you smile happyly from afar in the balcony of the palace alongside your mistress for the rest of my life. Do you call that justice, Paris? If that is your mercy, I would rather get your hate. "

In the most twisted way possible, the gods granted at least one of your wishes.

Promising yourself to never love another man ever again after your first love had ended so bitterly, you took the first step into the only path allowed for a woman in your position. With the help of Briseis, who remained your friend despite what happened with her cousin, you seeked to get choosen to take vows in her temple. It was a quick way to restitute your honor in the public eye and be left alone as well. Unfortunately, you didn't get to even try on the priestess robes before the concecuencies of Paris' actions reached you once more.

Greek warriors brought to avenge the husband of his new lover destroyed the temple, killing the priests and taking you prisioner. You would never get to see the great city of Priam again and, despite the sorrow you felt when thinking of your family, that also caused you a dark sense of relief. Because of Paris you have lost everything, even the most bassic of goods such as your freedom. Only after loosing so much, of hitting rock bottom, you had a real chance to be free of him.

Enslaved to Achilles, but liberated from everything you were before, the worst part was having to stand the provocations. The myrmidon enjoyed himself attempting to seduce you, but wasn't forcing you into his bed, and that worked good enough for you in that context.

At one given time you did found his teasing going too far, and only then you became fully honest with him.

" Why did you choose to love a god? I think you will find the romance one sided. "

It made your blood boil, even if you could tell he spoke to you like that because he had no idea of who you were despite knowing your name. Achilles believed to be teasing a priestess and in the discoverment of his mistake you ended up laying eyes on him for longer than you should.

He was wearing the same type of long egyptian styled robes Paris would typically wear in the domestic environment, keeping arms and shoulders covered while fully exposing the torso. It was matched with the same sort of long skirt made of light fabrics opened at the side for more cassual expousure. You could vividly remember he wore a black outfit almost identical to that one during the first night you made love.

And yet, that man looked nothing like him. His sun kissed skin and the sculpted muscles were as contrasting as his blond hair and blue eyes.

" I have choosen nothing, fate forced me to seek shelter in the cult of Apollo after being abandoned by the love of my life. I told myself that, if i could never love again, I could at least give my devotion to the regent god of my city. Because of you I never got to become a priestess, so now i'm a double spoil: rejected for marriage and dragged out of the temple. "

Although standing ríght in front of you, disbelief faded some of the cockiness.

" You won't be rejected here, that's a promise. I had a minor altercate with Ajax because we found you so pretty we both wanted to keep you."

He sat on the ground ríght next to you and observed you with tenderness before taunting you once more.

" Did I ruin your life, or arrived just in time to restaure your faith in men? I don't understand how a girl like you could think of running to hide inside a temple instead of getting herself a better man. "

You answered with the truth, but carefully crafting enough disdain.

" There was nothing I could have done to keep him with me when the competition was the most beautifull woman in the world. The majority of men would have done the same, and that's why I have choosen not to believe in any other ever again. "

Achilles wasn't expecting to find out he was struggling for the attention of the woman that the trojan prince had left behind in his pursuement of the spartan queen.

" Will all mankind pay for the crimes of Paris? That bastard is not even a man. You are so much better without him, consider that perhaps the queen has made you a favor. If he is your reason to give up on men, I have to say it's quite offensive for the rest of us. "

You could tell where his speech was coming and you tried to stop him.

" You would have given me to Ajax if Briseis wouldn't have ran away. I didn't left with her only because I have nothing left to live for. Living in Troy is unbereable for me, but at least here I don't have to worry about seeing them and that's the only perk i expect. Don't try to pretend you could be any different, specially when I'm here because you couldn't find any other more beautifull slave girl to claim yours. "

His hand was then on your face, lifting up your chin so your eyes won't leave his as his thumb caressed your lips.

" I think of you, ceaselessly. If there is any daughter of trojan judged more beautifull than you, I don't need to know and I don't care, because I want you over any other. "

Your hand followed his and pulled down, rejecting his contact.

" Sweet lies won't win me over, not this time. "

It frustrated him, but wouldn't make him desist.

" Would you believe me if I bring you his head on a spear? I can make him cry a painfull death to pay for your tears. Whatever vengeance Menelaus dreams of would be called mercy compared to what I can do to that trojan bastard in your name."

The strange rush of passionate defense encouraged you to reveal yourself.

" Revenge is not on my interest, all I want is to forget. Can you make me stop thinking of the first man who made my heart beat? The moments when we were happy still haunt me like a disease of the spirit, but then I remember someone else occupies my place now and it's like my heart gets eaten raw inside my chest. Pain and regret is all I have for you, son of Peleus. Paris drained me of anything else. "

Achilles got rid of his black robe and wrapped your shoulders with it.

" One night in my arms is all i think that would take me to vanish the memory of that fool from your mind. You haven't yet been loved by a real man: whatever he gave you would taste like few once you would have tasted me."

The fabric was still warm from the contact with his skin and he was holding both sides of it on top of your chest in an attempt of wrapping you tighter.

You didn't try to escape him that time and he used the new proximity in his advantage to trap you in his strong grip, pushing your body against his.

" In this arms you will find happiness again, if you allow me to show you how good I can do just for you. "

[maidragoste]

Chapter One: The Reaping

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader (I labeled it that even though Jace's backstory is different from Katniss's but he and Reader will be the star-crossed lovers of district 12)

Chapter Two Chapter Three

I really hope you like it because I'm so excited to write this au!

Please let me know what you think in the comments, as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated too 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Jacaerys entered the Victors' Village, not that he was a victor. In fact, his name had never come up in the reaping. But he and his brothers lived there since his uncle Larys took care of them after his father died in the middle of an explosion in the mines while working.

The teenager quickly quickened his pace while adjusting his grip on the only two squirrels he had brought from all the ones he had hunted during the morning with Baela, his best friend. He may not have needed to hunt for food anymore but he was one of the few people in District 12 who knew how to hunt. Some people had depended on bartering with his father to bring a plate of food to his table. His father would not have wanted him to leave those people abandoned, so every day he sneaks into the forest with Baela to look for deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, fish, or any type of edible vegetable or fruit. He always gave the best goods to Baela, after all, she had more mouths to feed with her mother, her twin sister, and her two little brothers. But the rest he exchanged with the merchants or even sometimes he practically ended up giving away his merchandise due to the low price that he was willing to accept from the families that he knew did not have enough to eat to prevent them from ending up asking for more tesserae. Uncle Larys had never told him but Jacaerys knew that he thought he was a fool for doing that.

Jacaerys hated the silence in the village but it was no surprise considering that of the twelve houses there, the only house that was being inhabited was his uncle's. Of the seventy-three Hunger Games that have been held so far, there have only been two victors from District 12 and the only one still alive is Larys Strong.

Jace hurried into the house trying to ignore the heaviness in his stomach.

“I told you Luke would throw up again this year! You owe me!” was the first thing Joffrey, his youngest brother, said when he saw him.

Lucerys, or Luke as his dad had nicknamed him, was the middle brother, and every year he had the worst time during Repairing; which was the moment when the District escort went up to the podium and then took a random piece of paper from each glass urn, one containing the names of all the boys between twelve and eighteen years old and another with the names of the girls. This was how the tributes were chosen for each Hunger Games. Like any coherent person in District 12 Luke feared being chosen as a tribute and unlike Jacaerys he could not hide his fear.

“Take this to the kitchen,” the oldest of the brothers asked, handing the squirrels to Joffrey before running to the bathroom.

When Jacaerys entered he found Luke hunched over, holding the toilet bowl. Ignoring the smell of vomit he hurried to his brother's side and with one hand began to rub soothing circles on Luke's back while the other brushed the hair from his face. He doesn't know how many minutes they stayed like this until the youngest finally stopped vomiting.

"I'm sorry, Jace" Luke apologized with a broken voice and tears on his cheeks, clearly feeling ashamed for being in the same position for another year. "I really tried."

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for," Jacaerys denied as he helped him up from the floor. "It's okay to be afraid. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid."

"Joffrey is not afraid," the youngest murmured after cleaning his face.

Joffrey must have been the only thirteen-year-old in District 12 who wasn't horrified at the thought of his name coming up in the Reaping. Jacaerys believed it was because Joff thought he would be able to win the games just by being a relative of a victor. Also, of the three, Joff seemed to want Uncle Larys's validation and attention the most. In these three years living with him he had never told them that he loved them but Jace thought that he should at least care a little about them because otherwise he could have let the authorities take them to the community orphanage instead of taking care of them.

"I told you, an idiot," Jace said, managing to get a small laugh out of Lucerys. "Listen, Luke. Everything will be fine. You never asked for a tessera so your name is only on four pieces of paper."

In the first year when you started to be part of the Reaping, they put your name only once in the bowl. But every time you have a birthday they add another paper with your name on it. If you do not ask for any tessera then it is assumed that you will reach the age of eighteen with only seven papers.

Jacaerys always tried to reassure his brother, and also himself, saying that the chances of his name coming up were low compared to all the people who had to ask for tesserae to be able to eat.

"Lucerys, Jacaerys, start getting ready for the Reaping" Larys ordered from below. There was no need for him to shout as the house was silent.

"Take a bath, you stink" Jacaerys mocked, ruffling Lucerys's hair before leaving him in the bathroom.

"Happy Hunger Games! and may the odds be ever in your favor!" greeted Effie Trinket, the District 12 companion, with the same excitement as in previous years.

While Effie gives a speech about what an honor it is for her to be there as a companion, Jacaerys's eyes meet Baela's. She smiles at him and he struggles to return it. Baela is so brave, he doesn't know how she isn't trembling with fear knowing that her name is at least twenty times. Maybe in recent years she was no longer asking for tesserae but before Jacaerys moved in with his uncle she had.

"Ladies first!" said Effie announcing that it was time for the drawing. She approaches the urn with the girls' names and then reaches deep inside and takes out a piece of paper. You can feel the tension in the air and for a moment everyone seems to hold their breath until Effie opens the paper and I read it "Y/n Y/l!"

Shit. Jacaerys knew you. He had seen you more than once at the bakery when he went to buy or exchange his merchandise with your father. Not only that but you two share classes together at school. You weren't friends. But you were still there for his brothers when he was too devastated by the death of his father to care about anyone else. You were the one who stopped some idiots from bothering Luke at school, you were the one who helped Joffrey with his homework to prevent him from repeating a grade, and you, in the only conversation you ever shared, reminded him that he was important to the District, that his brothers needed him, that he could not abandon them, that his father would not have wanted to see him as a ghost in life, that he would have wanted him to help the people of the District.

Jace had to go say goodbye to you, his gratitude may be three years late but he needed to thank you for taking care of his brothers when he had failed them and remind him that he had a purpose.

Jacaerys watches you move towards the stage. Your posture is straight, your chin up and your steps are firm but he can see the uncertainty in your eyes. You still look pretty in your pink dress, it wasn't glamorous at all—no one in the district wears glamorous clothes—but in his eyes, you stood out. It's probably because, unlike other girls in the district, your clothes didn't hang off and your bones didn't show, you didn't look like someone who was malnourished.

Maybe with your beauty and if you had a good interview you could get lucky and captivate a sponsor, he thought. He hoped that this year his uncle would try even harder to bring home a winner.

Once you are on stage Effie asks for volunteers. Of course, no one offers.

“Now it's time to meet our male tribute!” Effie announces, rushing to the boys' urn and pulling out the first piece of paper she sees, “Lucerys Strong!”

This must be a nightmare, Jacaerys thought. They were supposed to be safe, they had never asked for tesserae. He was snapped out of his stupor by hearing Joffrey's desperate cries calling for Luke as his brother began to walk with fear and tears in his eyes to the stage. Jace didn't even think about it, he broke out of his formation and started running after Lucerys.

“I'm a volunteer!” he shouted when the peacekeepers grabbed him, wanting to take him away from Lucerys. “I volunteered as a tribute!” he repeated, standing up straight, once they released him.

"Magnificent!" Effie exclaimed, happy because there was finally some action in the District. "But you are supposed to present the winner of the reaping first and then ask for volunteers…"

"Just let him up," the mayor interrupted her sharply, clearly upset by the situation. He knew Jacaerys because he always bought strawberries from him and Baela.

“No, Jace!” Lucerys said with a trembling voice, still shaking her head. “You can't!”

“Go to Joffrey” the eldest brother ordered firmly, he wanted to hug Luke but he was afraid that if he did he would also start crying and he couldn't do it knowing that the cameras were filming everything. He couldn't appear weak. “Go,” he repeated, pushing him aside and heading to the stage without looking back.

Jacaerys' brown eyes meet yours and the heaviness in his stomach increases. He would have to kill you if he wanted to come home, you, the person who pushed him to move forward after her father's death. He had never thanked you and much less would he do so now knowing that in a few days, he may be the one who ended up killing you. Obviously, luck was not on his side but if you died he really hoped that it would be another of the tributes who would end up taking your life. If it became him and he managed to win the games, Jacaerys was sure that there would not be a day in which he would not think of you.

"Wonderful!" Effie exclaimed once the young man finished climbing the stairs. "What's your name?"

"Jacaerys Strong," he answered.

"I'll bet my shoes he was your brother. You didn't want him to steal your glory, did you?" The companion's smile disappeared before the furious looks of the victor and the tributes. "Good! Let's give a big round of applause to our new tribute!"

But no one applauds. The entire District demonstrates its disagreement with its silence. Not only that, but many people begin to bring the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and then point them at Jacaerys. He looks shocked as they give him that gesture. It was not a common thing to be used in the District but every once in a while, someone would do it during funerals. It was a gesture of giving thanks, of admiration, of farewell to a loved one. The same gesture they had made at his father's funeral. Jacaerys feels a lump form in his throat. He can't help but look at you, this was thanks to you, if you hadn't reminded him that the District needed him like they needed his dad then maybe he would have continued in silence staring into nothingness, living mechanically instead of starting to help people like his dad used to do.

The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason. Once he finishes he instructs you and Jace to shake hands. Jacaerys notices that your hand is a little smaller than his and he feels warm against hiss. You catch him off guard when you squeeze his hand as if to encourage him. He returns the gesture even though he knows he shouldn't, it wasn't the time to become friends.

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[dee-writes-anime]

Falling In Love With Megumi Fushiguro

FEATURING Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

SUMMARY Some Megumi x reader headcanons requested by the lovely @plasmasimagination

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of sex, CHARACTER IS AGED UP, not edited (like at all), good luck!

AUTHORS NOTE please remember that these are my own headcannons, you do not have to agree with them in any way, shape, or form, but you do have control over your response. Friendly debates and constructive criticism is welcome, hate and rude comments are not, thank you and enjoy! <3

Our little gumi (>.<) is more of a reserved, quiet character, and I feel like this would transfer into a romantic relationship as well.

It would take him a long time to trust you, and we all know he has HELLA abandonment issues, so you better be prepared to reassure your broody monster.

Megumi is definitely the type of boyfriend who shows his love for you in subtle ways, like lingering glances or small gestures. And the two of you definitely have a whole other language on lock through hand squeezes and weighted looks.

He is the kind of guy to lean more toward acts of service for his love language, like making sure you got home safe or remembering your favorite things without asking.

And I also think he would lean more toward a homebody S/O, he is just a little guy who wants to come home after a long day, cuddle up on the couch, and read a book in silence while simply enjoying the space together.

Megumi Fushiguro has TRUST ISSUES, he went into a relationship with you having one foot out the door already. What did him in was your fierce protectiveness over him.

He had never been more in love than when you got in Gojo's face and chastised the older man for invading his space while he was trying to breathe through a panic attack.

Because he has trust issues, it's really hard for you to get any information out of him at first, that man is a brick fucking wall when he wants to be.

and even when he does let down his guard, he might not be the most eloquent in expressing his feelings. He tends to bottle up his emotions but appreciates how patient and understanding you are with him.

Though he’s generally calm, Megumi can feel a bit jealous when someone gets too close to you, though he tries to hide it. His jealousy isn’t loud or aggressive but more of a quiet sulk until you reassure him.

REPEAT AFTER ME, HE IS A POUTER!!!

Like, this man will sit down with a HUFF, lips jutted out and arms crossed tightly over his chest like a toddler being told no.

He only stops when you sit in his lap and drown his face in kisses :)

He’s not one to give verbal compliments often, but when he does, they carry a lot of weight. A simple, “You did great,” means everything coming from him.

Rather than grand romantic gestures, Megumi shows his love through practical means—like ensuring you eat properly, bringing you water during long study sessions, or patching up any wounds you might have from training.

I know there are people who believe he would act inconvenienced (much like his father) at the opportunity to take care of another person, but I believe that it helps Megumi feel more secure in your relationship. He's someone who needs to feel needed, who enjoys having a purpose, and if taking care of you is that purpose, you won't catch a single complaint about it from him.

Although he’s serious most of the time, there are rare moments where Megumi shows a more playful side, especially when he’s comfortable around you. He might tease you lightly, smirk when you’re being sassy, or ruffle your hair just to see your reaction.

He especially loves when he's playing video games with Yuuji and you overhear his friend make a snarky comment about something you did in training and the two of you start going at it over the mic like a couple of siblings.

Megumi loves that your close with his friends.

Once he’s committed, Megumi is deeply loyal. He’s not the type to leave your side easily, and you can rely on him no matter what. Even when things get difficult, he’ll stick with you, quietly supporting you through thick and thin.

Despite his cool exterior, Megumi can be a bit shy in bed, especially in the early stages of your relationship. Compliments or bold expressions of affection might fluster him, though he tries to hide it.

He also isn’t loud or vocal, but his breathing and the way he touches you speak volumes. He may let out soft sighs or low groans, but it’s the intensity in his eyes and the way his body moves with yours that communicates his desire.

Ass guy? Nah, he's an eye guy FOR SURE

During intimate moments, Megumi’s gaze rarely leaves you. He locks eyes with you as if grounding himself in the connection you share. That eye contact is intense (I'm talking the weight of a thousand suns) but comforting, as if he’s saying everything he struggles to voice.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Can I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, and Halsin being jealous of some guy is flirting with their female s/o although she's oblivious that he's flirting with her? He's so possessive that he even took her back home to have a heated make-out while holding her close!

Astarion

ThE pLaN wAs SiMpLe. All jokes about Astarions' cut scene aside, he simply tried not to like you.

He tried not to notice your smile, laugh, or radiant personality that felt like the sun.

He fell, though, and you were everything to him, but he was afraid to lose you. To push you too far, you to abandon him like all others.

He tried oh so hard not to think about how that tieflings stupid tail was getting dangerously close to you.

You were so naive and unique, so headstrong but so so clueless. How could you spot an ambush a yard away but couldn't tell this creature was hitting on you.

Astarion chose the safe route of just sitting there and watching like always.

A burning fire lit within him, the usual cold tempered vampire became lit with something. Jealousy? No, it couldn't be.

Then that damn tail wrapped around your leg; why, just why couldn't you be simple? Why couldn't he just not care who you sleep with?

Before he knew it, he stood before you, the tiefling behind him. Why?

He turned on his charm, and before he knew it, he was wooing the Tiefling, convincing him to go on his married way in hopes of bedding another.

Astarion looked at you as the tiefling left, and the fear of losing something so good ate at him. Gripping your arm, he took off as quickly as a fox through the forest you close behind.

Once safely away from prying eyes where he could be vulnerable, show you how much he cared and how scared he was of losing you, and he kissed you deeply.

You two had bedded in the forest many times before, but today, your connection was so passionately different.

Gale

Gale liked to imagine he was a simple man who didn't need much, especially after all that happened with Mystra.

That was until you came along, with your well everything; Gale couldn't find anything to hate about you.

The fear of messing up again and entering a new world of troubles ate him alive—almost as bad as the orb resting in his heart.

That's why anyone getting close to you, even a fraction of romance hinted or thrown your way, killed him.

He knew his place, though. Trying to woo a woman got him into the mess he is in now, so he just stood by and watched as people flirted with you.

Every instance though filled him up like a bottle, soon the pressure was going to explode but he didn't know how to inform you of this.

That night at Sharess Caress, though, when the twins propositioned you, the bottle overflowed.

Gale couldn't handle the pressure building or how you just laughed at the twins even though he could tell you were uncomfortable by their touch.

Before he knew it, he pulled you into him and used his ability to travel the astral plane to escape.

You were his and his alone to look at, adore, and love. No outside force or group could take you. Here, he ravaged you all night and early in the morning.

From that day on, Gale never hesitated to steal you away to his private hiding place to show you his more jealous side.

Halsin

Halsin was one with nature, so sharing with you wasn't horrible.

He knew that people would come and go, but he would be your one rock, always present and always there.

That made this evening at camp so much more confusing for him.

Halsin knew the wizard, vampire, and legend were all seeking your companionship, especially since they all brought it up to him before this month.

However, watching them flirt with you repeatedly, you just accepting the advances and taunts ate at him a little.

Halsin tried to go on nature walks, work with the land, and even speak to the great oak father about this; however, he turned up blank.

Tonight at camp was exceptionally hard. Though you had turned down Wyll and Gale, you never quite turned down Astarion. Halsin didn't know why this tore him up.

As the vampire asked you to take your life force once again, Halsin grew irate. You were simply too oblivious to realize this was an addictive habit, so you always stayed by the cold man's side.

Anger consumed him, and Halsin went to your side. Grabbing your hand and dragging you along, Halsin allowed nature to take its course.

Once you two stopped in the middle of a clearing, Halsin sighed. "Oak father's blessing, I know I always said nature can take its course, but Petal, I do not think I can stand this any longer. Let's just stay us, me, you, and no one else."

Once his profession came to light and you agreed, no questions asked, Halsin couldn't wait to enjoy the combination of you two as one. Oak Father's blessing on you both.