#I have so many things I want and need to continue

[nmhk]

It's weird disappointing how the republican administrations and senators are so freely and readily able to lie about things to further their own agenda, and then get caught in the lie and somehow, every time, [weasel || porcupine || raccoon || fox || etc ad nauseum infinitum] their way out of it

And every 2 and 4 years we keep electing the same or similar liars back into office. But no, we don't need no education. No history lessons. No civics classes. Nah, we're good, looking at our screens, playing our distractions over and over again. While other countries leap ahead, and the class warfare goes seemingly unchecked.

We'll continue being temporarily embarrassed millionaires, abashed race car drivers, ashamed fashion models, forever looking to celebrities for guidance. Forever letting people in power tell us how to feel, who and whom to love or hate. Forever consuming without thought like ungulates chewing cud.

They say, "it's a dog eat dog world," because they want us to treat each other as animals, competing for scarce resources. But resources aren't scarce. How did our world population get over 8 billion? Mercantilism brought trade to the world, but developed into this cut throat capitalism which demands scarcity (usually faked) to survive.

Not buying into the system is how we kill it. We don't want politicians influenced by corporations (they are people, my friend)? Don't buy their products. Don't look at ads. Don't support the monetary system that is a zero- sum game. We can easily see the effects by looking at our monopoly board and counting how many people have x amount of fake money. Those on Boardwalk and Park Place? Yeah, that's not us, is it? You want to win this game? The only way is to step away from the board.

Yes, yes it is easier said than done. But bartering still works.

Blah blah blah

I can only hold this energy so long. As can you. We need to work together, support each other, stand in solidarity against those who try and break us apart.

I believe in universal interconnectedness. We are all connected in a way that is unexplained and poorly explored. I don't know how many of you remember nine-eleven, but the pick 3 and pick 4 numbers drawn coinciding with thousands of entries matching these numbers, while being chalked up to mere coincidence, could also either be one of two other things. 1) the system is obviously rigged (in whatever way is most plausible) 2) thousand of people putting their thoughts and aligning their [energy || Chakra || life force || pure will power || etc] into wanting these numbers to be drawn, not once, but on multiple occasions, speaks to me of something greater.

The more obvious scientific answer is a rigged system.

My whole point is we can change the system of we all work together. Yes, I know! I'm an idealistic idiot. So what? Does my hope for humanity stop your everyday travails? Does it hurt my interactions with others that I try to see the best version of them in conversation? Why would someone poo-poo the idea of wanting interconnectedness if it doesn't hurt anyone?

Oh. I'm getting it now. That kind of hope can turn into a religion. I see. If it's only faith-based, it's bad. Okay. Well. I guess humanity isn't full of artists who move you with simple pictures and words. I guess nature can only be seen through a scientific lens. I guess since beauty is immutably subjective, there is no such thing as a beautiful flower or a beautiful poem.

That's fine. Stick to your science and gadgets. Stick to your distractions and fears. Don't read fiction more deeply than the words on the page. The answer is simple. No, androids don't dream of electric sheep. No, robots aren't capable of growing beyond the rules you establish for them. No, consumerism is the only way for people to survive in a technological world.

I just hope for the best for you

[crowfish-brainrot]

LaDs Men When You're Ovulating and Feral

I should be chained to a tree when I'm ovulating. I'm like an omega in heat. So, in honor of my feral energy, here's what I think the Love & Deepspace Men would do when you're ovulating and feral with need.

MDNI. Explicit! Smut! Breeding, overstim, bratting, rut instincts, and idk, lots of horniness, d/s dynamics if you squint. Lemurian!Rafayel, dragon!Sylus so maybe some light monsterfuckin? Entirely unedited. You get this raw (like our Lads!)

XAVIER

He's in heaven when you're ovulating. He might be an alien but he's got that bunny energy. He will put you through your mattress over and over again, until you're both slick and breathless.

Will match your energy until you're too tired to move, but if you let him, he'll continue doing all the work.

Breeding is definitely on the table (though it's just talk until you don't want it to be)

Not done until you can't take anymore, then it's food and cuddle time.

"Xavier!" you moaned, your voice hoarse. You lost count of how many times he made you come. Your thighs trembled, slick and sticky with your arousal, yet he showed no signs of stopping.

He rolled his hips, shoving his cock all the way inside you. You choked around your moans, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then peppered more down your hickey-covered neck. "You can still talk. I'm not done with you yet."

He throws your legs over his shoulders and pushes them down to your chest as he leans over you. His cock hits so deep, almost too deep. Sweat has his pale blonde hair clinging to his forehead, and his big blue eyes are dark with his lust. His gaze doesn't leave your face, not that you know, you can't keep your eyes open. It's too much pleasure.

"Look at me, bunny," Xavier commanded, his voice firm in your ears.

You struggle, but you open your eyes, meeting his unrelenting gaze. The way he looks at you, flushed, sweaty, and almost drunk of pleasure does you in. You come around his cock and scream his name. He curses under his breath, and as your walls convulse around his cock, you beg for his come.

"Want me to fill you up? To breed this needy little pussy?" Xavier groaned as he railed into you. You nodded, and he shoved his cock all the way inside you with a curse. "Take it all, bunny. Take every drop of my come."

ZAYNE

Handles your feral brattiness with the most patience. Tries to get home at a reasonable hour to take care of you.

Leaves detailed instructions on what to do until he's with you. You should follow them, but if the horny demons win you're going to bend those instructions to get him riled up.

Ties have more than one use. He doesn't play about breeding, so be sure you want that if you're going to ask him for it.

Not stopping until you're melted in a puddle, then he'll feed you chocolate and praise you

You broke the rules, and now you were paying for it with every sharp clap of Zayne’s hand across your ass. You were supposed to edge. Only twice — Zayne was merciful, most of the time — but you didn’t listen. He took to long to get home to you, and instead of edging and waiting for him like a good girl, you came. Squirted all over the sheets. You were meant to wear your vibrating panties out tonight, but you greeted Zayne naked when he came home. Why? You wanted his attention, of course. Well, now you had it, and you weren’t getting away.

You were bent over his lap, naked. Zayne was still dressed, his pressed clothes as perfect as ever, his glasses perched perfectly on his nose. Your hands were bound behind your back with his striped tie, the only thing he’d taken off so far. Another sharp smack landed across your ass, and you wriggled in his lap. Zayne’s free hand held his tie that bound your arms to still you.

“You wanted to misbehave, though you knew the consequences. Don’t try to escape your punishment, darling. You won’t get far.” Zayne’s calm, cool voice pulls goosebumps to the surface of your skin. He continues the smacks across your ass, and soon you’re fully writhing in his lap. You’re so wet it’s dripped down your thighs and onto his dress pants. Your ass is bright red by the time he’s delivered his punishment.

Two fingers dove deep into your soaking cunt and fucked you at a rapid pace. Your walls fluttered around his fingers and you arched, the stimulation too much. Yet, Zayne held you there until you came across his fingers. You sobbed as your release took you, and once you came down, Zayne withdrew from you. He helped you stand on trembling legs, then pulled his pants down. He pulled you into his lap, and you both hissed when his big cock slipped inside you.

“You wanted to come, darling? Then come. Don’t stop. I’ll tell you when you’re done, just keep coming for me,” Zayne said as he settled his hands over your hips. He pounded into you for hours, and that was the first time you realized too much pleasure was its own form of punishment.

RAFAYEL

If his Lemurian rut and your ovulation week lined up neither one of you would see the outside world for an entire week. He's always a little feral for you (he did wait 800 years) & seeing you equally as feral for him? Yeah. You're going to need to call out of work until he's done with you.

Will go until you're too sensitive. He'll pout, but he'll give you a few to recover. Maybe an hour, max. Then he's back at it. You switch who's in charge every few rounds, but he'll take over once you're too tired.

He talks about breeding you all the time. If he's in his rut? It's not just talk anymore. He wants to breed you.

He'll give you a relaxing bath after to help your tired muscles, but while he might be a fish he's also got that bunny energy so expect a few more rounds before you both pass out.

You’re fucked out. Sweat has long since slicked your skin. You’ve gone from the bed, to the bath, and back to the bed again. Rafayel came into his rut along with your ovulation week, and it was almost as if another force possessed him. Like he couldn’t stop. You were just as bad. You needed him inside you more than you needed air. You had to take a few days of leave from the Association, because there was no way Rafayel was letting you out of his sight right now. Not when you needed him as badly as he needed you.

“Fuck, cutie, you feel so good. Can’t stop fucking this perfect pussy,” Rafayel babbled as he fucked you with long, deep strokes. “Need more. So much more. Can I take you into the sea, cutie? Please? Need to take you beneath the waves. Need to breed you. Fill you up. Over. And. Over.”

He ended his plea by punctuating each word with a firm thrust of his hips. All you could do was nod, too blissed out to do anything more than feel. And that felt right. Like it was supposed to be. You and him, beneath the waves. With your agreement, he lifted you into his arms, pulling out just for a few moments. You whimpered at the loss of him, and he cooed soft assurances into your ear. His private beach opened up behind his house, and it was only a matter of moments before the cool water hit your overheated skin. He kissed you as he dragged you below the waves.

On the soft, sandy seabed, he fucked you in his true form. So massive he blocked out the sight of anything else. His tail wrapped around your legs, holding you in place as he fucked his dual cocks into you. They were so massive you didn’t understand how they fit, but you were his bride, his bonded, and you would forever give yourself to him as a form of worship. Feeling both his cocks inside you, stretching you, using you, was everything you didn’t know you needed. You begged for him to come, to fill you up, to breed you. Rafayel lost it, pounding into you with an almost feral growl.

“Take it. My beloved bride. Mine. Take every last drop of my come. I’ll keep fucking you just like this till it sticks.”

SYLUS

He's having a blast. You're marking him up and he's so happy. He's got tools to keep you occupied if he has to go somewhere. Will wear your favorite outfit of his just to tease you.

He's so hungry. He'll use his evol to pin you in place while he eats. This is his happy place, and he'll stay between your thighs as long as you let him.

Dragon nesting/rut instincts might be a thing. I can see him giving you extra gifts or making his bed extra comfy for you as a means of soothing those instincts. Breeding is on the table if you want it.

He's only stopping once you've both had your fill, then he's going to give you the BEST snuggles because next to eating your pussy, his favorite thing in this world is probably holding you close tbh.

Sylus’ fingers squeezed your writhing hips as you left yet another mark along his collar bone. You covered his neck and chest in your love bites, staking claim to your territory. Marking him as yours. The bed was a mess of silk sheets, comfy pillows and dim lighting. Everything made softer, more beautiful, all for you. The best gift he’d given you, though, was the silver chain wrapped around your wrist that tethered to the collar at his neck. He gave you control, and he loved how you used it.

You pulled on the chain, dragging his lips to yours. You kissed him like you were starved. Like he was your sustenance as much as you were his. You ground down into his lap, taking him in to the base, your hips flush against his. Your thighs burned from riding him so hard for so long, but you couldn't stop. His cock felt too good, he split you open too well. Every time the head of his cock pressed against your cervix you saw stars. You clutched onto the chain, keeping him close as you used him to come.

You came with a scream that he greedily swallowed. Your hips stilled, but he took over, fucking into you with greater force. He pulled away from your lips with a low growl. "Can I come inside you, sweetie?"

You agreed with a sharp yes, begging him to come inside you, to breed you. To fill you up. He chuckled into your neck, the sound dark and rich. "If you want me to breed you, kitten, hold on tight." You did as he said, and a wave of his evol rushed over his body, and he seemed bigger somehow, both inside you and around you. You moaned and opened your hazy eyes, seeing his dragon form. Black scales, horns, and long claws. You moaned at the sight of him, and something hot and swollen pressed against your opening. Sylus gripped your hips and pulled you all the way down. His knot slipped inside you, and you screamed as you came once again. He growled into your neck, sharp teeth biting into you as he came. Hot, thick spurts filled you to the brim.

"You're the one who wanted to be bred, sweetie. Now we're going to be stuck like this all night. I'll make sure you get what you asked for."

CALEB

He matches your feral energy 100%. Nothing you could say, do, or ask for is too much for this man. Anything you say you want, he's doing to/for you.

It's a messy, sweaty, marathon run. King of "just one more" & that's SAYING SOMETHING with this group!!! You'll hit every stable-enough surface in his house at least once. Maybe three times.

Puppy-eyed, he'll ask to breed you. It's all he's ever dreamed of. If you let him, he WILL go feral. He says the most unholy things tbh.

When you physically can't take anymore, he'll wrap you up in his arms, feed you, and hold you close bc that's his happy place.

You'd come so many times your brain has melted out of your ears. Your throat is hoarse and dry from screaming so much, and the entire room smells like sweat and sex. You don't think you can come again. Your body is sticky all over from the combination of sweat and come, his and yours. Still, Caleb can't stop, he's fucking into you hard. Right now, you're bent over the back of the couch as his hips relentlessly thrust inside you. You meekly tell him you can't come again, and his fingers immediately go back to working your clit.

"C'mon, princess. One more for me, please? Just one more. One more and I'll put you to bed. Just come one more time for me." He begged so sweetly, how could you deny him? It didn't matter that he swore the last six times he needed "just one more", not when he moaned. Not when he fucked into your sloppy cunt like that was the only thing he lived for.

"One more," you agreed. "Last one." Caleb cursed under his breath as he pounded into you. His big hands spread your ass apart so he could watch himself sink into your pussy over and over again. Your body didn't want to let him go, despite how wet and raw you both were. Every thrust further fried your nerves, all of them overstimulated and too sensitive.

Caleb flipped you around and held you in place with his evol. He shoved his fat cock as far into you as he could go, and you whimpered. Overfull and sensitive. He leaned down and brought his lips to yours in a heated kiss. "Can I breed you? Please. Gods, I need to come in you. I need to. Please, princess. Please let me breed you. Please, please. I need to feel you milk my cock, please." His panted breaths and the big violet puppy eyes did you in. You couldn't say no to him. You choked out an agreement, begging him to come inside you, to fill you up, and he broke. Three hard, sloppy thrusts, then he came inside you. So much more than he had earlier, filling you up to the brim. The throbbing of his cock sent you over the edge a moment after, and you screamed his name.

"That's it, princess. Milk me dry. Take all my come. It's all yours, pretty girl. You've earned it."

A/N: This is filth. Pure filth. Brought to you by the ovulation demons that make me want nothing else but to be fucked all day for like a solid 3-5 days a month. On those days, I'm delulu enough to think I could handle all 5 of these men at the same damn time.

Anyway, Mistakes Were Made Set 2 is coming soon. In the meantime, you get my headcannons.

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝟢 - 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of death, kinda cringe

Word count: 700+

A/N: the K-Pop Demon Hunter fever is SO ALIVE. I just need more content... so I decided to jump in the fanfic like many others to try and get something out... I have so many ideas!! I hope you like this one! No proofread btw, sorry about that

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Every day was the same: feeling pity, torturing the human souls that Gwi-ma didn't devour, feeling anger, remembering a past too distant and painful, and trying to remember what had brought you to that point, to hell itself. It was a daily thing for you: a demon.

Or that would be the case if you really were a demon; that is, if you had sold your soul to Gwi-ma in a deal… but you never did that. You just… kicked the bucket. Dead meat. Gone. R.I.P.

You were born human, grew up and lived as a human all your life: a normal life. You studied art and decided to specialise in music production because of your passion for pop, especially Korean pop. You were good at it, but it wasn't easy to make a living, especially when you came from nothing and had no contacts. And just when life was starting to smile on you (a K-Pop girl group had heard one of your demos and wanted you to work with them to release it), you died. You didn't quite remember how… You had decided to celebrate that you had signed the production contract for the song, gone up to the roof of the building where you lived to have a drink… and then… did someone push you? who?

The fact is that you were now a demon. But at the same time, you weren't exactly you… At least, physically. Somehow, you had been reincarnated as a demon. It sounds strange, but that's how it was. You had their memories and yours at the same time. Strange that now your soul was in a body that had sold its own… But that's the way it was. Take it or leave it.

The funny thing is that, as far as you could imagine, Gwi-ma wasn't real in your world… nor were the hunters, nor any of those elements of the last movie you were able to watch (about seven or eight times) before you died. So not only were you reincarnated, but you were now WITHIN the world and plot of the movie. And in the body of the most secondary possible villain: unnamed demon number 435, or something like that.

And the worst part is that you knew exactly what was going to happen: Jinu would make a deal with Gwi-ma, gather a demonic k-pop boy band, meet Rumi, everything would go down the drain because of betrayals and misunderstandings… and you would be trapped under the barrier, or worse.

And that couldn't be.

First: you have already died once, and once is more than enough. You were miserable enough as a demon to continue that filthy life for centuries, or die before you could do anything about it.

Second: you knew the movie, you knew what was going to happen… and you wouldn't let Jinu and Rumi's relationship end that way. Jinu didn't deserve to ‘die’. You would do anything for that ship. Even sink in it if needed.

Third: … What if, since you could keep Jinu and Rumi as a real couple, you could also manage to pair Zoey and Mira with a member of the Saja Boys? Which, by the way, your curiosity was killing you; they hadn't had enough screen time, and you'd give anything to interact with them to really get to know what they were like. Hell, you'd love to talk to all of them (Jinu included) like you did with them. It would be a dream come true, wouldn't it?

And last but not least: What would it hurt to change the plot of the movie a little bit to save unnecessary drama and deaths (yours included)?

So you got down to work, notebook in hand, and started planning what you loved doing most: writing music.

You would produce a complete discography for the Saja Boys, make them successful, teach them that they could regain their souls (all of them, without exception), and together defeat Gwi-ma. No casualties.

All thanks to a skill you had had since you entered that body: Gwi-ma couldn't get inside your head. At all.

So ladies and gentlemen, it's time to turn the script around in your favour….

Or at least that was your plan, before you realised that your involvement in the story would change everything.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 1

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what to expect from this. It's literally an introduction to the story, so to speak. But the idea had been floating around in my head for some time and I needed to write it down as soon as possible. I hope you like it.

See you soon,

Nun🐇​

[leannswritings]

3 fishes

Syn - a very..unexpected gift, but what’s a gift without joy?

Word count : 1.4k

Warnings : NOT PROOFREAD, none rlly, fluff, new found parents >.<

A/N : satan works fast but fanfic writers work faster. This is the first time I’m writing a fic that involves children..I hope it’s ok lol. But junho would def be such a good dad.

You didn’t know what to expect as you ran towards Junho’s apartment, after a short call of him saying he needed you sounding like he was fighting back his overloading emotions. Whatever it was you weren’t prepared for what you saw when you opened his door to see him standing at the kitchen table with a baby in a basket on the table.

“What the f— um. Is the like some joke or something ? Or did you cheat on me and some girl dropped the kid off? I need an explanation in 2.5 seconds or else I’m gonna—“

“Wha— no? I wouldn’t do that. Stop watching those dramas you watch. It was In-ho. Why? I don’t know.”

“Ok. So your missing brother dropped off a baby. For what, for you to raise? What are you going to do junho.”

You go to pinch your nose bridge to try and wake you up, or give you some type of idea or something to think of.

“I’ll Raise her. He left enough money to support her for the rest of her life. I have too. It’s the right thing to do you know.”

Junho went on this whole rant about raising the baby, if he were to be honest he couldn’t understand or think if it was because the baby was a reminder of his brother or if it was because he deep down wanted to raise a child.

“We. Junho. We have too.”

You replied to his “I have too” rant. You weren’t gonna let him do this alone. There’s no way you could let him, you’ve shared too many conversations about the future together to allow it. Being a single parent wasn’t an easy task either, this had to be done together. You picked the baby up, feeling her weight against your arms, the weight made you feel something you’ve never felt before, you felt an odd type of joy from this small interaction. Junho seems to be feeling the same way, watching how you held and smiled at the small baby in your arms, from that point on he knew exactly what to do.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

For the next 3 months you and junho did co-parenting as you were mostly at work and he still stayed with his mother. It didn’t take long for him to propose to you after finding the perfect place for y’all to move in, there was no way he was going to marry you without having a place to put you and the baby in, he planned everything carefully so it would go as planned. While engaged you moved in together, decorated the rooms together, painting your lives together like you painted the walls of the rooms. Co-parenting was finally no longer, it was just parenting as you settled into the house together. You and junho continued to discuss on how to raise her together until she reached at least school age, since both of you have never been around children this young, and so far have been getting help from friends and junhos mother. The agreement that he would be a stay at home dad, though he would’ve preferred to take care of both you and work, he agreed due to the fact you were slightly a workaholic and preferred to keep working more than staying home, and on your days off you would take over and give him time to rest. The conversation continued throughout the night until you fell asleep in his arms.

Today was the last day at work before going on “vacation” for your wedding, you’ve next took time off before so it was going to be strange not going into work but as you sat at your desk and thought about it, maybe it was a good thing that you were going to finally get some type of break, even with how bad your sleep schedule has been you’ve still found yourself at work. This gives you plenty of time to spend with junho.. plenty of time to spend as a family. As you were deep in thought one of your co workers walked over to you and spoke.

“I didn’t know you had a baby? I don’t even remember seeing you pregnant ”

The worker pointed at the photo of a baby and man on your Lock Screen.

“Ah— funny story actually, but yes, I do.”

“Well..they don’t look that much like you.. maybe they will go into the features.”

The worker said, trying to recall if you were ever pregnant or took maternity leave. You just stared at the worker and oddly smiled as you packed up your stuff to leave work. Saying goodbye to everyone as you walked out of the office. When you finally got to the lobby you saw junho standing there with a scroller, you stood there for a second and took a few pictures , gosh he looked so cute in that moment. He finally looked up and waved at you, you immediately ran over and gave him a hug, looking in the scroller to see the fast asleep baby. The long walk to your workplace must have put her asleep. As you walked back to your place you start to talk to junho.

“Since I’m free now..should we do something tomorrow? The 3 of us.”

“Like..?”

“Mm— maybe go to an aquarium? I should be clean and quiet enough for her..but what do you think.”

“Mm sounds good.”

He wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him, laying a kiss on your head.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next day went perfectly, between the first full night of rest since you had no work to worry about and junho being the one to wake up in the night, which you felt bad about letting him do it by himself— but of course he always brushed it off, and maybe the fact that when you finally got over 8 hours of sleep for the first time you woke up to a warm smile. Getting ready to go out was a little messy though, trying to figure out how to fit everything in the baby bag and how to fix the baby carrier that you’ve yet to use, in case it was needed. You eventually put on subtle matching clothes, you figure it would be a good place to take pictures also, so you should all dress well.

Just as planned the aquarium was perfectly quiet and beautiful. If you were being honest you were the one who really wanted to go to the aquarium. Now that you were there, it was quiet enough for you to hear your own thoughts, causing you to actually think about the “situation” you were in. Getting married to an amazing man and starting a family, sure you’ve thought about this before but now that you were finally slowing down your working and racing mind it hit even more. Before you knew it a your eyes started to water, reality was a little too good to be true. It’s like his spidey senses were tingling because he promptly stopped walking and turned to you, you watched you as you looked up at the ceiling trying to make the tears go back where they came from, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a hug. He immediately started to reassure you, reassuring you about what was going on and how you were doing well no matter if you were at work, home, or even here in this very moment you were doing your very best, especially as someone who’s never had a child or anything similar. He placed kisses on your forehead as he calmly talked to you. Who knew reality would hit you as soon as you stop being so busy..huh. You looked up at him and nodded, you saw a worker passing by so you let go of junho and quickly went to the worker to ask him something.

“Excuse me.. do you mind taking a photo of us?”

You asked the worker all teary eyed.

The worker didn’t know if they should be concerned or not but they nodded as they grabbed your phone. You walked over and took your baby out of the scroller held her in your arms. You stood beside junho looking at him while smiling as the worker took pictures of it without you know, you finally looked ahead and smiled at the camera as the worker took more pictures. The worker walked over to you to give your phone back, but didn’t leave before saying.

“What a beautiful family you have.”

[loveroffemmes]

A Loser’s Fantasy | Mean! Jackie Taylor x Loser!Fem! Reader

warnings: one-shot with smut, g!p reader, usage of the word ‘cock’

summary: jackie taylor seeks you out after every party.

I knew Jackie better than she would ever admit. I knew that the second she could find an opportunity to slip away from a party, she would. She would take a shot, she would try to get in as many people’s photos as possible (proof she showed up), and then she would sneak away. If someone questioned where she was at the party, she would simply say that she was too drunk to remember where she ended up that night. 

The truth was that she was in my bed. She was unbuttoning my jeans, she was demanding me to take off my shirt, — she was sneaking off to see me. 

I could hear Jackie banging on my front door. She didn’t care if she woke me up, she only cared about getting what she wanted. I opened the door and Jackie pushed past me, “Took you long enough.” She hummed, annoyed. 

I rolled my eyes, “Maybe if you told me you were stopping by, I would have answered the door faster.” 

“You should have known, there’s a party a few houses down. Let me guess though,” Her lips twitched with amusement, “You weren’t invited?” My face reddened at her comment and Jackie laughed. She reached her hand out and grabbed my wrist, dragging me to my bedroom when I didn’t pull away. She already knew which room it was, she had done this time and time again. 

“Why do you even go to these parties if you never stay for more than an hour?”

“To make an appearance, duh.” She sighed at my question, acting as if it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard, “People wouldn’t even bother going out if I didn’t show up. A good party needs only one thing and that’s me.” Her words would seem unbelievably cocky to anyone else and they were cocky, but there was so much more to it. Most of what Jackie did was simply because people expected it of her. I doubt she would be out this late if people didn’t want her to be – that’s why she always ends up at my place, where she actually wants to be for the night. Though, she would never say that to me. 

“Yet, you’re here.” I reminded and Jackie rolled her eyes, huffing, “Do you not want me here or something?” She asked, “You should be grateful you get to have me all to yourself for a night or two out of the week. A loser like you can’t really do any better – well, no one could really do any better.” Jackie’s cocky smirk left her face, “D-Do you not want me here or something?” And a little bit of insecurity made it’s way through her normally unbreakable mean girl attitude. 

“I do.” I admit, knowing full well that Jackie would only make fun of me for expressing want, but I knew that she needed reassurance. I think that’s why she always comes back to me. I think she likes hearing that she’s pretty, I think she likes being told what a good job she’s doing, I think she likes that I want her for more than just the fact that she’s the most popular girl at our school. I think she needs constant praise and I’m the only one who will give it to her without her having to ask (she considers herself far too mighty to ever ask someone for something). 

“Of course you do. Isn’t this every loser’s fantasy?” Jackie stripped herself of her varsity jersey, throwing it on a chair in my room, “Most girls beg for a chance to have my varsity jacket in their room and you haven’t even thanked me yet.” 

“Thanked you?” 

“I came here without you even having to ask. I think just about anyone would consider you lucky.” Jackie’s hand reached for my wrist again, her actions feeling more rushed now that we were in my room. She pulled me towards my bed, pushing me down onto it. Her hands wasted no time in moving to my pajama pants, grazing over the very noticeable bulge. Her other hand hiked up her black floral dress and she swung her leg over my lap, beginning to straddle me. Her hand didn’t leave it’s spot on my pants, continuing to teasingly brush over my cock as she adjusted herself on my lap. Once she was settled in my lap; her lips quickly attached to my neck, slightly sticking to my skin each time she planted a kiss as her lip gloss slowly rubbed off of on me. 

“You’re quick today.” 

“Shut up.” Jackie sucked the skin of my neck harder at my comment. I knew it would bruise and I knew that’s what Jackie wanted, “You’re the one that’s hard when I’ve barely done anything.” Her movements were more purposeful now, her hand curling around my length as she finally started to properly pump my cock in her hand. Her other hand moved to my hair, twirling it between her fingers as she continued to suck the sensitive skin of my neck. Each time she bit down on my neck, she would tug on my hair, pulling me as close as possible to her. 

My hands ran down her back, I wanted to feel any part of her that I possibly could. I moved them down to her ass, I could feel her moan against my neck as I grabbed her ass. Jackie loved having my hands anywhere on her, especially groping her, “Rougher.” Jackie moaned against my neck and I complied, my fingers dug into the soft flesh and Jackie rocked back on my lap as she moaned. 

Jackie’s hand slipped into my pajama pants, her thumb grazing over my tip and gathering the precum on her hand and using it as lube as she pumped. 

“That’s it.” Jackie cooed, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she watched me unfold. Her fingers tugged at my hair once more, maneuvering me so she could clearly watch my reactions. I thrusted into her hand, moaning with each tug of my hair and each pump of Jackie’s hand. It was too much. I couldn’t handle it. My thighs shook, my eyes shut, and then…

Jackie stopped. Her hand was still wrapped around my cock and when I opened my eyes, all I was met with was her teasing smirk, “Did you really think this would be all about you?” She asked and I didn’t respond, I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to. I was way too focused on my most orgasm to even pay attention to Jackie’s teasing. I thrusted into her hand with a whine and Jackie shook her head, “Tsk, tsk���Do you really want me to get you off with just my hand?” Jackie let go of my cock and shifted forward in my lap, grinding her wet panties perfectly against my cock. 

“I want you, Jackie.” Jackie responded with another shift of her hips, grinding against my cock harder this time, “Please.” Her grip on my hair loosened at my plea and she dropped her hand to her lap. She hovered above my lap, her hand returning to my cock and her other hand moving her own underwear to the side. She slowly lowered herself onto my cock, guiding my tip through her wet folds as a form of makeshift lube. 

I jerked my hips up and Jackie wrapped her hand around my cock tighter, forcing me to stay still, “So impatient.” She laughed, a light blush dusting her cheeks at my eagerness. 

After a few more of my whines, Jackie finally lowered herself onto my cock. She sank down fully and all I could do was moan and try not to grab her hips and fuck her without another thought. It was taking everything in me to be patient because, fuck, she was tight. Jackie’s hands moved to my shoulders and mine moved to her waist, the movements were smooth and familiar — Jackie had a thing for riding me, not that she would ever actually tell me that. 

I bucked my hips and Jackie moaned, “D-Don’t get ahead of yourself.” My movements quickly stopped. Jackie was embarrassed at how quickly she unfolded when it came to me, she wanted to be in control for a little while longer. 

Jackie’s hips lifted and she sank onto my cock once again. Her actions were painfully slow — such a tease. She did it again, even slower, “You sound so pretty.” She rasped as she rolled her hips. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dug my fingers into her hips and pulled her hips down harder as I thrusted into her. Jackie let out a half yelp and a half moan. Her back arched and her hands gripped my shoulders tighter. I snapped my hips upwards once again, burying my cock as deep as possible, “You feel so good.” I moaned out and Jackie clenched around my length at the comment, her face going red as she whimpered at the praise. 

Jackie, feeling more confident, began to meet my thrusts as she rode me. Any words she tried to say came out as broken whimpers and gibberish, too fucked out to even speak. Her movements became messier, her hips jolted in desperate bucks against my cock as she got close. 

“Kiss me, (Y/n).” Jackie tried to demand, but her words were broken by her moans. I leaned forward, still pumping into her, and pressed our lips together. Jackie’s hands moved to my face, grabbing it with an urgency I had never seen from her. She slammed her lips against mine, moaning into the kiss. I could feel her tighten around my cock, her hips barely able to keep up. The kiss was sloppy and desperate, it was hardly Jackie’s focus as she tried to draw out my orgasm with hers. I could feel her clamping down on my cock, desperate for me to cum. 

Jackie bit down on my lip, trying to regain some stability, but it didn’t matter because the second I came, Jackie let out a needy cry against my lips. Her whole body shook and her thighs clenched as she tried to keep herself grounded on my cock, wanting to work every last drop out of me. By the end of it, the both of us were panting and whimpering and clinging to each other. 

Jackie pulled away, my cock still buried inside her as she stared at me. My lip was bruised, my neck was covered in hickeys, and Jackie couldn’t stop looking at me. She leaned forward and kissed me again, much softer this time. I kissed her back. She didn’t try to push her tongue into my mouth or bite down on my lip; the kiss was innocent, even if the situation was not. 

Jackie pulled back. She lifted her hips slightly and I groaned. I helped her off of me and she whimpered, mumbling something about ‘feeling empty.’ Jackie flopped onto my bed with a happy sigh. 

“Do you want one of my shirts to sleep in?” I asked, already heading for my closet. 

Jackie rolled her eyes, “Obviously.” 

I knew I would never get that shirt back. I knew Jackie would keep it and if I asked for it back, she would deny having it. I didn’t mind though, I liked that she always wanted to keep something of mine. 

Masterlist

[brokenbough]

Hear me out plsplsplspls new to 141 fem reader not interacting with the boys at all outside of missions like doesn't eat with them runs off somewhere else and when they confront her turns out she's just a social awkward loner who doesn't know how to talk to men (projecting)

Ofc! :)

--

Price picked his team. That was one of the few things he was in control of in this shitty, three-dimensional world. His team, his people.

Then... you came along. Shy, and socially awkward. Everything his team didn't need. Not to mention that you were a woman.

Now, Price wasn't one to discriminate, let alone on gender, he works with Laswell on almost every mission for God's sake, but your more than meek demeanor was just the icing on the toppling cake that you were.

He'd met you exactly once before letting you meet his boys (against his will of course), and it led him to one conclusion that he couldn't deny anymore:

You were soft. And soft got you killed in the field.

"This is the new Sergeant you're working with. Treat her uh... kindly." He says, short and clipped like he has somewhere better to be. He does. Many places in fact.

You nod to them, head held high, but mouth sewed shut with a tight jaw. You. Were. Sweating.

Someone clears their throat, the one with the mohawk. "W-welcome uh.. lass." He says, painfully Scottish. Cute though, you guess. "Soap." He says. Just his name. "Or- uh MacTavish if you.. want."

You nod to him specifically, hoping the pink isn't spreading up to your face. You don't say anything, turning to the one next to him.

Brown, cute too. Were they all this handsome? Jeez. You nodded to him as well and he raised his hand in silent greeting. "Gaz."

Then right behind him, leaned against the corner. You nodded to him as well, eyes focused on his chest. You saw the fabric move slightly; he nodded back.

You turn back to the captain, watching him nod again before dismissing the lot of you, except you of course.

You feel your blood rush before you sit down, watching the loose button on his shirt.

"Sir-- Captain." You correct, looking over and back.

He sighs like he doesn't want to talk, let alone talk to you. "I'm gonna be honest with ya. I don't want you here. I pick my team, not get stuck with... noobies who don't know a mag from a clip." He says.

"Uhm. Respectfully.. uh-- captain. We learn the difference in uh.. basic training. A-and I've been.. uh.. you know... deployed before. So... I'm sorry to be an inconvenience... but I'm not a stupid inconvenience." You explain politely, meeting his eyes for only a second, your leg bouncing under the table.

"Right." He exasperates. "Dismissed."

------------

You find yourself alone as usual, maybe your nose in a book at the library, or eating when the rest of the 141 wasn't around.

You figured if the captain didn't like you, his subordinates definitely won't. And even if they did, they wouldn't want a woman on their team, strong or weak. But you wouldn't waste your time trying to convince them of either, you'd just stick to yourself and shoot when needed. Watch their back when called for, but drink by yourself when the op ended.

Gaz, maybe even Soap would drop by your room when they went out, but you always declined, stuttering, face down, and just trying to get your door shut again.

They didn't know what the matter was, what was wrong with you. Soap was even taking offense to his people skills because he could not get you out of your shell.

"I mean-- most women are open- especially with me, yknow what I mean-- but seriously, I can't tell what makes her tick." Soap complains, leaning back into the seat of the local bar in Southern Mexico. Oaxaca.

"Maybe she just likes her alone time; like Ghostie over here." Gaz comments, patting Ghost on the shoulder, getting an disapproving grunt.

"Or maybe she doesn't like us, huh? I mean, some people have been less welcoming." Soap continues, eyes his captain.

"I don't do transfers. I pick my team." Price defends nonchalantly.

The group goes back and forth on how to get you out, plotting and planning on how to get you to have one drink with them, the ploys getting more and more deranged as the drinks flow.

"Cmon big man. Give at least one suggestion." Gaz slurs, rocking into his more than sober lieutenant.

He clears his throat, pushing his sergeant into his other. "You could always ask her what she wants."

"Women don't say what they mean, you know that." Price huffs.

"Don't knock it till ya try it Cap'n."

"And what do ye kno bout communicatin' Lt.?"

"Works better than you think." He deflects before dragging them all out and driving(scary I know)them back to base so they didn't stumble somewhere else.

He shows up at your door the next day while they-- sober-- conjure up more ideas on how to get you out, his tipping point being one of them suggesting pulling the fire alarm.

He leaves the room without a word, not that any of them noticed or cared, too caught up in planning. The walk to your room is silent, most soldiers outside doing PT. Despite Price wanting you in the women's barracks, he ended up letting you stay with them, their own private barracks near the back of the base.

He knocked on your door firmly, stepping back some to give you space when you opened up.

Your startled face and demeanor was nothing short of awkward. It makes him cringe inwardly, but he knows how it is.

"Oh-- l-lieutenant. Uh. Hi? Can I uhm... help you?"

"I'm here to help you." He says blankly, looking at you.

"Oh. Uh.... with what?" You ask.

He stands there for a while, mulling over his words and trying to lock eyes with you but can't. His whole read on you is just: nervous.

"Do I make you nervous sergeant?" He asks suddenly.

"Uh- wha-what? N-nervous? A lot of things m-make me nervous. Yknow, haha, like any other p-person." You squeak out, resisting the urge to close the door you are still hiding behind on your superior.

So, yes. He thinks to himself.

"Johnny and Gaz are planning on literally dragging you our your room to hang with them. Be advised." He says blankly before turning and leaving as you shut your door and melt into a puddle in your room.

------------

With these new warnings, you make it a point to avoid them at any cost, even after missions. Especially after missions.

You silently thank the lieutenant with each day you narrowly get caught before he's there and calling them off somewhere else. He never looks at you, or tells you that he's protecting you from them, but you can't help but think of him as your own personal guardian angel.

You find yourself in his vicinity more often now, whether in the library or gym at odd hours, and you can't help but appreciate his silence because the last time you guys talked off mission, you were a stuttering mess who didn't seem to know English.

An embarrassment to put it bluntly.

But now, with just him, you can relax in the library without having to worry about a conversation, or work out without someone asking what you're listening to. It's smooth sailing. Until it's not. Because, of course, the 141, one of the most elite squads in the world, pick up on this.

"You're stealing the lassie away." Soap accuses.

"No, I'm not." Ghost says amused.

"Ye are. Yer always together."

"No, we arent." He defends again with much amusement.

"You two were just in the library together." Gaz includes, taking Johnny's side.

"I was reading. She happen to be there too."

"Lies." Soap scorns.

"Maybe if you gave her space, she wouldn't hole up in 'er room. Ever think o' that?" Ghost questions.

"Well, no-- but that's not the point."

"That's the whole point MacTavish."

Soap only huffs, glaring at his lieutenant the rest of dinner.

---

Soap finally takes the hint to back off of you, instead waiting for you like a wounded animal. You make the grave mistake of trusting this... silent offering and find yourself in a loud bar with louder music surrounded by even louder and drunk men. Your worst nightmare.

Soap is speaking Scottish gibberish, Gaz is asking you a million drunken questions, Price is passed out in the seat, and your only safe place: Ghost, is gone. Maybe to the bathroom or to hopefully start up the car so you can leave.

"Cmoooon lass, telll mee your storryy." Gaz rumbles in your ear, brown skin glowing under the yellow light bulbs of the pub.

"I-I don't really have-- uhm. A story." You say, leaning back from the booze on his breath.

"Everyonnee haas a storyy.." He slurs, sure of himself.

"Sorry to uh.. disappoint. I guess you can't be right on everything, haha..." you say, wishing you drank so you could atleast forget this entire night.

Gaz only stares at you, finding your not so much of a joke not so funny.

"Sorry." You squeak, looking away.

------

The ride home is silent, save for Price's, Soap's, and Gaz's snores in the back seat. You were more than uncomfortable in the front seat with your lieutenant, tipsy enough to say to just call him Ghost.

You lied back in you seat, trying to curl up and away from the sleepy men.

"You should tell them you're an introvert." He suddenly says.

"The last time I talked to them, I got into this mess." You huff, not stuttering a word before realizing who you were talking to. "R-respectfully. Uh, sir-- lieutenant-- fuck, Ghost." You say quickly.

He let's out a soft chuckle and you feel your face heat up.

"Sorry." You mumble.

He only hums, tapping against the steering wheel.

Fortunately, you all get back to base in one piece, helping Ghost carry in the drunken men.

You two part once you finally have Gaz into his bed, tucking him in before quickly leaving, hoping he didn't wake up.

Goodnights are swapped between the two of you before you finally collapse onto your bed, vouching to never say yes to a night out again.

---------

They finally get the memo of you being an introvert when they don't see you for 3 whole days on base after the night in the bar. You've been avoiding them and they feel bad. They know now not to bombard you with... well.. them, before asking permission. They try to make the most of your boundaries but sometimes when you stutter whenever one gets too close is too cute to pass up on every now again.

Other than that, you've opened up a bit more, telling them-- indirectly-- that you don't have many friends and weren't sure on how you react with being thrown into a bunch you wanted to do as much. They also figure your shyness with them comes from not having many friends, and in turn, not talking to a lot of guys throughout your years.

------------

Hope you enjoyed, sorry its so long, idk how to write them short 🥲 sorry it also took me to long to write, I haven't really felt like writing nor knew how to go about this prompt

🖤🩶🤍

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina I was wondering if you could help me understand the reason for Harry’s kiss last night. I’m so new to this fandom and it’s my first time experiencing stunting so now that Louis and Harry are both stunting I’m lost. If there isn’t any contracts or anything forcing them to do this then why on earth would either of them choose to stunt? Especially Harry because people know he’s queer already (well many assume) and he doesn’t have a reason to stunt. Also he doesn’t need popularity because he’s famous already? I don’t understand it and it’s really throwing me off. I don’t understand the reason for him kissing this girl in public.

Hi, darling. I think what you have to realize is, first of all, so much of the world is grossly homophobic. And so much of Harry’s image is built on him being a sexual fantasy. So, no matter how many people think he’s queer, there are still more (or at least a lot) who think he isn’t, and he/his team/his label aren’t ready to lose any of them.

So, they’re going to keep his sexuality ambiguous for those who don’t want to look beyond the surface.

Second, yes, he’s already very famous. But fame and success isn’t a once and done kind of thing. Celebrities always have to have something going on in order to keep them in the public eye. But especially if they’re about to have a new project. I’d guess HS4 is coming sooner, rather than later. Having him show up at one of the biggest festivals in the world, and then articles about him making out with some woman, is a very easy way to get people talking about him.

So, he’s going to have a reason to “stunt” for as long as he wants to continue being in the public eye and for as long as he’s not making a definitive statement about his sexuality or showing the world who his real partner is. As annoying as that sounds, I think that’s how it is.

I think, too, that you have to look at it differently than “they have a contract that forces them to do these things.” Yes, I do think they’re more in control. But they’re also operating within a system that, to an extent, dictates their behavior. They might not want to do PR relationships, but they also know they’re fairly easy and effective ways of keeping themselves in the press (which is necessary for them in their industry), and keeping their closets in tact, at least as far as the world outside of a certain part of fandom is concerned.

IMO, the only way to be okay with what they do, is to let go of needing a certain outcome. Don’t get yourself get hung up on them coming out, then claiming each other, them being a certain sexuality, etc etc. Enjoy their music, enjoy the parts of themselves they show us, enjoy your friends here… and roll with the idiotic parts of the music industry. They clearly both still want to be successful within it. And that means having to play some stupid games.

I hope this is a bit helpful. ❤️

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.”  You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky. 

He is just so good 🥺

“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.”  Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.” 

That man ❤️‍🩹

Uff that hit differently🥺💔

“I’m the one who broke up with you.”  “Aware of that. Unfortunately.” He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder. 

“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.” “Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?” 

This is hard 🥺

“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.”  “I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.” 

Screaming, crying, throwing up

“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.” 

He really is trying 🥺

“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.”

And he really means it ❤️‍🩹

 “Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.” You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.”

🥹🥹🥹

 You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great. 

"He always noticed" 🥹🥰

Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.” 

This was just so beautiful, especially loving the song 🥰

Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You broke up with Bucky months ago, but you can't stop calling him. He always picks up. He always comes to get you.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Some angst, exes to lovers, umm terrible men

a/n: Obviously inspired by the Hozier cover of Crawling Back to You so maybe listen to that while you read (do it actually I'm commanding). Thank you for reading ily!! <3

Masterlist

~~

The sound of tires rounded out the weak remainder of sobs wracking your chest. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hands as rubber crackled against the heated asphalt, but the action was pointless. The dampness only returned, tracking stickiness from your cheeks to your neck. 

The engine remained on as the car door opened and shut in quick succession. You kept your gaze downturned, catching the small rocks that probably got stuck in the soles of Bucky’s shoes as he crouched before you. The stairs you sat on whined in defiance as you shifted slightly, still too embarrassed to face him. 

“What happened?” he softly asked. 

A humorless laugh fell past your lips, tears salty on your tongue. “It’s so stupid.” 

“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.” 

You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky. 

The sun was escaping from the horizon behind him, casting an orange-hued blaze reflected in the tall grass beyond decaying gas pumps. It was windy and so hot that the wind didn’t matter, dirt flying up and twirling by his puffing exhaust. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.” 

Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“It’s not.” 

“I’m the one who broke up with you.” 

“Aware of that. Unfortunately.” 

You let out a sort of disgruntled moan, mortification mingling with relief inside of you. You leaned into his palm and huffed a sigh, using the lone car traveling on the road as a distraction. With your hands in your lap, it was easy to pick at your cuticles and hide it, a habit Bucky had never gotten you to kick. 

“Tell me what happened,” Bucky tried again. “How’d you get out here?” 

The deteriorating gas station seemed to creak in response to his question, the old building minutes away from collapsing. You’d been surprised to find an older man actually working at the counter when you got dropped here. He’d let you use the phone, and, of course, you had Bucky’s number memorized. You’d had to hand the phone to the old man to get the coordinates of this place straight, and then Bucky had been on his way. 

At the memory of everything that had happened before that phone call, your mouth puckered in a fruitless attempt to keep tears at bay. You brushed Bucky’s hand away in favor of pressing your face into your palms and tucking forward. 

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, moving his touch to the back of your head. “Couldn’t be that bad.” 

He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder. 

There was a long pause, and then, “Someone hurt you?” 

You shot your head up at that, the several octaves his voice had lowered warning you of nothing good. “No,” you hurried. “No. Not… physically. Do you remember Josh?” 

Bucky’s hand ran back over your hair and landed on the juncture of your neck. His jaw flexed, and his eyebrow jumped, obviously unimpressed. “Idiot with the bike? The one with the tiny shorts?”

Your lips curled softly despite yourself. “Yeah, that one.” 

“How could I forget?” he smiled back, tucking his hands away from you and clasping them between his bent knees. You tried not to care about the loss. 

“Right, well, we were supposed to go on a road trip. We were going to visit his parents. But… well, he got a text while we were driving, and…” You stared up at the cloudless sky, the sun beating down on your misery. “And he’s been cheating on me. For a few weeks, maybe longer. When I brought it up—started getting angry—he pulled over and just… told me to get out.” 

“Bastard,” Bucky breathed out. “Leaving you here like this? I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t,” you chastised, wiping your tears once more, sounding congested and sad and over it all. “It doesn’t matter, really. It never matters.” 

“S’that supposed to mean?” 

Another sigh. You edged forward on the stairs, slotting both legs between his crouched ones, creating space where there hadn’t been. More dirt kicked up behind him, and the old man inside was screaming at the TV, banging plastic against old batteries, or something of the sort. 

It hurt to look at him. His eyes were asking so many questions, so much concern etched into the blues, but you never had the answers. Never had the right ones. 

“It was stupid to call you,” you reaffirmed, face inches from his. 

“It wasn’t—” 

“I always call you. It’s always you.” 

Bucky wet his drying lips. 

“And you always come,” you continued. “Do you remember when we broke up?” 

His brows came together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Of course I do.” 

“What’d I say?” 

“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.” 

“Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?” 

Bucky’s expression fractured. He brought a knee down and captured your face in his hands, metal and warm skin overwhelming your senses. His eyes flitted between both of yours, brows furrowed impossibly tight. 

“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.” 

“I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.” 

You shot your gaze down in a plea for any of this to make sense. You had broken up for a reason, but right now, no reason seemed to take form. 

“But—”

“But you were right,” he interrupted, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. He looked so earnest, brows raised and eyes slightly wider to catch your attention. “Okay? You were right. ‘Course, I knew that. My girl’s right about everything, but I didn’t want you to be right.” 

Defeat made your muscles feel weak, deflating your shoulders and sending a new wave of uncomfortable sadness through you. Of course, you knew you were right. All those months ago, you had been so obviously right, but Bucky had fought so hard for you to be wrong. He never admitted to anything—until now. 

He had come to terms with it, then. 

You had dug your own grave. 

“Then why can’t I stop loving you?” you cried, the sound so aching it sent a crack through Bucky’s chest. He shook his head, but the motion was lost behind your blurred vision. You were so tired of crying. “I want to move on. I’ve been trying to but—” 

“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.” 

Your chin trembled, but tears began to dry on your face. Bucky didn’t say more, but he continued to wipe the wetness from your cheeks and chin and jaw, searching your expression as he went. He looked pained, stressed. His car continued to run behind him and you were vaguely aware that this gas station might not actually have gas. 

“You got a bed frame?” you shakily asked. You grabbed his hands from your face, holding them in your lap instead. 

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky breathed out, looking down at your joined hands. 

“I didn’t know you even had a mattress.” 

“Needed one for when I got you back.” 

Your throat was dry, the wind a vicious attack against your quiet words. “Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.” 

An array of emotions were displayed on your face. You squeezed Bucky’s hands in your lap and leaned forward until your forehead was against his, eyes closing in contentment that didn’t match the scenario. A sign above you buzzed with low voltage electricity that would surely give out soon, the weak neon flickering in a violent sun. 

“Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.” 

You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.” 

You stayed there for a few more minutes, calming your racing heart in the stifling heat. This felt like starting over, but it also felt like comfort and familiarity and home. Bucky didn’t move until you did, only prying himself away when you leaned back and sniffed, eyeing the car behind him with puffy eyes. 

He looked upon you with a sickening adoration, cupping the side of your head as he placed a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great. 

Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.” 

“Hope you have cash,” you briefly smiled. “I don’t think he has a working cash register. Couldn’t buy water earlier.” 

Bucky shook his head slightly, a rueful smile in return. “Give me Josh’s address.”

[starry-stay-s]

Family of 4 turns to family of 5...?

☆Sylus xnonmc! reader

☆girl dad Sylus💪

☆fluff, suggestive moment or two

☆authors note; ok so im gonna say this here but I may add it to my about me page, but all of the pics I make will tend to have a curly haired reader as its underrepresented in many fandoms and as someone will curls, I gotta be strong and write for those looking for it💪; working on some other works rn so bear(?) with me pls

☆warnings; children ig?, curly haired reader and daughter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since you married Sylus, you decided it'd be best to be a housewife. Sure, you loved your job and it's made good money, but logically you had no need for it. No need for the stressful written reports coworkers who were far too stubborn(and frankly, stupid) for their own good, only causing you more stress. And let's be honest here, Sylus's bank account will run dry when pigs fly, so why not bask in relaxation at home.

Ever since making this decision, you've slowly adjusted to his sleep schedule. Becoming more and more of a night owl every day. Yes, it wad a bit hard at first but now it's almost as if this had always been your schedule. While Sylus when to meetings, deals, auctions he deemed to dangerous for you, you cleaned the base, cooked for you(and the twins if they weren't with Sylus), and then simply did nothing.

Yep, absolutely nothing but lay on the couch, bed, whatever you deemed worthy that day. Sometimes you'd watch a show you've been wanting to cus never had time for, or a new movie, or read a book from your tragically long to be read list. And sometimes, when you were in an especially good mood, you'd go to your favorite café and go on a mini shopping spree, often buying things for Sylus, the twins and Mephisto, who you've come to peaceful terms with.

It was amazing, truly, finally getting relaxation as you got to do anything and everything you pleased, having your beloved come home everyday and grettjng you with a hug and kiss. And God don't even get started on how much Sylus loved this new arrangement. Knowing his kitten was at home waiting for him to return safely everyday as she got to be greedy and do whatever she pleased, it satisfied something deep within him.

It's been a about 7 months since the wedding and everything is fine, you've both long settled into this new routine. But you can't help but start to feel a little lonely. Sure, sometimes the twins are home, but they're usually off doing their own mischief. Mephisto stayed most of the times too but he was usually far too occupied with finding new additions for his hoard. And Sylus was usually out on business, doing who knows what who knows where.

You let your thoughts wander one day as you're cooking dinner for the 4 of you, yes the twins included because they're practically your children. Children, huh? Surr you weren't anywhere near being blood related but you cared for them like a mother would, making sure Sylus wouldn't punish them too harshly for one of their regular pranks and mischief, sometimes even getting in on it yourself. Thinking about it now, you and Sylus haven't really touched on that topic yet.

Would he want children? Did you want children? Would you be able to raise them here in the N109 Zone without putting them in danger? So many thoughts and insecurities clouded your mind as you continue cooking, not hearing the door open.

As you stir the pot, a pair of warm arms embrace you from behind. You shake your head clear of your thoughts, though some linger in the back of your head. You look back over your shoulder to meet Sylus's gaze. Smiling you turn back around to ensure dinner isn't burned.

"Welcome home, baby." You say as he nuzzles hus head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your warm and familiar scent. He let's out a soft hum, akin to a low purring that you feel rumbles his chest. He places feather light kisses on your neck, not saying anything but he didn't need too. On days like this he just needed to hold you, to remember that you're home and safe, that everything he does is for you, that even the rough days are worth it when he sees you at home, making dinner or seeing the charges on his card from your usual stores.

You turn off the stove, dinner done but wanting to be held a bit more. You lean back into him, laying your hands on his and his trails soft kisses up higher and higher until he finally reached your lips. The kiss is deep, slow as if hes trying to memorize every line and curve of your lips.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes again, and you can't help but imagine having a mini Sylus running around, with his silver locks and ruby red eyes. You try to stop thinking about it, but you can't, maybe you'd been seeing too many cute baby tiktoks, but you suddenly have this urge to just have his children. He notices thoughts fogging your mind.

"Whats wrong, sweetie? You know you can tell me anything." He says softly, searching your eyes for any clue as to what you're thinking about. If only he knew you were thinking about jumping his bones until Chinas birth rates skyrocket-

"I've been... thinking about us. And how maybe instead of it being the four of us it could be... five." You say hesitantly, unsure of his reaction. You quickly look away and busy yourself with plating the food, slipping through his arms, leaving them limp at his side as he stares at you, eyes wider than usual. As you place the plates on the table and are about to call Luke and Kieran, he grabs your wrist gently.

"Are you saying... you want a child with me?" He asks softly, you turn to look at him and see the vulnerability in his eyes. The way he waits for your response, pupils blown wide and jaw slack, makes you smile.

"Yeah, I am, is that a problem?" You say with a nod, meeting his gaze. He shakes his head and just stares for a while, his expression of pure devotion like you just told him you hung up stars and moon yourself. You lead him to his chair and sit him down as he continues to star at you with the same look, calling out for the twins to come join you two. You hear a clambering wave of footsteps as they come from who knows where and stop in front of you, out of breath and mock saluting.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bossman" they say in their usual perfect harmony before settling down at their respective seats, you joining them. As you all eat, Sylus's eyes never leave you, his expression has changed to mask what he was feeling but you could still tell by that glint in his eyes. The twins talk most of the time per usual, about what the did and what they wanna do, as they stuff their faces. Sometimes it genuinely concerns you that anything you make them could become a choking hazard if it's them who's eating it. You add comments every now and then, getting up when everyone has finished and moving the dishes to thre sink. The twins thank you once more before running off, back to their usual shenanigans. Sylus moves silently beside you, helping you do the dishes.

You use a kitchen towel to dry your hands, passing it to Sylus when youre done. You stand there, leaning your hip against the counter, facing him with loosely crossed arms. He sets the towel back where it was before and watches you before gently speaking.

"So, children, huh, kitten? If that's what you wanted you could've told me sooner, you know your wish is my command." He says.

"I know, its just I didn't really think much about it until recently and... I dont know, I guess I was scared to mention it to you." You respond quietly, your eyes averting from his.

"What did you think id say, sweetie? I may be the big bad bossman of Onychinus to everyone else, but to you im just Sylus." He uses two fingers to gently grab your chin and turns you towards him, your eyes meeting again.

"I know, I know. But... would you want children with me?" You say with uncertainty.

"I thought you'd never ask, kitten. I want anything you're willing to give me, and if children is one then id gladly take all of them." He quietly affirms, his gaze intense but loving.

"All of them? It's not I'm not giving you a whole soccer team." You say, smiling with a playful tone.

"Pity, I was hoping for two so they can compete against the other." he says with his usual smirk, tone teasing as he slowly embraces you.

You giggle and lean into him, your weight. comfortable weight against him. He kisses your head and quickly picks you up, placing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You gasp in shock, clinging onto whatever you could as you laughed.

"Sylus, put me down! Where are you taking me?" You ask, softly hitting his back. He continues walking through the house as he chuckles.

"To get started on making our two soccer teams." He says and you could practically hear his smug grin. You continue hitting his back and laughing. He opens the door to your shred bedroom and lays you on the bed, crawling over you and kissing your lips gently as you hear him lock the door with his evol.

"Make my time worth it and we'll see about the soccer teams." You say gently against his lips. Hi smirks and presses his weight against you, your lips slotting against each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four years later you find yourself bathing your daughter, Nora, as Sylus sets everything she needs for after in yours and Sylus's shared room. She giggles in the bath, playing with the bubbles, face covered in them as she tried getting them on you too. Soon you burst her bubble(pun intended, please laugh) and get her out of the bath, ending her fun. You wrap her in her dragon hooded towel that she says looks just like her papa. AS you carry her out, your meet with the sigh of Sylus carefully arranging her pajamas. You smile and set her down, drying her completely before having Sylus get her dressed. She giggled the whole time, enjoying his attention. You went to find her brush and handed it to Sylus, as she refused to let you do her hair after bath time.

He gently brushed through the wet curls as she babbled on about what she was playing in the tub with you. He nodded along, listening attentively as if it was the most important business deal. He gently styles her curls as she continue, talking about whatever comes to her mind. Once he's done he gently puts on her bonnet, kissing her now mostly covered forehead. She jumps up and smiles, tackling him in a hug. He dramatically falls down on the bed, her laying on top of him, letting her play around with him, a soft smile on his face, his gaze soft as he watches her.

You watch quietly as you finish getting ready for bed yourself. You sneak up on her, quickly picking her up and spinning in a circle. She squeals, her adorable laughter filling the air, her dimples on full display.

"Papa! Save meeee!" She screams, giggling as you carry her away and to her room to put her to bed.

"Im coming, princess." He says as he follows you in a light jog. You look back and immediately walk away faster, smiling.

"I dont think so, this is my pretty princess!" You say as you make it into her room, her flailing in her arms as she waits for Sylus, who walks in mere seconds later.

"Hand over my dear princess before I take drastic measures." He says, standing just beyond the rooms doorway. You pretend to think about it as your daughter looks at you, eyes just as ruby as Sylus's wide with hope.

"Mm, I dont think so, I think I'll keep her to myself."

"You've left me no choice." He says, smirking and sending a small chill down your spine. The next thing you know his evol is pulling Nora out of your arms and behind him as he tickles you. You gasp and panic, trying to escape the attack, laughter filling the air.

"DAmmit, Sylus, let go!" You say through gasps of breath, trying not to die as he continues the assault, your daughter finding your suffering enjoyable as she laughs as well. He only lets go after a few more moments, tear falling out the corners of your eyes as you gasp to catch your breath, bunched over. He grabs your daughter and hold her tightly, kissing her cheek.

"My beloved princess is saved, did I do well, your highness?" he says to her, still playing along as your daughter lets out a final giggle and nods.

"Very good papa, you defeated the monster! So you have the honor of reading my bedtime story." She says matter of factly, already willing out of his arms, past you and into her bed. She gets under the covers and lays down, waiting for Sylus to follow and read to her. He chuckles and follows, sitting in the chair beside her bed for this sole purpose. He grabs the book she always asks for, about a princess being saved by the dragon instead of the prince. He looks over at you, who's barely recovering from the brutal attack. You glare at him, though there's no real heat behind it as you walk closer and kiss your daughters head.

"Goodnight, Nora. Sweet dreams, and only one story alright?" You say softly, staring at her lovingly as you wait for her answer.

"Yes, mama! Night night!" She says with a nod, practically shooing you away so she can have time with her father. You chuckle and walk out the room, settling into yours and Sylus's bed.

Once you leave the room, Sylus begins the story hes read at least a million times. Now Nora always has two reactions to the story; once, she asks Sylus to read it over and over again, and he does because for his daughter, hes a weak man, her ultimate weapon her pout and puppy eyes. Or two, she falls asleep to the low sound of Sylus's voice, a noise so comforting for her that she can't help but become sleepy before he's even halfway through the story. When this happens, he finishes the story, though he knows shes asleep, because he know she'll wake if he doesn't(it happened one too many times and hes finally learned his lesson)

This night sits the latter, her big crimson eyes drifting closed as hes only half way done reading. He continues in a softer voice now, ending the story and kissing her forehead, his whisper a breath.

"Goodnight, my princess. I love you dearly, sweet dreams." He puts the book back quietly and fixes her blanket before staring at her. Her little pink bonnet securely covered her silver curls, the ones you so diligently taught him how to care for and style. Her eyes, now closed but a perfect copy of his, her lips full and plush just like his as well. He quietly chuckles, thinking about how your genes didn't even bother fighting. He gets up with a small smile, making his way to your bed.

There you lie half awake, wanting to wait for him but exhaustion from the day catching up far more quickly than intended. You barely notice him walking in, only noticing him when his arms wrapped around you from behind. He whispers into your ear softly.

"Go to sleep, kitten, im here." He continues whispering sweet nothings until you fall asleep, which doesn't take long. Once he hears your breathing even out, he settles in more and sighs, thinking about how amazing his life turned out of be.

Not once did he think this kind of domestic life was possible, but the ring on your finger and Nora were proof that even someone like him could have a happy ending.

[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.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

OH BABY, BABY

CHAPTER FIVE

note: I'm sorry for such a long wait, I finally got on summer break so im just trying to get settled. please like, reblog and share

warnings: swearing, infidelity, abandonment issues, pregnancy

It’s been a couple of months, and now I’m 32 weeks pregnant. Rafe said he’s coming down for two months to help with the baby and be there for the birth, which I really do appreciate. But honestly… I’ve been feeling pretty down. I love being a mom, and I’m so happy to have my daughter, but I never got to have any of the fun stuff other moms get—no baby shower, no gender reveal, nothing like that. It’s hard not to feel left out. I’ve felt so alone through all of this.

But in the middle of all that, there’s at least one thing I can smile about, we finished the nursery. Rafe helped me get it all set up before the due date, and it actually looks beautiful. It’s the one space that feels ready, that feels peaceful. And right now, that means everything.

—

When Margaret and I first moved to Florida, Rafe straight-up lied to Sofia about landing a work contract here—and she was clueless enough to buy it

When he left for Florida this time, Rafe said Sofia stood in the doorway, arms crossed, firing off a hundred questions, but never once raising her voice. She never told him not to go. Just stood there, silently watching him zip up a bag full of lies.

“Contract work,” he said.

“Same utility company. They’re stretched thin down there. I’ll be in and out a lot.”

Apparently, she just nodded. Like she didn’t believe him but didn’t want to hear the truth either.

“How long’s the job?” Sofia asked.

“A couple of weeks at a time,” Rafe replied.

“You gonna be reachable?” she pressed.

“Of course,” he said.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone lately,” she said lightly, almost as if she’s making conversation. “Florida must be keeping you busy.”

Rafe glanced over his shoulder and gave a half-smile. “Yeah, just tying up a few things before things get hectic. You know how it is.”

She nodded, slowly. “Mm-hmm. Must be nice having people down there who can help with everything.”

There was a pause. Brief, but it settled between them.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how often you were talking to them,” she added casually, her tone still warm but a little too even. “You’ve been real… consistent.”

Rafe chuckled, but it felt forced. “Just work, Sof. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not,” she said with a soft smile. “Just… curious.”

She pushed off the doorframe and walked toward the kitchen, her heart ticking a little faster—but her face calm, unreadable.

He told me later she lingered longer in the bedroom than usual—sat on the edge of the bed while he showered, the steam fogging up the mirror. She didn’t ask as many questions this time. Didn’t need to.

Because when he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and toothbrush hanging from his mouth, she wasn’t there.

But his phone was buzzing.

She picked it up and put it back down, deliberately leaving it exactly as she’d found it — unlocked, face-up, screen still glowing.

And that’s when she saw it.

My message.

(954) 623-8174: “Call me before you head out. Margaret wants to say goodnight.”

He didn’t notice the phone had moved.

Didn’t notice that she'd written something down and tucked it deep into her wallet.

My number.

She didn’t scream.

Didn’t throw it in his face.

Didn’t even flinch.

She just waited until he left.

—

It’s been a day since Rafe got here. Late at night now—Margaret’s asleep upstairs. Rafe and I sit on the couch, and he tells me Sofia’s suspicions are starting to grow. He can feel it—like a weight hanging in the air between them.

"Sofia’s getting suspicious. I can feel it." 

I glanced at him, heart tightening.

Rafes expression turns serious as he continues. 

Rafe’s expression darkens as he goes on. “She’s noticed the phone calls. She’s starting to put two and two together.”

“Fuck, I knew this was gonna happen,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. “Do you think she knows?”

"Not yet. But she’s close. I can tell. And it’s only a matter of time before she figures something out."

“So what’s gonna happen to us?” I ask. 

Rafe’s face tightens with irritation, his voice sharp. “Nothing’s going to happen to us. I’m still married to Sofia, and that’s not changing anytime soon.”

I stare at him, disbelief and anger rising.

“So what, I’m just gonna be your pregnant mistress until you decide to call it quits with her? Are you fucking serious?”

Rafe’s irritation sharpens into anger, his jaw tightening as he feels cornered by my words.

“Don’t say that. I care about you, but I can’t just leave Sofia—you knew that from the start.”

“I remember what you promised,” I say, my voice breaking as the tears come. “You said we could run away. Start a new life. I remember what you told me.”

Rafe sighs heavily, his frustration growing.

“I know what I promised,” Rafe says, his voice low. “But you know it’s not that simple.”

A heavy silence hangs between us.

“And you knew about Sofia from the start,” he adds. “You knew I wasn’t ready to leave her. You knew we could never be together… not in the way you wanted.”

“I can’t—goodness, I just can’t do this right now. It’s too much,” I say, my voice shaking. “I don’t want to go into labor over this.”

I stand up from the couch, wiping at my face. “Good night.”

Rafe looks taken aback by the firmness in my voice, like he’s just now realizing he pushed too far.

“Wait—don’t be like that,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to get worked up. Can we just talk about this?”

“Tomorrow, Rafe,” I say, already walking away. “Not now.”

—

I wake up the next morning to silence. No sound of Rafe snoring beside me, no clatter from Margaret in the kitchen—just stillness. The kind that makes your chest feel a little heavier.

Panic creeps in as I reach for my phone and call Rafe, afraid he might’ve left again without saying a word.

Rafe picks up, his voice low and a little hushed.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I just dropped Margaret off at school,” he says casually, not picking up on the tension. “Why?”

“I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“Is everything okay? You sound… worried.”

“I’m just tired,” I say quietly.

His tone softens.

“Okay. We’ll talk later. Get some rest, alright? You sound exhausted.”

“Okay. Bye,” I say gently, then end the call.

Rafe says goodbye and hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I push myself up from the bed, wincing as the weight shifts to my swollen feet. Every step aches, and the discomfort of being this pregnant is starting to wear me down. I just want it to be over. I just want the baby here already.

I make my way to the kitchen and open the fridge, scanning for something—anything—that doesn’t make me nauseous. There’s a fruit platter I remember picking up a couple days ago. I grab it, take a seat at the table, and start picking at it in silence.

As I sit at the table, picking at the fruit, my phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. I hesitate, staring at the screen. Who could it be? After a moment, I decide to answer.

“Hello?” I say, but there’s only silence.

“Hello? Who is this?” I ask again, my voice a little sharper now. Still nothing—just silence. But then I hear it: faint breathing on the other end.

The hairs on my neck rise.

“If you’re not going to talk, then… then don’t call me again,” I say, trying to sound firm, even though my voice wavers.

There’s a pause—long enough to make me hold my breath. And then the line goes dead.

I lower the phone slowly, staring at it. The silence in the kitchen feels heavier now. Whoever it was didn’t speak, but the call leaves me more unsettled than before… and wondering what they wanted.

I sat there in the kitchen, my breath coming in shallow bursts. One hand gripped the edge of the table, the other slid instinctively to my belly. The baby kicked—slow, strong, steady.

Whoever it was on the phone… it wasn’t nobody. I knew that.

And suddenly, the house didn’t feel quiet anymore. It felt watched.

[oneinnocentprincess]

Eleanor was struggling to keep focus of the actual conversation they had been having. She had been pulled so deeply in, only for him to pull slightly away at the last possible moment. He didn't really do anything, how was that driving her so much right now? His comment about her blushing made sense, it was just a lean. However, it managed to feel like dozens of things at once.

Before she could really figure out what that was, he was suddenly throwing another move at her. This time he did touch her, but it felt like now he had missed the target. So much yet so little was happening. This was nothing compared to the evening before but she was completely flustered. Her body wanted to move towards his, but she did not even know what she would even do once she got there. Eleanor just sat there, taking in these teases from him him.

How did this man know exactly what to say? She guessed after the many relationships he's had it comes easy at this point, but he even admitted to her they were not at the level this one was. His offer to her to tell him what she needed was dangerously tempting, but no words formed in her mouth. What on earth was this man planning? He had to have some kind of plan.

Before she could even try to investigate further, he was suddenly surprising her again, suggesting they just sleep. They hardly looked at the book and now he was leaving her with thinking over all these actions? It felt like she was being taunted but with no ill-intent. Clearly he had a motive, one she could not quite figure out just yet. Did he pick up on how much she was desiring him? If so, why was he going to sleep? What on earth was happening?

All sorts of thoughts circled her head as she laid back against him. How could he sleep with such ease when she had dozens of things to say--yet she could not imagine to say a single one of those things. Eleanor kept replaying his movements in her head before falling asleep--which did not help. Her dreams only continuously reminded her of him and all the pleasing he's done, of all the things she desired from him.

The young woman was stirring in her sleep to the point that she managed to wake before him, the feelings from the night not leaving. If anything, they only grew. He said she could ask him if she ever needed something, and she certainly was going to take him up on his offer. Eleanor adjusted herself, laying on her side as one hand rested on his bare shoulder as she leaned into his neck. "Oscar..." She mumbled into him as her body shifted, needing him. She laid a few kisses, hoping that would wake him up while her hand also gently rubbed the side of his arm. "I need you to do the mouth thing...please." She was nervous, lust did help mask some of it but she still was questioning what was and was not appropriate. He had mentioned there were not restrictions of time of day for this to happen, so this was fine, wasn't it? Was it rude to wake someone up for one thing? Her heart was pounding waiting for an answer.

Oscar didn’t need to say a word to know he’d gotten under her skin—the way her breath caught, the subtle shift in her posture, and the blush rising on her cheeks said enough. It wasn’t boastful pride that filled him, but something quieter, more intimate—a satisfaction in knowing he could reach her, stir her, without demanding or rushing. She was reacting to him, even if she didn’t yet know what to do with that reaction.

He let his eyes linger on the book in his hands, pretending to study the page, though he wasn’t reading a word. What caught his attention now was her—her silence, her breath, the fragile tension in the air between them. He didn’t need more than that to know the space they shared had shifted into something charged and delicate.

Turning his head just slightly, his voice was low and easy, touched with dry charm. “If you’re going to blush every time I lean in,” he said, “I might have to start making a habit of it.” His smile was soft, playful without arrogance, a quiet acknowledgment of what passed between them.

He leaned in again—but slower this time, eyes searched hers with deliberate patience, and then, without fully closing the distance, he brushed the corner of her mouth with his lips—light, unhurried, not quite a kiss, but close enough to linger in the space between wanting and restraint. When he pulled back, it was steady, his expression calm, though a glint of satisfaction warmed his eyes. “That one,” he murmured, “wasn’t in the book.”

He looked at her properly now, more composed, but still touched by something boyish at the edge of his smile. “It’s not a bad thing,” he added gently, “that I can affect you like this. I like knowing I’m not the only one unravelling a little tonight. And I hope you’ll keep telling me—if I go too far, or if I don’t go far enough. Tell me what you need. Whatever it is you need."

"Now, should we get some sleep? It's getting quite late, and I suspect you'll only have more questions tomorrow. I'd like to be well-rested enough to answer them," he teased.

[santae-salt]

Hey, this is former artist (and briefly art director) Keshi. My anxiety over how I had to leave has prevented me from speaking up about anything, and has even prevented me from publicly interacting in Sancord or anyone affiliated with Santae (I really do miss a whole bunch of you though). With the current events, and the many times the teased breeding mechanic has been brought up, I’d like to finally break my silence, and share my experience.

First off, the situation CJ has put Ember in is horrifying, I do not wish to take attention away from this appalling selfish act with my post. I cannot fathom what would bring a person to do this to someone they call their friend. CJ should truly be ashamed of himself, this is going way too far. I never really got the chance to interact with Ember, but I am so sorry you are going through this and I hope things work out for you soon.

A little background on me, I have worked for Subeta and MisticPets in the past, and done commission work for various petsites and games. This experience is spread over the last 18 years, so I’ve seen my fair share of drama on these sites. I’ve never witnessed this level though.

I was willing to (and did) put a lot of time and heart into the egg and hatchling art. I was aware of the amount I’d need to draw, and was ready to commit to what I thought was a desired fun feature with really cute art. I had no idea that this mechanic was not wanted, that it had been stated it would never be a feature on this site. And while I know it wasn’t my decision to make this happen, I am so sorry that money was spent on me creating those images. I am saddened that the feedback on this feature wasn’t respected and listened to. At one point, the AI art incident was brought up during a discussion with CJ, and that the NPCs were being revamped. I am strongly against AI art, and I offered to help fast track the revamps by working on some myself. This was turned down, and I was only to focus on the breeding images.

When it was made aware that Whixy was to sadly step down, I was surprised to be offered the position to take over. I probably triple checked that there definitely wasn’t another artist who had been there longer, who wanted to role, and was reassured no one was interested. I accepted the role, and was excited to be closer to the team and feel I was actively contributing more to current events and features. With access to the calendar and full trello, I could see how many events were planned, the artwork we needed, and that we were, in my eyes, quite behind schedule. I want to preface that this was in no part, Whixy or the previous and current artists fault. They are all amazing, and were doing the best with what they could. I expressed my concerns on how much we needed in a short time. I had offered that I could help get us ahead by working on some items, but I was reassured that we were doing fine and once again the breeding artwork was to be my focus. (Despite this claim, CJ then proceeded to assign/reassign tasks last minute to various artists, and I was informed after the decision was made. So I can only imagine what staff members like Ember, Whixy and Ermineleader would have been through during their time, so much respect from me there)

After realising how much CJ continued to mismanage the site and staff, and witnessing his public conduct in front of users on the discord server and beyond (just in the 2 months I was there), I knew I couldn’t align myself with him. I finally looked into this blog and read the staff letter+ the statement on toyhouse, and my heart was heavy. This, along with many long days/late nights dedicated to drawing for the site, and working on my new art director roles, my body and mind kind of gave up. I won’t go into detail, but it was a sign I had to leave. I know I chose to work as much as I did, but I’m a chronic people pleaser/overachiever (and I also needed the extra income).

The art team was not informed that I had left, and it took almost a week before I had the strength to come back and let them know. I still feel some guilt, like I let everyone down during an already rocky time. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help more.

I have my fears in talking openly about this, but I’d love to lift this weight off my shoulder and finally move on. I know my experience is a small fraction compared to what others have endured, but thanks for allowing me the space to share it. An emotional breakdown over a virtual petsite was not on my 2025 bingo card. I hope everyone left on staff, and those negatively affected by the site both past and current are doing okay.

💜 Keshi

☁️

[nevergetoffthebus]

Excerpt from Greg Rucka's weekly newsletter "Front Towards Enemy" 1 July 2025

Once upon a time, I wrote a story I described as "a fairy tale of blood and bullets."

It was, on its face, an action-adventure that centered on an immortal woman – a warrior – who was at least 6,000 years old. I liked the idea that, if experience is the best teacher, and that, if our greatest lessons come from our mistakes, that she'd be the most lethal person in the history of… history. Six thousand years of fighting, I figured she'd made just about every mistake it was possible to have made. Since the ones that would've killed her didn't, she was the walking, talking proof that "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Andromache the Scythian, art by Leandro Fernández

I thought about all she'd have seen and experienced, and how much that would've changed, especially in the last three centuries. How the world was accelerating. How frustrating it would be to her, and how exhausting. I thought about the fact that, when a new weapon or tactic or technique came along, she could just slip off and spend a year or five or ten mastering it.

I thought about the fact that, after all her time, with all the places she had gone, the languages she had learned and forgotten, the people she had met, the cultures she had experienced, all she'd seen, she would have no patience for racism or bigotry or prejudice. Her personal experience simply wouldn't allow it. She would have long ago determined that, wherever you went, people were always just… people. Some were good, some were bad, and most were just trying to get by. It didn't matter how they looked or who they loved. They were people.

Then I thought, given all this, that kind of bullshit would actually piss her the hell off. It would make her angry. Cruelty would make her angry. Exhausted and worn down by life she may be, but cruelty would always bring her back to the battle.

I thought about how lonely her life would be, and what a double-edged sword (or labrys?) her continued existence would have become. I thought about how impossible it is to move through the world without making some connections, how impossible it would be to defend her heart for centuries upon centuries. I thought about how we fall in love when we absolutely do not want to, and I thought about how many times she had fallen in love, and how many of those loves she had lost.

Nicolo di Genoa and Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib, or Nicky and Joe, if you'd rather. Art by Leandro Fernández

I thought about the existential dread of never dying. The cold horror of outliving the planet. The galaxy. The universe. Of everything being gone… except you. 

I really liked this woman, but that wasn't a story. It was a character, but it wasn't a story.

For a story, I needed more. There needed to be others like her. Not many. Very few, in fact. And to complicate matters, and to highlight that existential dread, I decided that sometimes these immortals could die, but they didn't know how or why, that it would just sometimes happen to them out of the blue. The wound that had never claimed them a hundred times before suddenly would. They didn't know why. They didn't know when.

Sébastien le Livre, a.k.a. "Booker." Art by Leandro Fernández

So this woman, she was the oldest of them by far, and yet she kept going. Her time just wouldn't come, and she was so tired, genuinely tired of life, and so worn down and so repeatedly disappointed by the world, and still, as friends and lovers and brothers-in-arms passed, she continued.

Writing all of this, that sounds grim, but the thing was, the story I wanted to write wasn't meant to be grim. It was, sincerely, meant to be fun. I mean, I'd created this group with this woman and these two guys who'd fallen in love trying to kill each other during the First Crusade, and this other guy who'd been conscripted into Napoleon's army, and they did what they knew how to do. They fought. They were soldiers.

And since they couldn't die, I could pretty much do to them anything the Road Runner did to the Coyote in those cartoons, you know? 

Blow 'em up, drop an anvil on them, drive them headlong into a cliff, you name it, I could do it. 

I could do it because Leandro Fernández was going to draw it, and Leo's got an amazing art style that is at once emotive and cartoony. Things that would look turn-your-guts disgusting in another artist's hands instead looked icky and goofy, not gross. Leo understood the absurdity as much as he understood the emotion. Bonus? Leo is something of a history nut, and if I said a scene was set in 1478, he'd get to work finding reference.

The first story, the introductory story, was pretty self-evident. There was a new member to the group. This new member, contemporary, she'd be our way in. 

Nile Freeman, by Leandro Fernández

And this first story would set the foundation, which meant that it had to set stakes, but it had to define the world. Mythology could wait. In truth, I didn't want to ever explain why they were immortal. I think far too many stories are obsessed with explaining the why, and I think it cheapens them. Nine times out of ten, the why doesn't matter, and answering the why very often leads to betraying the promise of the premise.

Beware the why, my children, for that way lies midi-chlorians.

I was writing the fourth issue of the original series of THE OLD GUARDwhen I realized – as I have remarked before elsewhere – that I was really writing about the death of my father. I was trying to make sense of it, not specifically (fuck cancer) but generally. Why do we have to die? What is the merit in it? What is death's benefit?

I've found some answers, one or two that satisfy me. But I still wrestle with it. I suppose that's one of the things life demands, that we wrestle with this question.

I wrote the initial series not expecting much of it, honestly. I'd lucked out big time when Leo had agreed to draw it, I knew that, and I knew the book looked amazing, what with Leo's art and what Daniela Miwa was doing on colors and Jodi Wynne was doing with the lettering. But I didn't really have high expectations for the book. I figured, eh, maybe people will enjoy it. That's not dismissive – if some people enjoy my work, that's pretty much the win condition for me.

I just hoped some people would enjoy it, that was it.

THE OLD GUARD is arguably the most successful thing I've ever written, comics or prose, which just shows you how little I understand the market and my own audience, I guess.

One thing led to another and Hollywood came calling, and the folks at Skydance were willing to let me write the screenplay. This amazing director, Gina Prince-Bythewood, read the script and wanted to direct it. Then this actress nobody had ever heard of before agreed to play Andromache the Scythian. Skydance brought in Marc Evans to produce. The movie did well enough that Netflix wanted another one.

And here we are.

I hope it makes you laugh, and maybe makes you cry, and most of all, gives you a chance to slip into a fairytale of blood and bullets, if only for a short time.

Most of all, I hope that you enjoy it.

(View in browser and sign up here https://front-towards-enemy.ghost.io/09-time-after-time/?ref=front-towards-enemy-newsletter )

[deerlyinheadlights]

Viridity

Matthew Tkachuk x f!reader cw: +18, implied age gap, uneven power dynamics, breeding kink, mentions of children, making out, dry humping, fingering , edging (if ive missed any let me know!) 2.4k words Your husband Matthew's come back home after being gone for months and wants to make it up to you

You knew the sacrifices that came with being a WAG. The long nights spent waiting for a post-game call that on many occasions never comes. The nail beds ripped apart when you watch him get hit particularly hard on the ice. The sad faces when you have to explain why “daddy won't be home until june.”, and the resulting tears. But it's all worth it in the end. Your reward comes in the form of the few days he spends back home, the few days when you don't feel so alone in the world. A life boat offering temporary respite from the fathomless sea of sticky hands, piles of toys and questions of “where's daddy”. Your reward comes on nights like these.

You can hear him before you see him. You recognise the squeak of the front doors hinges (he’d promised to fix them last time he was home), followed by the heavy foot falls that could only belong to your husband, pausing once to shrug off what you believe based on the rusling was his coat, before continuing up the hallway towards you. You turn back to the kitchen bench, wiping down invisible stains. He doesn't like it when you meet him in the entryway, he prefers you homely, cleaning up the kids toys or folding clothes. You suspect that acting like it's just another day when he visits lessens the guilt that comes with subjecting you to single-motherhood for 90% of the year. 

The thump of his half full duffle bag hitting the floor prompts you to turn, abandoning your futile cleaning to instead re-familiarise yourself with the man you married. As your eyes roam over Matthew's figure, standing still in the doorway. He's stronger than when you last saw him, filling out the arms of his black long sleeve in a way that has your mouth watering. He stands just as tall as before, however there's a tiredness weighing him down. Shoulders slumped and curly hair messy, like he ran his hands through it repeatedly before walking in the door. 

“Hey.”

His tired timbre breaks you out of your trance, eyes shooting up to meet his own light blue pair. You both stand there for a second. Comfortable to just stare, no words needed to fill the still air around you both, bathing in the quiet naturalness that came easy with Matthew. He slowly starts towards you, his lack of sleep obvious in the way his steps seem to be weighed down by his own body. He drapes his larger figure over yours, laying claim to your body after being away too long. He tucks your head under his chin, inhaling the comforting scent of shampoo and something else uniquely you, a heady scent with bottom notes of domesticity and motherhood. Exactly how he likes you, barefoot with a baby in your belly and another on your hip, young and mouldable under his burley frame. 

You slowly wean out of his grasp, looking up to him, before moving back into the kitchen, as he slowly trails behind you, however still keeping his distance

“Are you hungry? Me and the boys ate a few hours ago now, but I cooked way too much, so there are leftovers in the fridge…if you…?”

You pitifully trail off, he was giving you a look. A look you couldn't decide if it was judgemental or curious, either way it stirred doubt within you. You rub the marble countertops of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself from the awkwardness hanging in the air. He glances around the clean kitchen, not a dish in sight, just sparkling stone and closed cabinets. A small grin spreads across his tired face, before he finally breaks the silence.

“You really fit into this wife thing, huh? Like-”

He closes the space between you both, circling behind you as he wraps his arms around your waist, interlinking his large hands with your own. Chin on your head, front on your back. 

“Some of the guys I know would kill for a girl like you waiting for them at home, you know? All pretty ‘n organised.”

He's slightly rocking you now, side to side, his hot breath hitting your ear and cheek. 

“Yeah?”

It's not really a question, but you want to keep him occupied, avoid another penetrating silence.

“Yeah. I'm a lucky man. A soft little wife and two beautiful children tucked away, just for me.”

He nudges his face into the crook of your neck, leaving small pecks in his wake, moving further up until he hovers just above your lips. You meet his eyes, caught like a mouse in a glue trap in the sirupy smoothness of his voice. But as you lean in, he pulls away, leaving your body cold once again as he wanders back towards the hall. He leans on the door frame, striking his head out into the hallway, face disappearing from view for only a second before he turns back to you. 

“Last time I checked a two and a three year old are never this quiet-”

He then walks into the living room, his long strides and the open floor plan making it a quick journey. 

“Or this clean.”

His tone is teasing as he motions towards the tidy floor and uncluttered surfaces, one eyebrow cocked. You meet him where he stands, leaning against the hard plains of his chest, his warmth seeping into you through your sweater. 

“They're not, I am though.”

He chuckles at that, vibrations moving through you as he pulls you down besides him onto the nearest couch.

“They behaved for me tonight, went down easy.”

He leans one arm over the back of the couch, and the other around your shoulders, positioning you to be leaning towards him.

“My good boys, being good for their mama.”

There's an almost breathy note in his voice that pairs unfamiliarly with the admiration in his wandering stare. He doesn't often award you such genuine praise, even if it's only a glint in his eyes, so you take it in your stride. 

“I don't know how you do it, all by yourself”

You raise your eyebrow.

“You handle it all so…”

He pauses, contemplating his words, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It's like you were made to be a mom. Made all pretty and perfect just to have my kids.”

You give him a tired smile, preening under his rarely awarded admiration.

He's not around long enough to see the puffy eyes, breakdowns and insomnia, but you don't tell him about that, content to play make-believe as his warped idea of you.

He grabs your waist and drags you onto his lap, so your thighs straddle his already spread legs, a deep stretch settling in your abductors. Matthew leans back on the couch cushions, angled now so he's looking up at you.

He runs his hands up and down your sides rhythmically until they settle on your hips, tracing comforting circles into your muscles as his eyes sweep over you. 

“Looks good on you too.”

One of his hands leaves your hip, instead moving to splay across the fat of your abdomen, right above the band of your sweatpants. His gaze follows his hand, pausing on your lower stomach, before meeting yours again, blue eyes half lidded and carnivorous.

“You want another? A little girl this time maybe, to keep your hands full?”

You laugh at that, the idea that your hands aren't full. Like you have even a minute of free time. He frowns at your reaction, eyebrow knitting together. He never liked being wrong.

“What if I'm home more, huh? Be with the boys, free up some of your time?”

“Will you, really? Come home more?”

You try not to sound too hopeful, too childish.

“Wouldn't you like that? Us one big family again, nice and content, with another on the way?”  

He runs his hand through your hair, sliding through until he’s cupping your head at the base of your skull, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

“C’mon, doesn't that sound nice? Being all warm and filled with me? Everyone knowing you're mine?”

Your own fantasy mixes with the growing hardness you can feel below you into a potent haze that leads you to the conclusion that it does sound nice. Simple. Easy, even. 

And you've always wanted a girl.

After a moment lost in your own thoughts, you nod. Slowly at first then gaining vigor, and he grins. Grins like a predator, full of teeth and hungry. A wolf watching a rabbit. The hand that sits and the back of your skull pulls your face down towards his own, lips meeting yours in a desperate kiss. He's never been one for gentleness, but time seems to have made him worse. It's all tongue and teeth, but if you wanted kind and careful you would've married a different man. 

You moan into his mouth as his hands clasp onto your hips, his pelvis rolling up to meet yours. The hard bulge in his jeans grinding deliciously against your neglected core. 

“Feel that?”

He bucks up against you frantically, pushing a groan out of your lips.

“Feel how much I've missed you?”

You never could touch yourself quite like he did. You mewl into his mouth, the eager sound only further encouraging his movements. You quickly fall into a fevered rhythm, bodies fitting together like a puzzle piece, hips rolling, tongues interlocking. Neither realising quite how much your bodies missed each other until the dam of pent up desire finally broke, surrendering you both to your baser human instincts.

Your hands run down his hard chest, caressing all the new divots and ridges, enjoying the sculpted masterpiece that is your husband. Your fingers finally find themselves lodged between your writhing bodies, fiddling uselessly with his belt, the empty feeling between your legs driving your every movement. Once he realises your goal Matthew hesitantly breaks the kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth before finally parting, a strand of saliva connecting you both. 

“Nah, nah,”

One of his hands finds your wrists, stopping you in your tracks. Your brows furrow, a noise of indignation rising up your throat, however as he ruts his hips up into yours again, white-hot pleasure disbands any feelings of irritation.

“Want you on my cock so fuckin bad right now,”

He's mouthing at your jaw, leaving red marks in his wake that you'll care about in the morning. He'll just laugh at you, admiring his brand. His ownership.

“But it's been what - months? I've been gone so long -”

Matthew pulls you down, adjusting your position until he's laying on top of you, cold hands moving underneath the waistband of your sweatpants. So close but still too far from where your body calls for him.

“I probably need to open you up again, don't I?”

You always feel lost without him, unsure and vulnerable. You imagine it's how Eve felt. Cast into cold existence, ripped from the warm embrace within the cavity of her lover's chest. But he's here now, above you, and so all is right once again. His hand travels under the elastic of your panties, swiping through your slit teasingly. A brazen glint lights up his eyes as he gathers your slick, circling your entrance with his forefingers. 

“Baby if I knew you were so desperate for me I would've come home sooner.”

You slap his shoulder as he chuckles, opening your mouth as if to chide him but any sounds dissolve into an embarrassingly pathetic whimper as one of his thick fingers breaches your entrance. Fuck you missed this. Missed him.

It doesn't take long before he can add another finger, his wide palm rubbing against your clit leaving you writhing and wanting for more. Your neck and collar are covered in raw blotches where Matthew has left his marks, abandoning his post only to occasionally whisper a good girl into the shell of your ear or gently tease you. His deep, tired voice only turns you on further. He pauses the scissoring motions of his fingers, leaving you lost for a moment until his thick digits curl, hitting the small spongy spot inside you that has your back arching underneath him. He chuckles at that, continuing to massage your gummy walls.

“Fuck, I love how sensitive you are” despite his cocky tone, the words comes out as almost a pant. He’s just as desperate as you are. 

The overwhelming combination of stimulation has you gasping for air, grinding down into his hand chasing further friction.

You weave your fingers into his orange curls, dragging his face up from the crook of your neck, open mouths meeting once again without rhythm, fueled only by wanton desire. Your pleasured noises grow in volume the closer you feel yourself get, manicured nails (you got in a throwaway attempt to impress him) dig into his muscular back. A groan falls out of his mouth and into yours, as you notice him hard and throbbing against your upper thigh. 

You feel that familiar chord within you tighten, finally the mind numbing pleasure you've been chasing is in sight. Your hips rock grind into his hand with no regard for how needy you must look, the only thing occupying your thoughts being your own release. 

 Just as you get there, one foot over the ledge, ready to fall headfirst into bliss, he pulls away. 

His hand leaves your pants, smearing his wet fingers across your stomach in the process of standing up. You're frozen for a moment, confused by the sudden movements (or lack thereof),  mind reeling and foggy from the abrupt loss of pleasure. He locks eyes with you before turning around, and walks slowly yet purposely across the hardwood floors. A stupid, dazed look is clear on your face as you peek at him from over the back of the couch, propping yourself up on to your elbows, not trusting your legs enough to get up fully. You were never good at hiding your emotions, especially not from Matthew, he always left you disoriented. Second guessing even yourself. Once he reaches the hall he stops, rubbing his non wet hand over the door frame, before looking over his broad shoulder at you. 

“You comin’ to bed?”

His laugh is almost mocking as he watches you scramble off the couch, unsteady, a fawn taking its first steps. You follow him as he disappears down the dark hallway, heavy footsteps leading the way.  

Like a moth following a flame, devoted to its light. Uncaring of the burns left by the heat. 

Ahhhhh thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed and if you notice any mistakes no you didnt.... - B

[celeborne]

"they ruined daeho, i don't like him anymore"

no they did not. holy shit, they do not ruin him as a PERSON.

the only thing that was ruined was how they wrote his ending and how they made gihun kill him in the most cruel and pathetic way imaginable. the writing was rushed and the way they purposefully made him look so bad for shock value was absolute bullshit, because now people are completely invalidating everything he went through and looking down on him.

daeho as an actual person was not "ruined" just because the theories about him were wrong and he didn't serve as a soldier in the marines. and for the record, i believed those theories too (and i think they wasted an incredible opportunity to explore that) but i still do NOT hate him as a person just because it turned out he lied.

he STILL had very real mental struggles and anxiety.

why are people acting like ptsd from the marines is the only thing on earth that can cause a man to have trauma and anxiety?? also, he was NOT an evil person just because he lied - he did it because he's extremely insecure and terrified. he did not have bad intentions with anything he did and he never wanted to hurt anyone. i believe he was a genuinely kind person in general, just full of so much fear.

that's why i absolutely HATE how everyone is suddenly invalidating his mental health and the panic attack he had at the end of season 2.

everyone was preaching about how mental health matters, how bad toxic masculinity is, how trauma can paralyse you, but the moment you find out the only thing he lied about was the marines, you call him a "weak coward" and invalidate the fear he went through, because in your eyes, he needs to have a "good enough reason" to be anxious and have trauma? that panic attack was still REAL, regardless of whether he lied about the marines or not. it was not a fake act. he was paralysed with fear, and it was devastating to watch because you could tell it was hurting him too.

edit: another thing that someone discovered is that the english subtitles were apparently not even entirely correct. he said he was a social service personnel, which is an alternative form of military service for those physically or mentally unstable for full military duty. this is even more proof of him struggling with his mental health.

and to the people complaining that his "personality suddenly changed", did you even pay attention to what he went through? how after his panic attack, everyone, including his friends, ignored him and turned against him without even speaking to him or communicating with him? he already felt so much guilt at the end of season 2. and then in season 3, no one asked if he was okay, no one asked him to explain what happened, NOTHING. just creepy threatening stares from gihun, which added to his guilt and anxiety. then he saw what happened to jungbae and everyone else and started gagging when he saw his body like he was going to throw up. gihun CONTINUED to stare at him (i would've lost my mind too if anyone stared at me that way without even knowing what I'VE also been through) and then literally chased and threatened him with a knife and screamed that everything is his fault. that's when daeho finally fought back and defended himself. just imagine someone putting every bit of blame onto you, giving you death stares, threatening to kill you and then screaming in your face without even THINKING about what you went through. ANYONE would be upset, angry and scared in his place. ANYONE would snap and "seem different". did you seriously expect him to keep his smile and bubbly personality after all that?

it's crazy seeing so many people so angry at him, saying he's "ruined" and basically just mocking and guilt tripping him for struggling and having a very realistic reaction in a horrendously traumatic and violent situation. ON TOP OF THAT, you should've already known he was a highly anxious person, because you saw him flinching, shaking and fidgeting even in earlier episodes in season 2 when there were loud noises or when people got too close to him, way before he had the panic attack. don't even get me started on how he FLINCHED when hyunju raised her hand next to him because he thought he was about to get hit. like think a little harder and put it together!!

i know a huge issue people have is that they didn't show and confirm this stuff to us directly by exploring his backstory (which i'm also extremely annoyed about), but it is SO obvious that daeho has mental struggles. crippling anxiety being the main one, but he's also extremely insecure about himself as a person and literally calls himself a pathetic loser (something i also think his dad probably called him growing up, which made him believe it himself). this is exactly WHY he lied to begin with, why he was pushed into getting that tattoo and making up this story, and why he was so desperate to force himself to look a certain way and be "tough" and fit in with others. if he was totally okay and happy and not insecure or struggling mentally, why on earth would he put that much effort into lying about who he is? that's what people tend to do when they're trying to hide their true selves and force themselves to conform to fit into society's expectations, and i personally think he DOES have trauma from his childhood, especially because of his dad. he briefly spoke about him (and looked so uncomfortable while doing so) and said his dad wanted him to be a "real man". toxic masculinity is a very real issue and something that affects so many people. many men suffer life-long issues because of their own families due to abuse and extreme pressure to conform and be "real men".

and you know what, let's say he didn't have childhood trauma or anxiety or insecurities, because i already know people are gonna say "that wasn't even confirmed since they didn't show his backstory". even if he went into the games completely happy and carefree with no fears at all, the games alone are enough to traumatise ANYONE for life. imagine witnessing all that horror and bloodshed. you wouldn't be the same either, so every bit of fear and desperation that he showed was completely understandable either way, regardless of what his backstory was.

that's why comments like "i can't believe he lied after i defended him so hard thinking he had ptsd from the marines. he was just scared the whole time" are absolutely ridiculous. like are you kidding me? so what if he was "just scared the whole time"? is that not valid when you're stuck in sadistic survival games? how are you seriously holding that against him and saying you don't like him anymore when he had EVERY reason to be scared?

daeho's fear, anxiety and desperation are the most realistic and human reactions imaginable in the situation that he's in (and that's just during the games. imagine all the other stuff he possibly suffered BEFORE the games too if he did actually have a bad childhood). and STILL, even with all that, he never deliberately hurt anyone because that's not the kind of person he is. yeah, he lied because he's insecure. he wanted to fit in and make friends and feel safe. why the hell are people acting like that's the most outrageous and disgusting thing a character has done in this show and saying he deserved to be strangled by gihun for that? like are you actually kidding? gihun didn't even have that much anger towards people who murdered others in cold blood! IT MAKES NO SENSE. also daeho could NOT have predicted that gihun was going to come up with that stupid plan in the first place, so how does him lying about being in the marines at the beginning have anything to do with what happened at the end of season 2? he never expected any of that to happen.

so no, i'm not mad at daeho. i don't feel "betrayed" by him and i'm absolutely not going to call him a "weak cowardly loser" for having valid fears. i'm only betrayed by the shitty writing and how they didn't even bother showing a backstory or EXPLAINING to people more about mental health (that would've been such an important topic to explore ESPECIALLY in this show. same with toxic masculinity if they went more into his backstory, but nope). unfortunately most viewers are incapable of deep thinking and just see what's on the surface, and since the writers tried to make daeho look "bad and desperate" at the end, that's all they're going to see.

suddenly turning against a man for struggling mentally and having realistic human reactions is insanely weird to me (especially because everyone criticising him now only took him seriously when they thought he was in the marines, but not anymore. it's like they can't seem to understand that sometimes human beings just have anxiety, even if there isn't a "specific reason" directly explained to them).

anyways kang daeho i will love and defend you always i don't care