Could you write something dark and a little angsty for Xanxus and Squalo? Like their s/o needs a heart transplant and they're going to get one, by any means necessary. (Haha sorry it's super specific)
//Nah be as specific as you want I really don’t mind. Squalo’s turned out longer than expected and Xaxnus’s shorter than I expected//
//On a side note: a heart transplant surgery requires approximately 4 hours//
It was after a raid. A raid in which he once held great pride over.
It was an assassination of a alcohol company - which in itself wouldn’t have been notable, but this time it was a special sort of mission commissioned by the scum of a boss, Sawada Tsunayoshi, himself. Not that Xanxus really listened to him, he would’ve gone after the target anyways. After all, any rats tainting the Vongola name must be exterminated.
He got the general gist of what they stole: a powerful formula to disable the circulatory system. Turns out they’ve been planning to sneak it through the border in one of their branded wine barrels.
Time, location, numbers, and percentage - it’s all he needed. Scum was scum no matter what they stole. It didn’t matter to him.
Later that week, Squalo and the men he deployed came back with crates full of tequila and bourbon.
He barely lost any of his men (not that he cared as much - anything was better to get Squalo over his bitching), the mission succeeded within the calculated time, got rid of the rats and more, the worst injury the Varia dealt was an amputated leg, and the best part of all, he barely had to get off his ass.
And he had you to thank for it.
Not that he would admit it outright of course. But being the newest member of the Varia Elite, you took over as Squalo’s other half in battle; a competent leader with sharp instincts. Ever since you came, the rate of successful missions went up by four percent and well, let’s just say missions weren’t the only thing you succeeded at.
It was no secret you and Xanxus were in some sort of physical and emotional bond. It wasn’t a normal “relationship” per say but at least he actually gave a damn about you.
So to celebrate, Xanxus took you out on a nice date (which never happened to hookers or escorts he brought home before you).
That night, you confessed going steady.
“Let’s stop beating around the bush like some Disney rom-com. I like you Xanxus. More than just a fuck buddy- err... fuck subordinate?”
That night, you felt like you heart stopped when he said “yes”.
“I wouldn’t have taken scum out on a fucking date, idiot. You were mine to begin with.”
“Well, aren’t you prince charming?”
“Shut the fuck up and drink your wine. I’m giving you time until I finish this bottle. I’ve been dying to fuck your over my-.”
“Dammit Xanxus we’re in public.”
That night, you mumbled the sweetest words in his ears.
That night, you kissed him like it was your last.
That night, you were embraced by his warmth and love.
That night, you slept together.
That night, you never woke up.
Xanxus was greeted with your cold and unmoving body - the first thought he had was to quickly grab his guns and shoot the bastard who killed you. But after he sensed he was alone, he quickly grabbed you and hunted down Lussuria.
Turns out the raid you led wasn’t as successful as he initially thought. The worst immediate injury was an amputated leg. The worst, torturous injury was a biochemical pathogen from the small cut on your leg.
He had so little time - having not noticed you were slowly decaying from the inside out all night. And even less time when he went on a rampage trying to kill anything to sate his wrath. Squalo eventually shook him out of it when he said you needed a heart transplant now or else.
Turns out, he couldn’t find a single donor or sacrifice that was compatible with you. And your breath was already fleeting by the second. Your skin was paling, a patchwork of purple and blue from your corroded flames. Spasms, foaming, and speech inability.
It sickened him to see you like this. He felt so powerless. It was like being encapsulated in that fucking ice again. Awake but unable to act.
3 hours, 59 minutes left...
Eventually he did find one. One in his immediate vicinity that was guaranteed at least 99% of your survival. Time was ticking and he had to make a choice. It was either you-
3 hours, 58 minutes left...
- or one of his most loyal men -
3 hours, 57 minutes left...
You weren’t exactly the most physically strong, nor were you psychologically. So it was a wonder why you ever betrothed a man that required both. It was a taxing relationship, sure, but you loved your prideful little shark. Despite his profession, he was one of the most respectful individual you’ve ever met. He was protective but not possessive. He was constantly on edge and stressed from work yet always made time for you. He gave you his loyalty and love, which you returned with equal, if not more, ardor.
His favourite place to spend time with you was your in your family’s cafe. Good coffee, wine, desserts, and company. What more could he want? It was also there that he first met you. You weren’t a civilian to say, but you definitely weren’t involved in the mafia completely either. So when you saw his bloodied and ragged half-dead body in the back alleyway of your family’s shop, you hid and nursed him back to health. He wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect guest with his incessant screaming and refusal to accept aid but you somehow managed to come to an agreement when you told him he wasn’t indebted to you.
(You later found out it was because he didn’t want to endanger you or your family because of your kindness.)
Not that he agreed before he left. After a couple months of absence, Squalo suddenly showed up to your doorstep, in guise of wanting to “pay off his debt”. Your family took him in with open arms; your mother always waggling her eyebrows at you whenever you were alone with him and your father patting him on the back after protecting the store from some spiteful reviewers.
Your relationship followed naturally after that. You sought his respectable and sometimes adorable demeanor and he sought after your solace in contrast to his cruel world.
What he should’ve expected was that cruel world following his trail.
It was the a chilly fall day. He was heading over to the cafe after his meeting with an allied famiglia took longer than he expected. In his pocket was a wedding ring. Not one for dramatics, he already confessed that he’d propose to you sometime in the near future and you already said yes.
Squalo knew not to fall in love, to allow his loyalty to split between the man he’d follow til death and the woman he’d love until death did you part. He also knew the innate dangers that would follow you and yet you still agreed. He told you about everything - the stress, dangers, betrayal, trust - it wasn’t like he wanted to deter you away from him but he needed to.
Despite all that, you still remained loyal.
Too bad that loyalty costed you your life.
He heard gunshots and screaming from your direction.
He rushed over as fast as he could.
The windows were shattered, civiliians ran, and the gunner shot himself. In the middle was you - bloodied and just barely hanging on the last thread of life with your parents desperately trying to reach the paramedics.
Squalo’s heart cracked and steeled, calling Lussuria and Mammon on the phone. Deaths weren’t uncommon, hell, being in the Varia meant facing certain doom on the daily. But seeing to someone he cared for like this? ...resurfaced painful memories.
You were rushed to the mafia’s top private medics while your parents wept silently in the waiting room. Squalo blamed himself, he blamed the damn meeting, and the damn gunner. But he had to stay calm - if not for himself, for you and your parents.
When news came that you needed a heart transplant, he his heart nearly split in two. He knew from experience how fucking painful a heart transplant was. There wasn’t even a word to describe the sensation. But above all else, he knew that a compatible donor was extremely difficult to find.
And lo and behold, there were no donors in the vicinity.
You only had a couple hours left. Time was ticking.
He had to make a split second decision.
No donors, but two sacrifices.
He ground his teeth together, knowing that you could never forgive him after this - he wouldn’t either.
He steeled his heart, and made sure his blade was sharpened. It was. It always was.
He loomed over the crying pair.
He whispered sweet nothings to your parents, reassuring your survival.
They tried to smile and comfort him as well through the salty tears and hoarse wails.
